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wheresmymilliondollarman · 1 year

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Hiii! I've discovered your account recently and you can definitely count me as one of your fans! Also I've never saw someone write for book bfs before so that's cool of you to do it ! I really don't know if you take requests but if u don't it's ok! but if you do can I have an Kenjix reader where she's a trained spy with no powers and Aaron send her on a mission with Kenji where she hates him at first but then she gets to know him and fall for him ? (Maybe w/o spoilers for books after ignite me)

how you get the girl

kenji kishimoto x fem!reader

you were never fond of the newest recruit, but after being assigned on a mission with him, your perspective might just change.

a/n: ty for the request!! been wanting to write for kenji, but struggled with a concept, so this is a great idea !! this is more an au thing, not based on a certain timeline in the series, so it should be spoiler free !! there also a hunger games reference in this bc i can't help myself. extra note: thank you for being so patient i had to go on n unexpected hiatus because i got sick then a bunch of stuff in my life is happening right now, so it was hard to write. but i have finally have time again somewhat and i want to get inspo to write <3

word count: 6.8k

warnings: really bad corny pick-up lines, kinda bad description of action LOL, mentions of injuries and blood, take a shot every time reader rolls her eyes

your home lied within the reestablishment for as long as you could remember. your father had stood behind the idea since it first became conceived.

before the reestablishment came along, your family lived in the trenches of poverty. living in a one-bedroom apartment in the unsafest part of the city. most lived the same since the world was slowly deteriorating — counties went hungry, climate change affected natural resources, and the grasp of government control slipped away. it seemed like the end of the world for some, but you were too young to say for sure.

your mother came down with an illness when you were around three. it was unsure of what it was, but it damaged her greatly and fatally. your father attempted to gather the money to see a doctor, pawning items, stealing money, and even asking the government for assistance, but it all became futile. your mother ended up passing a few months later.

your father’s grief and rage at society drove him toward the direction of the reestablishment. they had already been around quite some time, but no one ever took it seriously - another political group with empty promises, they called it. but your father had faith in their potential, he had to, now that he wanted to ensure a better future for yourself. so, he offered his undying loyalty to the group, and they took an interest in that and offered him a low level job.

within years, he worked his way up in power, helped enhance the reestablishment’s control over the world, and soon they were the sole government. many resisted, but the majority resided their fate to them because how much worse could the world get?

overtime, the distant memories of the old world faded and were forgotten by many, including yourself. all you knew and lived was reestablishment life. books, movies, devices, or anything pertaining to before reestablishment life was discarded. you were too young to even remember most of those things. so, unlike others, you never felt like you missed out on anything.

you were trained to be a soldier since practically diapers. the rebellion against the reestablishment was prominent during its early years, so your father ensured you could defend yourself properly if the worse were to come. with your agility and stealth, you were recruited to be a spy for them, infiltrating other bases and spying on the rebellion.

your father now works closely with supreme commander anderson at the capital, but you’ve designated yourself to sector 45, along with warner. he recognized your talent the moment he met you and employed you to his sector. that was how it became your current home.

your father was more than thrilled you impressed the commander’s son, telling you it was important to have their favor. ever since, he’d push the idea of you two, repeating that if you played your cards right, you could become the future supreme commander’s wife.

you felt nauseous at the idea. you would never want to be a second in command helping run a country, much less marry the person who does.

“hey! warner’s calling you into his office.” a voice called out to you.

you snapped out of your daydream, remembering your current location. you stood in the training room, gloves on, practicing your punches onto one of the many punching bags. you tended to zone as as you got more into your workout.

you turned around to face the soldier who had come in for the purpose of recalling a message, “thank you, tell him i will be there immediately.” he gave a curt nod and headed out.

you sighed, you were sure you were about to be sent on another mission to gather data. and normally, you would’ve been up for it, dying to put your skills to use. but lately, it seems the passion has disappeared. it was getting too repetitive for your liking, and you feared the rest of your life would play out the same.

you gathered your belongings, stuffing your water bottle and gloves back into your gym bag, and replaced your sweaty black shirt with a plain gray one.

you procrastinated as much as possible on the way to warner’s office. you are in no rush to head back out into the field or hear warners endless instructions on the mission. for once, you envied the low ranked soldiers. warner never expected much of them, so they were often overlooked and free to do as (possibly) pleased. you were expected to be no less than perfect.

you took a deep breath before knocking on the office door. once warner granted permission, you entered the room, and the first thing you noticed was another person was already there — one you recognized to be one of warner's many men, kenji kishimoto.

‘this is already off to a bad start,’ you told yourself. kenji was fairly new to the unit, joining a bit over a year ago. you never saw him much because of how busy you are, but due to his poor performance, warner had assigned you to train him for a week.

it hadn’t been your first time training a soldier, so you were prepared to follow a routine and help him get the hang of basics. but you quickly learned kenji was going to be a pain in your ass.

first, he was half an hour late to your training, wasting time you could’ve used for your own personal agenda. then, when he showed up, he acted nonchalantly about it. you decided to brush it off and just get the training over with than argue and waste more time. but as training commenced, he started acting condescending towards you. asking if you were sure what you were doing and whether you were the most qualified person to be instructing him. again, you ignored him and remained professional — trying your best to just finish off the lesson without any hassle.

the final straw for you came when you asked him to throw a punch to examine his form and offer critiques. to this responded, “are you sure about that? wouldn’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.” he said haughtily. you just about had it by then.

in a quick movement, you threw a punch to his face, twisted his arm, and flipped him onto the mats. “sorry, did i hurt you sweetheart?” you asked in a condescendingly sweet tone. all kenji does is groan in response.

after, you just stormed off and informed warner he would no longer be in charge of his training. you offered him no explanation and simply walked out of his office. if you hadn’t been so upset, you would’ve slapped yourself for being so careless in front of the commander's son. but fortunate to you, warner had no objections and simply tasked someone else to teach kenji.

however, that wasn’t even the end of your meeting. despite you bruising his face, kenji started to follow you like a puppy. you suddenly would run into him at least once a day. you swore he had to be somehow following you, and pretending it was a coincidence the two of you ran into each other. despite your expertise in the art of spying, you were never able to catch him in the act. you could sometimes feel a pair of eyes on you, but when you turned around, there was no one there.

you told him many times to leave you alone, but that only seemed to intrigue him more. he went from condescending to flirting with you. you weren’t sure which one was worse. you were starting to think the latter because of his awful pickup lines.

“do you have a name, or can i just call you mine?”

“oh god, i’m gonna throw up.”

“i’m going for a walk, would you mind holding my hand?”

“if you get your hand near me, it’s getting cut off.”

“i love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“do you travel through time? because i’ve pictured you in my future.”

“you’re not going to have a future, if you utter another word.”

“let me be the flynn rider to your rapunzel.”

“one, shut up. two, who are they?”

“what! you don’t know the amazing film that is tangled?”

“never mind, forget, i asked..”

no matter your reply, he never seems to get the hint. no, scratch that, he definitely got the hint he just simply did not care. this guy could be hit with a tank, and you were convinced he’d still have some stupid line to say to you.

back to your current predicament, you were unsure why warner would call for kenji as well. you were hoping they were just finishing up a conversation, and you happened to be a bit early. which you kinda doubted because you had taken as long as you possibly could to get to this room.

you walked up to warner’s desk, “you called for me sir?” you questioned. the sooner you got your task, the sooner you can get away from the man next to you.

kenji turns his attention toward you, unfortunately for you, “hey gorgeous, funny seeing you around here.” he says with a stupid smirk accompanying.

“not really.” you spoke bluntly.

before he can speak any more, dumb words, warner clears his throat indicating he is about to speak. “yes i did, and as you can see, i also called kishimoto here because I wanted to speak to the both of you.”

oh no. you weren’t liking where this was going so far, especially since this is an issue needing both of your presence in the room. you prayed he wasn’t about to assign you to train with kenji again. you lucked out last time, but there is no way you would be able to again decline in a way that wouldn’t defy warner. you remained stoic and nod to his words, waiting in suspense for his instructions.

“oh please go on, i’m intrigued.” kenji inquires. warner pays no mind him, nice to see you’re not the only one who does that.

“the reason for that is, i am in need of both of you for a mission in favor of the reestablishment.” he explains, folding his hands together neatly on his wooden desk.

technically, your prayer was granted; you didn’t need to train kenji. no, instead you had to go & work with him on a mission. ‘that’s why they say be careful what you wish for.’

you couldn’t protest and say absolutely not, or you just look like a child throwing a tantrum. it took a good portion of your self-control to keep that apathetic look on your face. but even then, your left eye reflexively twitched in irritation.

“no disrespect to your order sir, but why is kishimoto needed? i can handle myself quite well if you didn’t already know.” you try to reason.

“are you that nervous to be with me?” kenji interrupts smugly. you can’t help but stomp on his foot, even if it is a bit childish, your face neutral, not even sparring a look his way.

kenji yelps in pain, but still remarks, “nice to see your love language has switched from verbal threats to physical violence.”

warner, unbothered by your actions, replies, “i’m well aware of your capabilities l/n. but this task is a bit more dire than your usual requests. i’d prefer if you had a helping hand. plus, kishimoto still needs practice in the field and there’s no better example to follow than you.”

“thank you sir, for the compliment, but-“

“is that an objection to an order, l/n?” warner challenged you, raising a brow. you knew that was the end of it. as much as you didn’t like kenji, it wasn’t an issue worth being on warner’s bad side for.

“no,” you stated defensively, “of course not, sir, i am ready to serve the reestablishment as needed,” you restate your loyalty, but these days it felt like empty words.

“i, for one, have no issue with this request sir. i’m more than willingly to go along with y/n on this secret mission.” kenji proclaims with a gleeful smile.

“great, because the both of you will be departing tomorrow morning.” warner informed, leaning back into his seat. “that will be all,” he dismissed with a wave of a hand.

kenji and you both respectively nodded and turned your backs to walk away and exit his office. once you’re in the hall, your cool demeanor vanquishes and is replaced with a distasteful look. you simply couldn’t believe this was happening. you got partnered with the guy who you heard already had 19 demerits. surely, the world was punishing you.

opposite to you, kenji stood there with a sneaky smile, obviously enjoying how today’s events played out. it only annoyed you further.

“well, well, well,” he begins, “i guess we’ll be spending quite a bit of time with each other. you never know how long these missions take perhaps will be stuck teach with each other for a whole month. wouldn’t that just be exciting?” kenji teases, draping an arm over your tense shoulders.

you rolled your eyes and roughly pushed his arm off of you, “this operation is solely for professional purposes, kishimoto. we’ll be in and out then come back and relay information. then i go back to ignoring you.” you don’t bother to wait for a reply and start the walk to your living, quarters to prepare for your departure.

“i’ll grow on you eventually y/n!” he hollers at you as you venture further down the hall.

you dreaded the events to come the moment you opened your eyes to woke up.

a part of you had hoped your talk with warner yesterday had been a nightmare, but as soon as you saw your packed bag on your dresser, you knew it was your reality.

you hopped in the shower for a quick wash, braided your hair, and suited up in all black attire. you slip your bag over your shoulder and reluctantly walk out your room. from there, you made your way to the weaponry.

at the weaponry, you didn’t see kenji’s face; you had hope there was still a possibility he would not end up going along with you, and he would either be replaced, or you be left to your own devices. you started supplying weapons into your bags and filling the holsters strapped on your body.

“can’t believe you already started without me, angel.” you hear a voice announce from behind you.

you groaned, apparently, it was too much to ask to wish him away. he reminded you of a small insect that just refused to die no matter how many times you stepped on it with your foot.

he doesn’t miss a beat, moving to the spot next to you, “don’t sound too excited, or else i’d start to think you like me,” kenji playfully remarks.

you scoff, “only in your wildest dreams.”

“right you are.” you grimace at his reply.

“can you just hurry up? the sooner we set off the better.” you urge him.

he doesn’t deter from his smugness at your fierce attitude, “if you were so eager to be alone with me, you should’ve just told me, would’ve saved us a lot of trouble.”

you groaned, already sick of being around him. how were you supposed to do this for a day, or even more? “you have five minutes or swear to god i’m leaving without you.” you promised on your way out.

you made good of your word, and waited by the plane for approximately five minutes (you even counted down the seconds in your head). warner assigned a plane for the both of you, with its own pilot, to take you to your destination.

you wait until the last second before you board the small plane to inform the pilot to prepare for take off. not even a minute later, you hear the movement of footsteps rushing towards the vehicle. you try to conceal your look of disappointment when you see it, kenji coming toward you.

you step down the plane to coldly greet him, “you’re lucky you made it, i was prepared to about to leave without you,” you tell kenji seriously. “i suppose i can always just push you off the plane one we take off to rid of you,” you nonchalantly suggest.

he just laughs in response, thinking there’s no way you would actually take off without him, his laughter silences down when you offer no humor in your tone, nor your face. “you are just kidding right?”

you remain silent, and turn your back to board the plane.

“..right?” he calls at you, a hint of worry in his tone. the corner of your lip tugs up in amusement as you walk off.

“wow, this spy stuff is quite boring.” kenji complains aloud. “how are you ever entertained doing this on your own? thank goodness you have me around now. perhaps we can even be some sort of duo, we can even have a cool name - the terrific two? nah. the dangerous duo? eh. oh wait, i’ve got it! mr. and mrs. smith-“

“will you shut up!” you turn your head away to snap at him. you were ready to lose your mind with his absurd commentary for the past hour.

the two of you stationed yourselves on top of a tall building’s rooftop hiding from plain view & your target’s sight. your current target was a supreme commander of another country, one that had indirectly expressed his indifference toward warner, but remained loyal to reestablishment principles. warner believes it’s possible he may have a hidden agenda concerning the reestablishment, and just to be sure, he tasked you to report his activity.

your mission wasn’t anything complicated, the majority of it consisted of keeping vigilant watch and reporting anything of utter importance. the two of you used your binoculars to spy on the commander and his men from above. but you understood why warner had wanted someone to accompany you. there were almost 3 times as many men than what you were used to on your operations. but you weren’t going to admit this to the person next to you.

kenji nods, “you’re right we should skip the mindless comments and instead get to know each other. after all, i’d be real awkward if i didn’t even know fun facts about my future girlfriend,” he makes a hand gesture toward you at the end of his words.

“first off, never going to be your girlfriend. second, this isn’t a date; we’re on a stakeout collecting information.” you reiterate.

“come on,” kenji complains, “these guys have done nothing for the past 2 hours. the only criminal thing that is worth mentioning is that the commander does not pull off purple .”

you scoffed, annoyed, but you couldn’t say he was completely lying. it has been kind of a slow night. the commander stood by his post, watching the soldiers pack shipments meant for other countries & sectors, including sector 45. whenever the supreme commander would leave, either kenji or you would tail him, but it was also a dead end. he either needed to use the bathroom or go to his office to retrieve something. a part of you was starting to wonder why warner would think of this man as suspicious when he seemed as bland as the color beige. it was quite offensive to your spy expertise to be sent on such a mundane mission.

you sigh in defeat, “fine,” you turn to face kenji, “if it gets you to shut up. what do you wanna know?”

kenji places his hand over his chest, making a face of disbelief. “wow, i’ve finally done it, i’ve cracked you. it’s only a matter of time now before you actually start enjoying my presence like most of the female population.”

“i’m this close to pushing you off the ledge right now.” you exclaim, pinching your index and thumb very close as a demonstration.

“well, if we’re gonna be working together,”

he starts, ignoring your threat, “we’ve got to learn more about eachother - you know ,like the deep stuff.”

“the deep stuff?” you repeat suspiciously.

“yeah, like, what’s your favorite color?”

you turn away dramatically, “well, now you’ve just crossed the line,” you say in a light tone.

he shakes his head, “seriously, what’s your favorite color?”

“hm,” you ponder on it for a second before answering, “i like yellow.”

“yellow?” he repeats, unsure of whether to believe you. “you’re telling me, the spy who is always seen in all black’s favorite color is yellow?” he speaks as if the concept is foreign to him.

you roll your eyes for the millionth time tonight, “i wear all black because i’m working, not by personal choice. my wardrobe is actually full of colorful choices.” you admit.

kenji smirks, “so, what color are you wearing underne-“

“anyway,” your speak over him, cutting him off. “what’s your favorite color?” you ask to change focus.

“purple. and not like the purple that supreme commander looks horrendous in,” you hold back a smile at the insult, “more like the shade of purple rapunzel’s dress is.”

you tilt your head, “who’s rapunzel, is she a friend of yours?”

his eyes narrow at you, “a friend of min- she’s only one of the greatest heroines in the disney film history!” he exclaims.

“what about your knee?”

“you can’t be serious-“

that was when you heard it, voices speaking in rushed and commanding tones, getting louder and louder to the point you were able to make out the words without your listening equipment. you recognized one of them - the supreme commander.

“shoot them!” he shouted at the soldiers.

you’d been spotted. and now they were going to start firing.

“kenji get down!”

“what-“

you didn’t wait for him to understand and instinctively jumped onto kenji’s body to bring him down to the ground and avoid him from getting shot.

due to your heroic act, you were unfortunately caught by a bullet and shot in your left arm. you’ve been shot before, but it didn’t suck any less. luckily, the adrenaline coursing through you helped subdue the pain for now, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you were withering in discomfort.

“shit!” kenji cursed in reaction to the many gunshots shooting at you both. you both are currently protected by the small four feet ledge from the building you were grounded on.

“how did they even spot us?“ kenji hollers so you could him him over the flux of bullets.

“i don’t know, but there’s no time for explanations. this ledge won’t protect us for long we have to find a way out of here without being noticed.“

you had a lurking suspicion the commander was given a heads-up on the arrival of two spies. however, it wasn’t a time to investigate that.

kenji began to move from beneath you so he could somewhat sit himself up, still avoiding being hit. his movement caused you to unintentionally hiss in pain when he rubbed against your injured arm; that is when kenji took notice of your wound.

he gently grabbed it for further inspection, blood oozing from the hole of the bullet plunged into your arm. returns his gaze to you. his eyes showing worry, “you’re injured. why didn’t you say anything?” he questions you gently.

he then swiftly untucked his long sleeve shirt for machines and ripped a piece of it from the bottom. then he began to wrap it around your injury and tie it to give it pressure to lessen the bleeding.

“didn’t think there was time, you know, with hundreds of bullets coming our way.”

kenji rolls his eyes. you speak up again before he has a chance to counter, “ok, we seriously need to focus on our plan of action right now. we are way too outnumbered to strike back.”

kenjis nods and looks down in concentration of convincing a plan, and you do the same. you both could maneuver your way down towards the way you came in, but no doubt the commander's men have already begun to circle around the entire establishment. you both could sprint quick enough and jump onto the neighboring building, but it would require some climbing. and with your current left arm in bad shape, could be almost impossible for you to climb a building with one arm, no matter the skill acquired in your training.

do you have to make a decision quick, so you went with the most logical one. “kenji,” you call his attention, and he looks up from his spot, “i have a plan. but..you’re going to have to go without me.”

kenji’s face shifted from concern to confusion. “i don’t understand..”

you briefly explained the small plan you concocted, “with my with my injury , it’s clear i can’t do it. so, it’s better that you go on and-“

kenji doesn’t let you finish. “no. no. that’s not an option.” he protests.

“you have t-“

his hand is covering your mouth in a second, “it’s out of the question. don’t go saying that stupid shit again, got it?“ he sternly tells you, looking you in the eye intensely.

you’ve never had someone be so adamant about leaving you behind. if it had been anyone else with you, they would’ve up and left the moment you suggested it. a warm feeling tingled in your stomach at the thought to kenji caring about you so much.

you’re quite stunned at his assertiveness, so you nod quietly - which is highly out of character for you.

once he knows you understand, he removes his hand from your face, sighing as he does so. “i have a way for us to get out of here unnoticed and safely,” kenji admits. you pique up, intrigued by how he has a better solution, and motion for him to continue. “but you’re really going to have to trust me for this to work, ok?” he says more like a statement than a question.

“ok.” you agree.

while you may not have known kenji too long or even liked him much before tonight, he wasn’t incompetent, mostly, you had enough faith in him to believe he wouldn’t intentionally put you both in harm's way.

kenji takes a deep breath in, and you can tell to ease his nerves. it bubbles up your curiosity more. it must be something quite grand for him to be nervous to do. but then again, it had to be something quite out of the box if it weren’t a plan you could’ve conceived.

“i’m going to grab your hand, and then i’m gonna need you to do your best to not freak out.” kenji instructs carefully to you.

now you were getting anxious; what could possibly make you freak out? generally weren’t the type to scare easily, and you’re sure kenji knew this. but you truly had no other option unless you wanted to be stranded here. the sound of gunfire served over to reminder of your limited time.

you nod in confirmation and hold out your right hand in permission for him to grab. kenji takes a second before he latches his hand into yours.

for a moment, you’re confused. nothing seems to be happening. part of you thought he was going to continue with your plan, but forcibly drag you along with him. you turn your attention toward the other side to check if you were supposed to see something. but again, saw nothing of significance.

you begin to scowl, “kenji is this a joke-“

but when you turn to see kenji, no one is there. right away, you assume he left you and did everything prior as some twisted joke. you were ready to get angry, but then you felt the pressure on your palm. you were still holding his hand.

you looked around again and saw no sign of kenji besides his hand in yours. your confusion was deepening at this point, and you were beginning to think you passed out after being shot and were currently dreaming. you looked down at your interlocked hands, but you didn’t see your hands either. your eyes then moved over to your own body, but again - nothing.

you gasp, “what the hell?”

you instantly panic, not understanding what is happening. you move your body in the hope it would make it visible again, but failed. you try to free your hand from kenji’s, but he firmly keeps it gripped.

“hey, it’s alright, i’m here. calm down.” you hear kenji finally speak from next to you. you feel his thumb rub over the top of your hand in an attempt to soothe you.

you ignore him and attempt to make a list of possible nonsense that would explain the situation. “are we dead?”

“no! just invisible.” he states calmly as if the whole situation were normal. he stands up, forcing you to do the same. he begins to build up a run toward the side of the building. you can’t see either of your bodies, so you do your best to keep up without tripping.

“invisible?” you repeat, “how are we invisible?” it sounded ridiculous saying it aloud, but it was the only “reasonable” explanation for what was happening.

“uh, let’s just say i have a certain skill set.” he says in a rushed tone. you couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted to avoid answering or focus on the task at hand. maybe both.

“that doesn’t explain anything!” you say, waving your other arm around, although you both are unable to see it.

now having reached the side of the building you entered from, you see the ladder that led you both up. kenji wastes no time on stepping down first. you can’t see his movement but can feel yourself being tugged and the sound of his boots hitting the metal.

you follow, continuing to hold his hand as he leads you both down the ladder of the building. “as you mentioned over and over before, there’s no time for explanations. you just focus on getting down this ladder.”

you did as he said (for once) and continued stepping down, with one hand on the rail, in silence. for once in your life, you were speechless.

you both successfully evaded the commander and his soldiers. the invisibility had proven to be true because you walked past them like it was nothing, as they still shot to where they assumed the two of you were still positioned.

there were no words exchanged on the way back to the plane. kenji took the initiative to inform the pilot of your coordinates, so the two of you could be picked up. you felt foolish for being so unprofessional, but you finally evading the danger, your state of shock was brought back.

when the plane finally landed down, kenji had finally returned both of your visible states and then released your hand. you could feel the sweat on it from holding on so long, but you were still reeling in from events to notice or care.

both of you moved to board the plane.

if you hadn’t faced some blood loss and felt incredible fatigue, you would’ve hounded kenji for answers on your way back to sector 47. but as soon as you sat down on a seat, you were out like a light.

the next time you open your eyes, all you could see was white. the ceiling lights temporarily blinded you, making it hard to see your surroundings at first.

you groaned from disorientation and the blinding light. you turn to the sense of touch and understand you are lying on a bed. your vision settled, and you were able to vaguely recognize your surrounding. the long windows, medical supplies, other white-sheeted beds neighboring, faint smell of disinfectant — you were in the medical wing in sector 45.

you knew it was the infirmary from your sector because of the large indentation on the wall from a mishap of yours a few years prior, one of the few times you actually went to a trained nurse instead of mending to yourself. long story short, the nurses really should have de-weaponized you before attempting to wake you up after you’d passed out.

now knowing you were in a dangerous environment, you slowly began to sit up. you used one hand to stable yourself since the other was put into a cast. the aching you were trying to put off the whole mission came in full force.

you looked down at your attire; your first layers of clothes covered in grime and blood were removed. now you were only left in your black shorts and tank top.

not even a moment later, you hear the sounding of the your door opening.

“well finally you’re awake!” a voice says, “thought i’d need to wake you up with true love’s kiss.”

kenji walks up to your bedside, his sly smile never faltering until he takes a glance at your injured arm.

he peers down at your face. he takes a hand and moves a strand of hair behind your ear. your stomach warms at the feeling of his faint touch on the side of your face.

“i thought i’d lost you for a second there, sleeping beauty.” kenji says in a gentle tone.

another reference of his you didn’t understand, but you chose to focus on his other words instead.

you tilt your sore neck, which you regret, in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“you were asleep the whole flight, and when we landed, i tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t stir. i knew something was wrong. my assumption was proven correct because when i examined your arm, your blood loss was almost severe. after that, i just rushed to get here.” kenji explains, his tone a bit somber. you fight the urge to hold his hold and comfort him, then chide yourself for thinking so something so intimate involving kenji.

guess you probably should’ve checked your arm when you boarded the plane. somehow, your bloody arm had gone from the first to the last thing on your mind during the operation.

“and now your facing my dashingly handsome face.” he cockily adds in.

there it is. you don’t even snarkily counter back. for once, you just smile in response. you give in to your urges and grab onto his hand, giving it a soft squeeze, “thank you kenji. seriously, i know we started on the wrong foot, but i’m very grateful to you.” you say sincerely.

kenji squeezes your hand in return, “to be fair, you’re the one who’s made your distaste toward me very clear while all i did was confess my undying love to you.” he corrects with a pout. he places a hand over his heart in fake pain.

your mouth gapes, “what? you’re the one who not only showed up late, but acted like a total douche the first time we met.”

kenji laughs at this sheepishly, “yeah, about that..” he goes to rubs his hand on the side of his neck.

“what?” you question. “don’t leave me hanging.”

kenji laughs, “that first meeting, i wasn’t actually late.” he starts.

you shake your head, “yes you were. i waited there for almost half an hour.”

“i was there fifteen minutes early, waiting by the door. but then i saw you walk past me, not even sparing a glance, and go into the training room.” kenji confesses.

“then why were you so late?” you interrupt impatiently. you don’t remember seeing him there at all, and if he had been there, why didn’t he just go in straight after you instead of wasting your time.

“i’m getting there, angel.” kenji taps his index finger on the tip of your nose. you swat his hand and wait for him to go on.

“after you went in, i was stunned. truly. you were the most gorgeous being i’d ever seen, and you walked around like you didn’t even know it.”

you smack his arm at his dramatic flattery, “shut up, quit playing around and get to the point.”

“am i one to lie?” he asks rhetorically.

you give him a look. “alright, maybe, but it doesn’t make what i said any less true. you are beautiful, and anyone who hasn’t told you that is an idiot.”

you scoff, turning your head away from kenji. you rather him not see the rising redness on your cheeks.

luckily kenji continues without comment, “anyway, after i got a hold of myself, i thought, ‘how was a guy supposed to walk in and face this goddess of a person supposed to be his trainer.’ he can’t, so he does the classic guy move, ‘act indifferent to make yourself seem cooler in front of a girl.”

“so you acted like an asshole….on purpose….because you wanted to be cool in front of me?” you repeat slowly, making sure you understood his stupid plan.

“ok, i get it; it's not my best moment. trust me when i say i realized my mistake as soon as you started kicking my ass like it was nothing. but it actually made me like you more and even turned me on a bit-“

“ok, i think i got it!” you weren’t one to be so easily flushed, but it was hard not to when he was so blunt about affection toward you. even if it was vulgar.

“after that horrible first meeting, i had to get you to like me.” kenji explains, “so i did my best to use my attractiveness and charming persona to seduce you. but, damn, you wouldn’t even bat an eye at my attempts. that only made me wanna do it more.”

you cross your arms over your chest, “so what, you like me because i’m pretty and a challenge for you?” you ask with an aloof tone.

“maybe at the start, but now, everything about you has me captivated. your strength and resilience. the way people undermine you, but you don’t let it stop you from proving them wrong. how to most, you’re uptight and cold, but you actually care more than you’d want to admit. i admire that you want to be the best, but not for warner, for yourself.” your eyes begin to soften at kenji as he describes you so passionately. you didn’t realize observant of you he was.

kenji continues, “hell, even your stubbornness. though, you break my heart a little every time you reject one of my very well thought out pick up lin-“

you don’t wait to hear anymore. abruptly, you sit up and yank him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your eye level. you’re moving automatically as if in a trance, and your sturdy hand reaches the right side of his face. “shut up.” you say in a rushed whisper.

then you kiss him. you actually, willingly, lean in and collide your lips with kenji kishimoto. you like it very much too. and there is no better feeling than the way his lips on yours make your heart race and body buzz with warmth and exhilaration.

everything happened so quick, kenji was frozen in his spot for a good moment - his eyes so wide they could’ve popped out. then, he smoothly regained composure. his face relaxed, now having a giddy grin into the kiss, and slid a hand to the back of your neck, under your hair, to hold you closer.

even though the kiss was a heat-of-the-moment decision, the kiss itself wasn’t heated nor rushed. no, it was almost the exact opposite. your lips were tenderly pressed together, heads titled opposite directions so you fit together in sync.

you move your touch to his covered chest, gripping his plain fitted shirt for dear life, a way to remind yourself that this was all very real.

you’re the first to pull away; part of you already longing for his touch as you did. you felt dizzy, not in a loss of blood way, but in a weightless feeling way. you couldn’t stop the silly smile etched on your face, nor the flushed look that was likely written all over your face. you couldn’t even find yourself caring about it.

kenji’s appearance isn’t much different from yours, but his smile is crooked and screams more of satisfaction and a bit of cockiness. “told you i’d eventually win you over.”

you chuckle and lightly punch kenji’s bicep, shaking your head, “tell anyone, and i’ll deny it.” you threaten in jest.

you tap your lips with your index finger and look up in mock contemplation, “hm. maybe if you explain how you turned us invisible back there i’ll think about a date.” you remind him. you were still owed a great explanation.

kenji grins, “is that all it takes? well, then, i’ve got a hell of a story for you.”

special thank you to @butterflyreads for being so patient and liking my works, hope you enjoy this one <3

#kenji kishimoto #kenji kishimoto x reader #kenji kishimoto x female reader #kenji kishimoto imagine #shatter me #shatter me fanfic #aaron warner #juliette ferrars #x female reader #reader imagine #reader insert

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olivia091108 · 7 months

Text

Crimson

Summary:bam gets his heartagram tattoo done

Word count:1.8k

Pairing:bam margera x reader

I have just finished checking out my last client and it has gone quicker than I thought so maybe today I’ll actually be able to go out and meet some of my friends.

I walk into the back room to say goodbye and grab my things when I heard Holly shout my name in a hurry, I turn around and face her

“Everything alright”

“ I’ve just thrown up in the bathroom can you take my last customer I feel awful please”

After thinking it through, I can’t really say no if she feels ill, “ alright, hope you feel better”

“Thank you so much. I totally owe you one”

From behind me I hear ruby “girl she is so faking I heard her in the bathroom, talking to one of her friends and they’re gonna go to a club because apparently some famous dudes are there”

“ You’re kidding, at least I can still hang out with you though”

“About that I did overtime yesterday, so I get to finish early today. So here’s the keys lock up as soon as you’re done and maybe you’re still have time to meet your friends.”

“Do you mean I’m here all by myself? What if there’s some creepy dude, an-“

“You’ll be fine, and if anything goes wrong, just call me love you”

“Love you too I call out to her as she leaves the shop”

I walk back over to my station and get my stuff set up and putting on another layer of my crimson lipstick and putting in my earphones, trying to pass the time

BAMS POV

Who into the tattoo parlour not seeing anyone so I ring the bell on the front desk. nothing. I try again. Nothing. maybe they’re in the back. I wander off to the back of the shop and see a girl facing away from me.

“Hello?”she doesn’t hear me so I tap her shoulder

YOUR POV

I feel someone grab my shoulder and without hesitating i scream so high I’m surprised the glass didn’t break and swung on whoever was behind me feeling my fist connect with a face.

As if something in my brain switched on, I realised that he is probably my client who I have now just punched in the face and his Crimson blood is dripping from his nose.

“I’m so sorry”

With the hand that isn’t holding his nose he pulls out my earphones and I realise I must’ve shouted in his face s this time I say it much quieter “I’m so sorry”

“Nah your’e fine at least you threw a good punch.” He tries to joke but I feel even worse I grab him some tissues to clean up the blood on his face, and then I realise how handsome he is with his dark, brown, almost black hair, piercing blue eyes, and has a small mole on his face.

“Umm well I’m y/n I’m gonna be doing your tattoo so if you can take a seat.”

“I’m bam”

“Have you gotten any tattoos before bam?”

“Yh a few”

“What were you thinking of getting today”

“A heartagram right here” he points to right above his dick.

The thought of being that close to his dock not just anyone’s but a VERY handsome man’s dick makes me feel a bit shy and awkward.

“Cool super cool” he laughs a bit at my awkwardness “yeah I thought so too”

He lays back on the recliner chair and pulls his top up revealing his torsos and while I was staring eh started to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans more showing off his prominent v line.

I quickly snap out of it and draw out a stencil and double check that he likes it. I try to get in a position where I don’t have to lay sideways to do the tattoo but no luck

“Sorry can I just”I squeeze between bams legs and he manspreads more to give me some space so now my face is inline with his dick. Usually in the position I wouldn’t be giving tattoos and he knows that as well since he has a coy smile on his face.

As I’m getting ready to tattoo him I start to make conversation to distract him from the tattoo.

“You doing anything fun this weekend”

“ Yeah actually after this meeting up with a few of my friends at a club and have some drinks but I’m only visiting for the weekend so I’m probably gonna look round and shit” I feel a tinsy bit jealous but continue with the tattoo

“What about you?”he asks staring down at me probably getting a great view down my cleavage but I’m not complaining he’s one of the hotties men I’ve ever seen.

“Well, I was planning to do the same, but the girl who was originally supposed to tattoo you felt ill, so I had to cover for her. And tomorrow, I’m meeting up with my friend bill. I haven’t seen him in awhile because his girlfriend has gotten pregnant.”

I hear my phone pain, but I’m doing a detailed part of the tattoo so I asked them to read it out. It’s not like I’ll be anything weird since I’m undeniably single

“William says sorry I can’t make it tomorrow. Chloe wants us to look for cribs and stuff maybe another time” my face does drop a bit,but just ignore it and focus on the tattoo

“So I get why bill is short for William and Bob for Robert, but how do you get dick from Richard?”He asks sound like it’s been frustrating him for awhile. And without thinking I reply “you ask him nicely”

He breaks into a fit of laughter and I quickly move the tattoo gun off him so it doesn’t mess up. “Your funny y/n”

Can you bring your jeans down a bit lower please?”I say feeling all the blood rush to my face. He shuffles them down even more almost seeing the start of his dick

“Anywhere you think I should see while visiting?”

“There’s a fair that seems quite good or you can go to the pier with you’re Girlfriend it might be a bit busy but there’s loads of stuff to do down there”

“I don’t have a girlfriend”

“Oh sorry, I just thought since you’re so handsome that you would have a girlfriend I’m sorry”I whip my hand over my mouth not meaning to say that

“It’s fine it ain’t a big deal”he assured me “wanna know a fun fact” “yeah sure”

“My dick was in the world book of records” my face flushed probably the same colour as my lipstick “oh wow um nice”

“Yeah but then the librarian told me to take it out” he stares down at me, watching me laugh at his joke, and when I look up, I catch him staring down my cleavage, and now he’s the one to blush

“So, where are you visiting from anyway?”

“West Chester, Pennsylvania”

Oh wow, I have a friend who lived on there. I visited her a couple times,and she tried to teach me to skate but I wasn’t very good but she said that there’s this really annoying famous man who lives down there and destroys things and plays his music so loud till like 5am. People like that are such jackass’

“Yeahh they definitely are”

“Your all done” he stands up to look in the body length mirror and stares at the tattoo. “That’s sick thanks how much do I owe”

“$160” he grabs a wad of cash all in 100s and gives me $200 and tells me to keep the change and leaves the shop

I check the time on my watch 10:34 too late. I start clearing my stuff away and making sure everything is switched off. I look in the mirror and see my lipstick has come off so I reapply before leaving the shop and locking it

I dont get too far until I hear my name being called and I hear bam calling my name. “Did you forget something”

“No I was just gonna see if you wanted to come out for a few drinks tonight.?”

“I really would but I’m so broke right now and I’m not really dressed for a club”

“You look great and it’s all on me” I look down at my outfit my denim skirt that some people would say is too short and my deep cut red top. It will do.

“Ok yeah that would be nice” we walk to the club and when we get there there’s a huge line and a billboard above saying JACKASS APPEARANCE this is probably where holly went too she lives jackass she’s always rambling

I walk to the bcak if the line to start queuing but bam takes my hand and we walk to the first of the line “bam what are you doing we can’t cut in” the bouncer just asks “who’s she?” “She’s with me” and just like that we’re in

“What the fuck hwo did you do that?

“I’m apart of jackass” as he says that I see all his friends come over

“Y/n this is Johnny, Steve o,wee man and Ryan”

“Hi it’s nice to meet you” we chat and have some drinks for a bit before they all separate and me and bam start doing shots and me being a lightweight I’m already drunk.

Over the speakers I hear hit in here by nelly playing. “Omg I love this song come dance with me” I didn’t really give him a choice as I dragged him to the dance floor and began to grind on him. Throughout the song we have been getting closer and closer so now our lips are almost touching.

I reach up and kiss him and pull away just as quick for a second I thought you read the signals wrong until bam pulls me back into the kiss and kisses me even harder and my arms wrap round his neck and I feel his arms snake round my waist. He bites onto my bottom lip which makes a moan slip out and he starts to kiss down my neck and soon enough finds my sweet spot and he nips at it and I already know that there will be a bright hickey tomorrow morning.

I move my head down and catch his lips into a kiss again but we disconnect when we feel a bright light on us and over the speakers we here johnnys voice “there he is he was too busy trying to get laid.”everyone laughs at that including me and in the bright light I can see that my lipstick is all over his face. I grab his hand and drag him out hearing whistles coming from behind.

“You might as well prove him right”

-liv

This acc took so long but I feel like I could have done better

#liv’s writing #bam margera imagine #bam margera x reader #viva la bam #jackass imagine #jackass x reader

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freddy-fazbears-wonderland · 2 months

Text

I just (almost) read the entirety of Happs and I see why people would consider it transphobic.

It just reeks of a trans story written by a transphobe.

Now, keep in mind that I am not a trans person myself. However, I noticed certain things you'll often find in transphobic stories.

And expect me to ramble. A lot.

Also, keep in mind that this is my interpretation of this story. This is what I got out of it.

Trigger warning because I will be talking about transphobia and suicide will be mentioned.

One of the first things I noticed is that it focuses a lot more on how it affects the people around the character as opposed to the character itself.

I'm guessing this is to guilt people who are trans or at the very least questioning their gender into not exploring their identity because the people around them might not accept it.

But to me, nothing is more selfish than expecting someone to fit the idea of them you have in your head. If anything, keeping these people around more often than not causes harm because while there may be genuine concern, they also tend to care a lot more about their own feelings and how it affects them as apposed to how you feel and how it affects you.

Hell, this isn't even an experience unique to trans or queer people. Even cishet folks have gone through the experience of finding themselves only for the people around them to not accept it and try to make them feel bad for changing.

In this story, Billy gets made fun of (though he doesn't care), his father leaves him because he can't have a normal son, and it takes a toll on his mother physically, emotionally and mentally until she ends her own life when he comes of age. There's probably more examples I didn’t list.

Another thing these kinds of stories tend to use is having said character transition into something inhuman, very like insinuating that if we this is what will happen when we become more accepting of people who simply want to change their gender identity. And that's bad because... *checks notes* it's weird.

Look, while I wouldn't call myself a radqueer, I tend not to give a shit about a person's identity a lot of the time.

Anyways, a very blatant example of this in media is in South Park. In the same episode where Mr. Garrison transitions into a woman, we get Kyle transitioning into a tall black boy in order to play basketball, and eventually, his dad transitions into into a dolphin because he always wanted to be a dolphin.

Of course, this doesn't work out for any of them because they're not really what they transitioned into. But Mr. Garrison keeps identifying as a woman for a while because they used his balls to make Kyle's kneecaps, and they exploded after he makes a slamdunk (or at the very least jumps).

While B-7 isn't as blatant as that South Park episode, I couldn't help but notice it as I read further and further. Especially when they start insinuating that he is mentally ill and needs to be sent to a ward.

The final point I will bring up which probably does ties into the last one has to do with trans surgeries.

As someone who used to be an anti-sjw, I know firsthand how transphobes try to make trans surgeries out to be horrible when it's really no different from any other surgery when you really think about it. Well, maybe aside from regulations, but that's due to a society that's still not accepting of trans people as opposed to the problem with the surgeries themselves.

They will go on about how irreversible it is and how it may lead to complications. But like I said before, this isn't unique to trans surgeries.

For example, choosing to donate your kidney is irreversible, and there will be complications, especially with the kidney you have left having to work overtime.

Hell, even the person you gave your kidney to is gonna deal with stuff because your kidney will still function like your kidney even if their body accepts it.

But anyway, Billy eventually decides to have his limbs cut off and replaced with prosthetics to be more like an animatronic. While he is questioned about this decision, he does ultimately get what he wants.

If only it was that easy for trans people irl... But from what I gather from trans people who have gone under the knife, they have fight tooth and nail to medically transition. Not to mention, the lack of regulations makes them more likely to run into complications.

The last thing I wanna go over is how Billy feels more like he wants to be a robot than an animatronic?

This has nothing to do with anything else. I just wanna ramble

Sure, animatronics are still a type of robot. But they tend to be used for entertainment purposes like portraying characters in film, games, and attractions.

The animatronics in FNaF do fit this definition. Regardless of whatever funky shit they have going on, they are still built as characters made to entertain people.

So, if they really wanted to sell us that Billy wanted to be an animatronic, it would make more sense for him to want to find a way to entertain people.

I feel like the plot point with him forgetting how to feel also doesn't make sense?

Because especially with this being tied to Security Breach, we know that the animatronics are fully sentient beings. But even if they weren't, they're still programmed to act like them.

I think it'd make a lot more sense for Billy to slowly turn into his Freddy Fazbear OC and start acting more and more like a fictional character.

Which reeks of one of the writers clearly not being familiar enough with FNaF but I guess this could also be another piece of transphobia since an argument transphobes like to use is that trans people will never truly understand what its like to be the gender they want to be.

I've wasted enough energy on this, so I'll end it here. Thanks for listening to my ramble if you even bothered. As you could probably tell, this is my least favorite story in any fnaf book.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #security breach #tales from the pizzaplex #b-7 #long post #tw transphobes #tw sui implied

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veronicaleighauthor · 8 months

Text

Levin and Kitty

Leo Tolstoy wrote the multi-faceted novel, “Anna Karenina” as somewhat of a cautionary tale. The romance between Anna and her lover Vronsky was ill-fated from the start, yet since the novel was published, the passion between the two has been glorified as “true love.” Somehow committing adultery and abandoning your spouse and child and living in exile with a lover is romantic. Anna Karenina refuses to give up her lover, despite her husband’s threats and eventual forgiveness. She leaves her husband and son behind and runs off to be with Vronsky. Her choice is not without its consequences. Anna is ostracized by society, whereas Vronsky is free to go where he pleases. Feeling isolated, she falls into a deep depression and when her love for him is no longer enough to live for, she throws herself in front of a train.

Though Anna Karenina’s storyline was true to life, I could never quite connect to it. I had sympathy and understanding for her, but it wasn’t what drew me in. There was another part of the novel that fascinated me.

Levin and Kitty.

Levin and Kitty play second-fiddle to Anna and Vronsky, however, it is their love that stands the test of time. While their romance is smiled upon by society, maybe considered boring” by the world’s standards, and has its ups and down, theirs embodies the notion of “true love” in its purest form.

Konstantin Levin had known the Shcherbatsky family since he was young and wanted nothing more than to be a member of it. Overtime he falls in love with the youngest Shcherbatsky daughter, Kitty, and though there is an age gap, contrasting religious beliefs and opposite temperaments, their differences complement each other. Unfortunately for Levin, Kitty’s head has been turned by the handsome and charming Alexei Vronsky…the same Vronsky who seduces Anna Karenina (he may be charming and good-looking, but I can’t stand Vronsky). Vronsky flirts with Kitty, leading her to believe that he feels more for her than what he really does. And Kitty, being young and naïve, fancies herself in love.

When Levin does work up the courage to propose to Kitty and she turns him down, he is devastated and retreats from society, secluding himself to his farm. Kitty expects a proposal from Vronsky and is confused when he pulls away and takes up with the married Anna Karenina. Her disappointment leads to sickness…heart sickness. She soon realizes that she had turned away a good and honest man, one that she could have had a future with.

Levin is determined to hate Kitty for refusing him, but his love for her won’t allow him. He comes to understand that perhaps he had not been the most dedicated suitor, distancing himself at times when he should have made his intentions clear.

Stiva, Levin’s friend, intervenes and does a little matchmaking, which leads to Levin and Kitty socializing once more. Through a game of letters, Levin relays his love to Kitty and proposes once more. This time Kitty accepts. However, the course of true love mirrors real life, as it does not run smooth for these two. Levin feels he must be honest with his future wife about the more sordid details of his past and shows Kitty his diary. Although upset, Kitty forgives him of his sins. On the day of the wedding, Levin gets cold feet and is about to call it off when Kitty convinces him that she loves him and wants to marry him. The wedding goes on without a hitch.

Levin and Kitty are generally happy, though their union isn’t perfect. Levin is used to a solitary life while Kitty wants to spend all of her time with him and is more social. Their love is put to the test when Levin learns that his brother is on his deathbed. He has no intention of bringing Kitty, but she insists and is a comfort when his brother passes away. Their struggles are rewarded with the birth of their firstborn son. Though frightened by the prospect of being a father, Levin falls in love with his child.

He has personal troubles, including an identity crisis. He struggles through his own bouts of depression and searches for the meaning of life. In the past he was a skeptic of God and of the Russian Orthodox Church. But he eventually makes peace with God and finds his own happy ending with his family.

Levin and Kitty’s romance best illustrates 1 Corinthians 13:4-8:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

It’s Levin and Kitty’s romance that gives me hope. It’s a love story of second chances – and that’s what we all need from time to time. A second chance.

#anna karenina #konstantin levin #kitty shcherbatsky #leo tolstoy #period drama #anti vronsky

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thessalian · 6 months

Text

Thess vs Minor Improvements

Okay, so the few bits of good news:

My stepfather fixed the sink. Apparently there's nothing I can do to stop it from doing that, and thankfully it's only likely to do that to any great degree once every few years. Maybe "it's been long enough that the shittily designed plumbing in this flat has been able to clog beyond redemption" will be enough of a wake-up call for my stepfather to get a bloody move on with actual renovations.

And then there's the job.

...No, okay, look, before I go on with the minor improvements, I have to say a thing. Yes, I know that this job is wearing me down and making me very unhappy. However, two things:

Unbelievable as it sounds, this is the best job I've ever had. It accommodates my medical issues, where others have literally fired me for being ill (yes, they were temp jobs, but the last time I checked, one day to recover from the fact that I could barely even walk because of the horrible chair they stuck me with and refused to even try to replace even when I told them it was causing me physical pain was not grounds for terminating a contract). There have been at least two jobs that have literally rendered me unable to work for varying spans of time, whether because migraine or back problems because of a shitty chair or RSI so bad I could barely move my hands. THIS IS THE BEST OF THEM. Meditate on that awhile.

There is no earthly way that I could find a job that would accommodate my disability in this economy. None. Not in this economy, not in this country. The push to get people back into the office means that getting to work from home would be next to impossible, and part-time? Forget it. I was lucky that this job valued me enough to accommodate me, and that took a literal year of fighting for it.

So no, I can't "just find another job". And even if I did, it would be worse. I can guarantee you that it would be worse. And the disability benefits in this country are nearly impossible to get, even harder to keep, and harder still to live on. This is the one place I have to vent, okay? Let me vent. Send me sympathy, or if you can't, at least don't skirt the edge of potential victim-blaming. None of this is my fault, and if "just finding another job" - and more to the point, finding a better job - were so fucking easy, we'd all be doing it, for one reason or another. I just have it a little harder than some because I need accommodations that almost no one is willing to give. Please, just let me fucking vent.

Anyway. On to the workplace. There is some questionable good news. After a lot of yelling at HR over email, they finally sent an actual guide on how to use the Timesheet system. However, it was not particularly comprehensive. It took a lot of fiddling to find out which of the many extraneous codes I wanted for submitting an overtime claim - apparently "Extra Hours Worked" ain't it, and you have to go through three pages of menu to find "Overtime", which actually does. So I have successfully submitted my claim for the overtime I did in October. Unfortunately, I can't submit my claims for August and September, because I've been paid for those months already and "Historical Data Cannot Be Edited". So basically all this faffing about has meant that I wasn't able to submit my overtime claim for those months. Scruffman is going to escalate this, because he agrees that I should not be denied the pay for the nearly fifty fucking hours I put in during those two months. I figure what'll happen is that I'll have to put those hours into random spots in November and make a note that those are carried over from August and September.

Though that might be hard, all things considered. See, I may end up having to put in yet more overtime, because again, "unexpected absences". I don't know what the fuck is going on with my colleagues in the office, but it's clearly some kind of absolute clustermolest. Also, the New One is following Temp's example and will not touch a piece of dictation that's over a minute long. This is just a theme now. I've told Scruffman that I won't be able to pull overtime until I'm feeling better, though, because I feel like absolute crap right now. Fibromyalgia and con crud have a lot to answer for.

...Gods, I hope this isn't the flu...

#Thess has a day job

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moonlight-tmd · 6 months

Note

do you have any aus that you'd like to share that we don't know? I don't want this to sound pushy, I just want something to read :']

hah nah it's fine! i do have some ideas i have not shared yet- mostly cuz i think it's way too unfitting for the franchise. So lemme get my list first;

There is the Cyberbeast AU, Warframe!Bumblebee AU, Civil!Blitzwing AU, Part-Insecticon!Bumblebee AU, Cons Are Good AU and apparently the Crack AU where everything is chaos.

Now there were few ideas i had but decided 'ya know what, nobody would want to read it anyway', it's mostly about Bumblebee cuz i love that gremlin but here you go!

-Sparkeater!Bumblebee AU: There is a disease of unknown origin on Cybertron called Sparkeater Disease which causes anybot to turn into a Sparkeated overtime. All of the cybertronians who were detected to have it were to be offlined for there is no actual cure for it- Bee has lived on the streets for his whole Sparklinghood, he is one of the bots that have the disease and avoided the extermination. Lucky for him, he found a way to delay the disease and make the hunger for Sparks ease- he needs to drink energon, a lot of it. When he goes to the boot camp he steals any energon there is, that's one of the reasons he got kicked out. When he enters the repair crew he masks it as it being a forging defect with his fuel lines- basically he's terminally ill. Ratchet takes the bait and provides him with emergency energon canteen bottle and gives him more energon. Whenever he starts feeling weak and is easily irritable, you know it's time for food. No one can know, or else it will be over for him. (Basically make him deadly and shove even more angst down his throat)

Now for the one-shot ideas that passes thru my mind:

-Bee as a God from another world, he doesn't have any powers outsite of his world so at one point the crew somehow ends up there and there is a rather cruel Demi-God that took over while Bee was absent. They have a duel and Bee is reavealed to be a God.

-Bee being a powerful creature from a different world- aka, the early version of Cyberbeast AU. Not much to say anout this.

-Bumblebee being an entertainer/host(ess) in a club after returning to Cybertron. Instead of going for the Elite Guard job after they save th Allspark, he goes into what he loved most- which is dressing up and performing. He basically owns a high-end club that's inspired by earth. (If you watch Helluva Boss then it's similar to Queen Bee's house, but dark with velvety colors. The name is "Honey Hive") (Blitz can possibly be one of the employees/entertainers as a form of rehab.)

-Bee having a twin sibbling but got separated with her when he got into Carequarters and them finding each other on earth. (her name would be "Mantis" i think, but that's more of an 'OC insert' territory)

-Bee with the ability to see ghosts. He was seemingly forged with it, maybe a gift from the Allspark. He sees ghosts everywhere but can't act on it with others around, he's had enough close calls when people thought he was crazy cuz he talked to himself. He never told anyone, he thinks he'll end up in psych ward or something. So it just comes and goes as a joke sometimes.

-Now the angsty one(BlitzBee mainly)- Somehow he ends up being so hurt and betrayed by his friends he joins the Decepticons and the 'cons win the war. The repair crew that fought them was supposed to be killed but they are left to be just a repair crew for unknown reason, oh and Sari takes Bee's spot now that she's techno-organic. Yes Prowl lives, nobody dies here. Years later, on Cybertron there needs to be a space brigde build and they go there and oops, now your boss is a revamped Bumblebee. Later is revealed that the building the space bridge it supposed to go is a new Carequarters. The team knows Bee is from Carequarters- anyway they go from not liking each other to being kinda friends again. The 'cons are not so bad at ruling over Cybertron anyway.

-Young Ratchet dating a Decepticon before the war, and them meeting again on earth when they're old. In this, the relationship with Arcee doesn't kick off for him. Again, an 'OC instert' thing.

-Bee was experimented on when he was little and was made a dormant killer machine- aka, the early version of Sparkeater!Bumblebee AU.

That's all for now, i don't think i will be doing much with the short-term ideas but the AU is interesting and i might do something with it. Feel free to ask about it.

#cyberbeast au #warframe!bumblebee au #civil!blitzwing au #part-insecticon!bumblebee au #cons are good au #crack au #tfa au #maccadam #tfa #ask box #sparkeater!bumblebee au

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nightmaretist · 7 months

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TIMING: Pre-goo PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: A bar that isn't the Wormhole SUMMARY: A drunk Emilio confronts Inge at a bar, asking if his mother really tried to kill her. A tense conversation follows that exposes both their weaknesses. CONTENT WARNINGS: Parental and child death, abuse, suicide ideation, terminal illness, alcoholism

Everything felt heavy. Everything had felt heavy since the van, since he found Ariadne stuffed in the back and let her out, since he waited for Rhett afterwards. The way his brother had looked at him was still fresh in Emilio’s mind, the anger and the disappointment. The way he’d called him soft, the way the word still made his heart pound and his palms sweat decades after it got him locked in the shed for twelve hours straight with whatever undead things his mother could find and nothing more than a wooden stake in his arsenal.

He wasn’t afraid of Rhett. He wasn’t afraid of Rhett because he wasn’t afraid of his mother, either, because he loved them and they loved him and it wasn’t their fault that he was like this, whatever like this meant. He wasn’t afraid of Rhett, but he couldn’t agree with him here. He wouldn’t stand back and let his brother hurt people who didn’t need hurting, even if that did earn him that look. Even if it did make him soft, even if soft was the worst thing he could possibly be.

But everything still felt heavy.

So he did what he always did when things felt wrong and bad, when he felt wrong and bad. He went to a goddamn bar.

The bartender was already eyeing him warily, and while Emilio didn’t remember any past experiences with the guy, he figured he must have had some. Too drunk to remember it, probably. It was a little funny. He was on his third glass of whiskey now, and still not numb enough. Maybe the fourth would fill the pit in his stomach, or the fifth. Maybe something would.

A familiar shiver crawled up his spine, and he glanced around. Something undead was… there. A familiar face. She’d recognized him, last time. Knew his mother, had a scar to prove it. He hadn’t known what she was until he’d seen her talking about dogs biting her online, but at that point, it wasn’t hard to guess. Undead, chased by dogs… Mare was a safe bet. Like Ariadne.

With less whiskey in his system, he probably would have just left. But he’d had just enough to be bold, so he picked up his glass and he crossed the bar on unsteady legs. He slid into the seat across from her, he propped his chin on his elbow. “Did my mom really try to kill you?”

—

Inge deeply enjoyed being undead for the most part. Downsides were hard to find, if you asked her, and the upsides were everywhere — from the way her body was frozen in time as others grew hunched and gray and wrinkled to her ability to cross the astral plane to wherever she wanted. But this, this inability to get properly intoxicated without spending copious amounts, was grating.

But she could manage, when she wanted to. So many of the glasses of wine consumed were sipped because of the taste, but there were times where she drank more. Where she wanted to feel like her mind was swimming, floating. Body lighter.

Sometimes when she drank, she’d cry. It wasn’t something Inge did often, but there were times where getting herself to a place of intoxication would open the floodgates and make the waterworks work overtime. Most of the time, she didn’t even know why she was crying — she just did. Dramatically weeping as she painted, sometimes faces from her past and sometimes the monsters Sanne had once conjured for her and sometimes just complete abstraction.

Tonight, she was in a sour mood. She wished for giddiness, excitement over the next semester and her upcoming art show — but something in her was swirling darkly. Inge had half a mind to return to the astral, where she had been spending a fair amount of her nights just moving around, removed from her earthly body that had gained yet another wound.

So here she was, glowering as she sipped from a vodka cranberry, the bandages around her arm bothering her. She wanted to be alone, and if not alone, to at least meet someone she could fuck without thinking about it.

In stead, there he was. The Cortez hunter. Hardly sober, from the way he stumbled towards her. Well, neither was she, mind slightly swimming in warm tipsiness. Inge’s muscles tensed, then her face turned into a wince because many things hurt when it came to the arm the zombie had taken a bite out of.

She hoped he didn’t think the wince was at his question, though it might as well have been with the way it made unease spread through her. “Tried to, yes.” Her good arm moved, pulling at the collar of her shirt, showing off the healed, fading scar. “Right there. She should’ve sharpened her fucking axe.” She drained her glass, gave him a look that could be one of annoyance. A defense mechanism to combat her feelings of worry. “So what, you want to try it as well?”

—

There was a scar at her throat. As she pulled her collar down, his eyes were drawn to it. He tried to imagine that he could tell what kind of blade was used, tried to pretend he could see it in his mind’s eye somewhere in his mother’s arsenal of weapons, but a scar was only a scar. He felt no more connection to his mother’s ghost through the scar on the mare’s throat than he did through the ones she’d put onto his own body.

Still, he stared. He traced it carefully with his eyes, the length of it. Did it look more like the one on his stomach, where Elena had slashed him when he was eight and too slow to avoid her blade in a training session? Or was it closer to the one on his chest she’d given him at thirteen, when he asked the wrong question at the wrong time in the wrong way?

Emilio had earned those scars, he knew. He wouldn’t have gotten them if he had been faster, or smarter, or better. But had this mare earned hers? Had Ariadne earned the mental torment Rhett had put her through? It was Emilio’s actions that had littered his body with scars from blades held by both strangers and people he’d loved, but neither Ariadne nor this mare could be blamed for their own deaths, for the way they’d died incorrectly. As a child, he’d believed the unnaturalness was something to be punished. But now? He hadn’t been sure of it in years. The uncertainty would damn him, he thought. The uncertainty and everything else that came with it.

She spoke, and his eyes darted up from her throat to her face, meeting hers carefully. She answered a question he hadn’t asked; it was an ax his mother had used when she’d tried to kill her. (She’d thrown one at him once, too. He still remembered the way it spun in the air, the way he’d ducked just in time. He’d felt the breeze of it as it passed, but she’d known he’d be quick enough, hadn’t she? She must have known.)

His eyes continued to study hers, the question she asked bouncing around in his chest. You want to try it as well? Did he? Was this his mother’s legacy, then? A scar on a stranger’s throat that looked so much like the ones Emilio sported given to him by the same hands? She drained her glass, and he followed suit. He pretended the burn of the whiskey in his throat still made him feel something, pretended it helped the way he’d always tried to convince himself it would. The numbness it provided wasn’t quite enough to fight off the tightness he felt. Nothing ever was.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a too-long pause, more honest than he usually was. “I don’t think so.” Was she hurting anyone? It was hard to say. Mares had always seemed less harmful to him than other undead. They caused damage, sure, but not usually the physical kind. For a man who had nightmares any time he closed his eyes, it was difficult to condemn a thing for causing them. The nightmares were there anyway. It wasn’t like a vampire, who drained you of blood that wouldn’t have spilled without their fangs breaking the skin. It wasn’t like a zombie, either, who would tear flesh off your body and swallow it whole. Mental anguish, to Emilio, was so much less tangible. He didn’t quite understand it.

Javier was bartending tonight. He came over, refilled Emilio’s glass with a dubious look. Don’t cause any trouble, the look warned. I can’t keep bailing you out of this shit. Emilio only grit his teeth in response. He didn’t know if he wanted to be bailed out. He didn’t know if he ever had. “When did it happen?” Why did it matter? What did the timing matter? What did anything? He didn’t know anymore. There was so much he didn’t know anymore.

—

The last time she had seen the other, it had been her who approached him. She had asked pressing questions, and even though she had hardly won that social interaction (as far was winning them went), she had at least felt a semblance of control. Now, however, Inge felt almost backed into a corner. Staring at those eyes that looked so familiar to the ones who’d looked at her with intention to kill as he admitted to not being sure whether he’d kill her or not.

That response elicited a laugh. It was a ridiculous answer, one that didn’t fit with her idea of what hunters were and what hunters did. Especially slayers. Either they moved to kill without any thought, or they just moved on, more pressed to kill other undead and thinking her not quite as harmless as those who consumed literal parts of others. Inge disagreed with the notion that somehow mares were less dangerous and harmless. What did bodily harm matter, in the long run? Wasn’t it terror, anxiety and trauma that undid people most? It was the memory of that zombie clenching her jaw around her arm that bothered her most, not the pain or the bandages.

The same went for the memory of Elena Cortez. The scar bothered her some days, but most days it was proof of survival, worn proudly like a pearl necklace. But the memory of it, that ice cold feeling of terror that came with thinking death was coming for you, finally and definitively, that had stuck with her. That was the mark on her soul, more than whatever damage her axe swinging (and missing) had done. That was why she was wary now, keeping herself at a distance from the other so he couldn’t move to grab her wrist to ground her. She wondered if he carried a bright light with him. Wondered if his admission of not knowing was just a game.

Everything was a game to her, until it wasn’t. This didn’t feel like it would be fun.

Never mind the fact that this man knew that Rhett, well enough to post a playful poll between himself and the other. His bright lights had caused a head ache to simmer for days, making her feel more weak and mortal than she had in years. Inge was tired of this place and its hunters. Was tired of feeling an emotion she had banished from herself. Even now she continued to tell herself she wasn’t afraid. She was uncomfortable. Healthily wary. Suspicious. Attempting to sound amused, demeaning, volatile. Trying to seem as if she wasn’t thinking about running away, disappearing into the astral with everyone around them there to witness a woman popping into nothingness.

“You don’t know,” she repeated, still sounding amused. But she wasn’t. She wanted a no or even a yes. Not a Cortez sitting across from her who seemed to still be making up his mind about her. “Grandiose. Do let me know when you’ve made up your mind, won’t you?” Her voice was bitter, biting. She wished she was a vampire or zombie, with the jaw-strength or teeth-sharpness to do damage with her mouth not just through words. All she had was imagination and stories, though. And she wasn’t keen on giving this man nightmares.

She gestured to the bartender to refill her own glass as well, saying that he could, “Add it to his tab,” as if she wanted to make him repay for something. Last time she’d bought his drink while accosting him, anyway. Seemed only fair. “Somewhere in the late nineties. You must’ve been a wee, annoying little teen, hm?” Inge took another sip from her drink. “Still young, mummy off to try and kill some big monsters. What a life.”

—

She was laughing, but there was something distinctly hollow to it, and Emilio couldn’t help but wonder if she was afraid of him. Years ago, he would have relished in the thought. Even months ago, he’d liked it more than he did lately. Being able to make other people afraid used to make him feel stronger than he was, like he was still good for something. And it was still the case, for some people. He couldn’t save his daughter, couldn’t bring her back, but he could terrify the monsters that had taken her from him. He could become the monster in someone else’s closet, and it would make him feel better for a little while. It would make him feel like he had some kind of power, even when he knew that he was only ever built to fall.

But lately, he couldn’t stop thinking about Ariadne. About the way she’d looked at him when he’d pulled open that van, about the fear in her eyes. It hadn’t made him feel powerful then, hadn’t made him feel strong. If anything, it made him nauseous. It sent him back to the street outside his apartment in Worm Row, to the vampire Zane had let him kill and to the words it had said before it died. I heard she was terrified. I heard she died screaming.

Being scary didn’t make him feel quite so proud anymore.

He’d long since stopped trying to use his past to excuse his present. Some of what he did was necessary, to be sure. Vampires and zombies and other undead things couldn’t exactly be punished within the laws of a system built by humans who didn’t know they existed at all. If you put a zombie in a jail cell, you’d have a hoard by the time the week was over. If you stuck a vampire in solitary confinement, it’d revert to a spawn and make a meal of the first guard who came too close. If you tried to lock up a mare in a prison built for beating hearts, it’d escape before morning. There were things that needed killing, and Emilio did that.

But there were things that didn’t need killing, and he killed those, too.

He didn’t have it in him to forgive anyone who’d been involved with that massacre in Mexico. He couldn’t let it go, even if some of the people involved regretted it, even if they turned over new leaves. Everyone there had to die. He didn’t even exclude himself from that number. But he knew that this mare had done nothing to earn his mother’s wrath. He knew that Elena hadn’t tried to kill her for some greater good, or even for vengeance. And he didn’t know how he felt about that, even now. Years after his mother was gone, Emilio still didn’t know how to think that she might have been wrong about something without the guilt crawling up the back of his throat and threatening to suffocate him. She was a good person. She had to have been a good person. He couldn’t conceptualize anything else.

The mare was talking, but she was using words Emilio didn’t understand and it was easy to tune her out for a moment. He didn’t know if he wanted to kill her or not, and there was something heavy about the not knowing that he didn’t want to share. Part of him wished she’d attack him and make the decision for him. Come at him with a knife, find him in his dreams, do something to make things black and white the way he liked for them to be. But she just sat there at the bar, just told Javi to put her drink on his tab. The bartender glanced to Emilio in question, and the detective shrugged. Do whatever, he thought, as if Javi might be able to read his mind. Just do whatever.

The bartender hesitated a moment longer before shooting Emilio one last look and leaving to tend to other customers, and Emilio stared at his glass. He wished he hadn’t come over here now, but he was too stubborn to leave. “Wasn’t a teenager,” he said, as if the clarification mattered. “In the nineties. Was born in 1989.” But that wasn’t all, was it? He wasn’t a teenager in the nineties, because to call him a teenager was to imply that he was something human and he wasn’t. He was a tool to be used, a knife in the holster of the same woman who’d left that scar on the mare’s throat. His own scars itched, as if recognizing one put on a stranger by the same hand that had birthed so many of them. Emilio swallowed more whiskey. “I was killing monsters, too. Wasn’t like she left me at home doing nothing.”

—

She wondered what kind of game this was. If he was trying to do what she had failed to last time, show up to try and unnerve and gain the upperhand. If he wanted to just impose his presence onto her, to let her know that he remembered her, that he could find her, that he could speak to her like this but that, perhaps, he could do something worse as well. Inge tried to figure out what motive lied underneath the way he sat here now, looked at her and spoke of the monsters he’d apparently been killing before he even was a teenager.

She also wondered if perhaps there was no game at all, which somehow was all the more disturbing. Here was a man who had been raised to kill what he called monsters, sitting across her from a bar and asking about his mommy while inebriated. It was human, to do such a thing — human in all its awkwardness. Maybe he was the way she tended to be when she’d drank too much, reflective and nostalgic upon a life marred with things like regret and shame. Maybe he wasn’t just here to flex his hunter muscles and make her wary of every movement he made, but just because there wasn’t really anyone else to talk to.

She’d prefer it if he’d whip out some kind of weapon almost, or if he’d inch closer, push her into a physical corner and let her smell the alcohol on his breath. Inge didn’t much care about expressions of the human condition, after all, not in herself and especially not in people she thought should be enemies. She wanted him to fuck off, to drown in his whiskey elsewhere.

Alas. He was there. She was putting her scars on display while she waited for another drink to be brought around. She continued eyeing him, waiting still for some kind of move of action. Maybe he is faking being inebriated, maybe he just wants you to let down your guard before striking, maybe he is playing you, lulling you into a sense of safety by annoying you only to take advantage of it. Inge felt her skin itch, covered her scar up again as she told her mind to behave, to stop circling around itself again and again and again, bringing up maybes and hypotheticals as if it was its hobby.

At last her drink came, and she was quick to take a sip before even bothering to respond. Inge wanted to quell those voices in her mind, who were no clamoring that she shouldn’t be drinking this much with a hunter across from you. Whatever. If he wanted to kill her, he surely wouldn’t do it at a bar where he seemed to know the staff. (Or maybe he knew the staff because he helped them with their undead problems.) (She was growing agitated now, with the way her mind kept tacking on maybes.)

“Oh, you look way older than that.” Spewing an insult was easy enough. “Like you were born in at least the mid-seventies.” This man wasn’t even forty yet? That seemed not entirely realistic. If she was feeling more playful, she’d ask him for ID to proof his supposed youth. She didn’t want to, though. It was ironic, though, that he was around the same age she’d been when she was immortalized in this body.

If anything, she thought she looked better. A mildly soothing thought.

She huffed. “Great. So mommy went off to kill ‘monsters’,” she said this using air quotes, ��And you stayed back to kill other, smaller ones? Born with a knife in your hand, huh? Yikes.” Inge didn’t pity hunters, especially those that clung to their ideologies. “Why’d you wanna know, anyway? She’s dead. I’m not. You’re not. So … what now? You’re gonna just sit here, or?” Why are you provoking him. She took another sip from her drink. “I know you know that Rhett guy. Is he here, somewhere?”

—

The silence was suffocating, but maybe it was supposed to be. The whole conversation, after all, was an unnatural thing. The two of them were designed to kill one another, built to rip each other to shreds until one or both of them were dead. They had scars given to them by the same long dead woman, but Emilio swore there was a difference between the thin white line on her throat and the ones crisscrossing every inch of his body. Couldn’t you tell just by looking that the scars his mother had left him with had been carved into him with love? Wasn’t there something about them that made it obvious that the intent behind them had never been to hurt, but to teach? They were lessons. They were supposed to be lessons. Didn’t that make them look different, somehow, than the one on the mare’s throat that had been just a stroke short of finishing the job?

She spoke, but somehow her words felt just as heavy as the silence they filled, like there was always going to be a weight here. Maybe neither of them could exist without it. Maybe things meant to kill one another could never exist in the same space without some kind of consequence. He thought of Ariadne, of Metzli, of Zane. Did it feel this way with all of them, too? Was it her still heart that made the silence heavy, or was it the fact that she’d known his mother? What was weighing them down, exactly — the silence, or the ghost that lurked beneath it?

He huffed a dry laugh at her comment. You look way older than that. He felt older than that, felt weary and world-worn. By human standards, 34 was young. A man at the start of his life, more than half of it stretching out in front of him. But for a hunter? He was already years past the expiration date, already older than he ever should have been. He was 34, but he felt 80. He felt old. He felt dead already.

“Wasn’t,” he said needlessly, the single word hanging from his tongue just as heavily as her statement had been. Maybe he seemed older than he was because he’d skipped childhood, been born half-grown. Hunters didn’t get to be children; he knew that better than anyone. He’d never been a child, and neither had Flora. Neither had Jaime or Victor or Rosa or Edgar or any of them. Had his mother, he wondered? It was almost laughable to ask. He knew the answer. He always had.

“Not smaller,” he replied, and he wasn’t sure why he was indulging her. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening his lips, or maybe he just wanted to say it, somehow. He was still trying to make sense of it himself, most days, and it was so much easier to unpack things by saying them aloud. “Not always. There aren’t… a lot of small undead things. Everything is big.” He smiled wryly. “Everything wants to kill you.” Plenty of his scars hadn’t come from Elena, after all. There were ones he’d earned during the time period they were discussing now, ones that had been carved into him in Wicked’s Rest. His leg was a mess of scar tissue, so much of it that there was barely any unmarred skin to speak of at all. Everything wanted to kill him but, so far, nothing had.

He still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

The comment about being born with a knife in his hand ached in a way he couldn’t put his finger on, so he didn’t acknowledge it. His grip tightened on his glass as she mentioned his mother being dead, the cup creaking threateningly until he forced himself to loosen it a little. “Not true,” he replied, voice a quiet mumble. “She’s dead, and so are you. So are we.” The mare’s heart wasn’t beating, and Emilio felt more like a ghost than a man.

And then, she mentioned Rhett, and he tensed. His heart was in his throat, and he tried to separate his brother from the man outside the van who’d looked so angry. “You’re the other mare,” he murmured, the realization settling in. “The one he… In the bunker.” He’d mentioned it, when he’d told Emilio about Ariadne. Emilio had forgotten it, almost, in all the stress of what came after. It was hard to forget it now, with the truth sitting so tangibly beside him. He felt a little sick. “He isn’t here. Not sure he wants to be around me.” Not sure I want to be around him, he added silently, though it felt too wrong to say aloud.

—

Indoctrination was an ugly thing, Inge understood that. She understood too, that plenty of hunters were pushed into their positions out of some twisted ideology that went back generations, that they were born into a role and grew into it — but that didn’t mean she had any patience for it. The way he spoke, sitting across from her as she felt that undeniable feeling of paranoia spread through her undead body, it made her feel not only sick in a way, but angry.

Everything wants to kill you, he said. Her eyes rolled, her body grew a little slack as a feeling of righteousness spread through her. Inge wasn’t innocent, had claimed some lives, though not more than five and never out of maliciousness or a desire to kill. She had little interest in death, after all! It was finite and dull, didn’t offer the opportunities that life did. There had been an accidental killing, in her earlier years as a mare, where she’d gone too far — but luckily her sleeper had remained dead, and not risen again. There had been defensive moves, where it had been her to deliver the final blow rather than the inexperienced hunter on her trail. But never out of maliciousness, never out of some ideology her parents had fed her, never just because.

And the Cortezes? Well, there was a reason they were a notorious slayer family. In the years she’s spent in Mexico, she’d heard that name aplenty and then, eventually, had come across one of the members of that family. How many people had Elena killed, before she had tried to kill Inge? How many more had followed? And more importantly right now, how many people had this Emilio killed? How much undead blood had he shed in Wicked’s Rest?

She wondered if she was next, still. He had not produced a weapon, just spoke the way a sad, old man might — which was probably why she had presumed him to be much older than he was. Inge felt no pity. She had been raised with prejudice, grown up in a time where it was all justified and normalized in the name of God and community. But she had let it go, had she not? She had grown past the beliefs her parents had held until they had died. And maybe it was different, because the ideals she was raised with were more widely challenged, but Inge didn’t care to see any kind of nuance when it came to hunters.

“Is that what she told you? That they’re always out to kill you?” Her eyebrows raised, her tone a little more certain as she continued on. “Because I’m not out there murdering people. Sure, I give some nightmares. Scare people. People get scared anyway, nightmares happen anyway.” At least the nightmares she gave were worthwhile, something of a different and higher level. “Some of them, sure. They kill. Plenty of them just consume what they need to remain alive, the same way every other soul on this planet does.” She gestured to his drink, took a sip of her own. She didn’t say that she found it hard to care, at this point, if her fellow undead did kill. Just because it wasn’t of her personal interest, didn’t mean she deeply disapproved, after all. To say that, was to step off the moral high horse she was enjoying.

She gave him a look, unimpressed. “You’re alive. I’m alive. Maybe not by the standards of … what, modern medicine? Or your mother’s opinions. Just because I don’t have a heartbeat, or don’t age, I’m not alive? I laugh and love and fuck and create, just as others do. I live, even as someone who’s undead. If you were to chop my head off, you’d be killing me. So.” Was that how they justified it? Did they not think it murder because the victim wasn’t alive by their standards. “Drop the edgy bullshit. You’re alive. “

Inge narrowed her eyes at the hunter. So they had talked about her. What had the other hunter told him? How she’d faded in and out of consciousness, for the first time in decades experiencing what it was like to not be awake? The way she’d spat up blood? The look on her face darkened, her anger not just that righteous kind, that could feel so good.

“Ah. You talk to him about it? Real nice.” Had he played any role in what had happened with Ariadne? Her gaze grew darker, somewhat venomous. She wanted to throttle him. “That’s really nice. What, did you have a nice catch-up about the murders and tortures you both did? So nice.” She let out a sound of amusement, but it sounded bitter. “Ah. Trouble in paradise?”

—

The thing was, Emilio knew that not every supernatural being was out to kill. It was why he’d shifted his morality after the massacre, why he’d become this person his own brother no longer recognized. Take out the guilty, and leave the ones who aren’t hurting anyone alone. You made more of a difference that way, saved more people. And wasn’t that what they were supposed to be doing? Wasn’t that the point of hunters?

(His mother would say no. He knew that. She’d talked a lot about their duty as hunters, but the reality of her views had always been clear. The point of hunters was to die. That was what his father had done, what Victor had done, what he was supposed to do. The fact that he hadn’t was probably just another thing she’d add to the list of ways he’d disappointed her if she were still alive.)

Still, even with the knowing, the paranoia still crept up his throat and stole the breath from his lungs. There were days where he swore everyone he passed on the street was planning on sticking a knife in his gut, days where even his neighbors seemed like people who were probably plotting against him. There were mornings where he sat in his apartment with a knife gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles ached, just waiting for some unknown force to come through the door and take him out. It consumed him, sometimes. Made his heart beat fast and his eyes dart to every empty corner in anticipation.

It was a stupid fear. Not just because it was irrational, but because Emilio didn’t really care if he died. Most days, he wanted it. But his heart beat too fast, anyway. His hand gripped that knife, anyway. He was angry anyway. He didn’t know how to stop, didn’t know how to swallow it or turn it into anything useful. All he could do was sit with it, wait for the wave to recede so he could try to get a gasp of air before the next one came crashing down on his head.

“I know you’re not,” he snapped, letting the anger warm him again. “Why do you think I haven’t finished the goddamn job?” It was saying too much, maybe. It was dangerously close to a confession, to laying the morality he tended to keep well-hidden among strangers on the table in front of someone who certainly wouldn’t mind if someone took his head off for it. A hunter with a heart was a dangerous thing to be. It put you on the wrong end of a lot of people. Supernatural beings who were all too happy to kill someone for the blood in their veins, regardless of their actions. Other hunters who saw anything less than indiscriminate killing as a betrayal of the code. Remnants of families who’d been close to the Cortezes who might want to protect the legacy of a family who’d once been a giant in the world of hunters.

Saying too much was like pouring blood into a shark tank and taking a swim, but Emilio was tired. Tired of her, of Rhett, of Teagan, of everyone who seemed to think they had a better idea of who Emilio ought to be than Emilio himself.

She pointed to the drink in his hand, and he hated the comparison. It wasn’t the same; she had to know that. Even if the nightmares she created to survive didn’t physically hurt anyone, they still had a negative effect on people. The only person Emilio hurt with his drinking was Emilio, and he thought he probably deserved it. He thought that might be the only thing he and the mare would ever agree about.

“You died,” he pointed out flatly. “In your sleep, fuck knows how long ago. Your heart doesn’t beat, you don’t have a pulse. You’re dead.” Even if he wasn’t sure of much else anymore, he was still certain of that. What was dead was dead, and what was alive was alive. There was no way around it, no way to deny it. She could say that drinking and laughing and fucking made her alive, but it didn’t. Emilio knew, because he did all of those things, too. He drank too much, he told jokes no one else thought were funny, he fucked anyone who’d give him a distraction from the shit in his head, and he still wasn’t alive in any kind of way that mattered. The best parts of both of them died somewhere else, some time ago.

She spoke about Rhett, and Emilio was torn between the old instinct to defend his brother and the harsh knowledge that he couldn’t. He didn’t agree with anything Rhett was doing anymore, couldn’t even bring himself to find his brother in the right for going after this mare. She’d given him nightmares, he told Emilio, and Emilio might have been able to excuse him killing her for that. He remembered the experiences he’d had with mares — too many now, if he was being honest. He knew the way it settled in your skull, left you strangled even if it wasn’t in a way that was physical. He didn’t know what Rhett had seen, but if it was comparable to Emilio’s experiences — Flora’s bloody corpse, Juliana’s sharp disappointment — he could understand wanting to kill someone for causing it.

But he couldn’t justify the methods. Emilio had partaken in torture, had done it plenty, but it seemed different here. He’d tortured vampires who had information he wanted, tortured ones who’d bragged to their undead friends about the bodies they’d left on a street in Mexico, and he didn’t regret that. But he wasn’t sure this was on the same level. If Rhett had just chopped the mare’s head off and called it a day, Emilio would have felt differently. But he hadn’t. The whole fucking problem was that he hadn’t.

“Something like that,” he said tightly, not sure which part he was responding to. He didn’t want to admit that she was right about the ‘trouble’ between Emilio and his brother, didn’t want to give her an inch lest she take a mile. He shouldn’t have come over here at all. He knew that now. It wasn’t doing anything for him, wasn’t even the kind of self destruction that might make him feel better for a moment. It only ached.

—

Why hadn’t he killed her yet? That question circled around her head on a loop, growing louder as he posed it himself. Since their initial meeting, that disastrous event in the Wormhole, she’d been tense with a kind of anticipation to see him again, looking even more like his mother while brandishing some kind of weapon. But he had not shown up, not until now, and all he brandished was the alcohol that he clung to like a lifeline. He hadn’t killed her, but what was stopping him from doing it, still? Was this not just a threat? Inge tilted up her head, a rejection of the worry in her body.

But she felt it still. She was exposed here, in this town. A woman who didn’t just walk into the traps laid for her, but was found in the quiet of the evening. It could not be coincidence, that he was here when she was. Even if he was too inebriated, perhaps, for a fight. He had found her and was speaking of not-killing her as if it was something graceful. A kindness. As if it wasn’t the bare minimum! As if they wouldn’t both be better off with him away from her. No, this was purposeful, driving her into a corner, reminding her that she could and would be found. That though he hadn’t killed her, he still might.

It was no comfort. It was manipulation. A slayer with a conscience was beyond her understanding, a slayer unwilling to kill someone like her was not something that could exist. Especially when his existence was so offensive, his face so familiar to one of those who had nearly ended her. Her scar itched, if it even could, and if it couldn’t, it was just a trick of the mind that she blamed him for, too. He was imposing on her, she thought, waving his presence in this town, in this bar, at this table in her face. Inge downed her drink, to drown the worry, but it lurched. You shouldn’t be drinking.

“I don’t know, you tell me. Why haven’t you? Are you waiting for the right moment? Will you follow me home after this, do it in some alley? In the bathroom, here? Will you wait for it to be day, so you have the upper hand, and I cannot evade you as easily? Why haven’t you? Because you trust me when I say that I don’t kill?” She let out another laugh, still not amused. This wasn’t funny — it was simply ludicrous. It was transparent. He was planning something, had to be. “And I should trust you when you say that you won’t kill me? I’m not so foolish and I don’t think you are, either. Or what, am I just supposed to believe you’re some kind of pacifist? Practicing a personal philosophy of live and let live? Don’t — don’t make me laugh.”

That was how she’d prefer to see it, though. Inge approached life in that way, most of the time, not invading people’s personal business and expecting them to do the same to her. She did what she had to to stay alive and so did others. Hunters, of course, they went against that — built their livelihood on attempting to chase down certain species, as if there wasn’t more to life. As if they didn’t have a choice in the matter, even. She and her fellow undead needed to consume to live, but hunters? Well, they could just walk away, could they not?

She threw her hands in the air, animated in her speech and movements as she tended to do when emotional. Because she was, her worry and paranoia bringing out anything that lived within her. “I died and came back. I died and yet I live. I have seen people die, and that is not what happened to me — we can argue about semantics forever, but the point remains! I am not dead, not the way the actual dead are.” Her mind returned to where it always did, at some point: Vera. Vera was dead. Vera had died, life seeping out of her as disease took over her entire body. Vera was still and stiff and not much more besides bones now, most likely. “To equate my state of being to the corpses in a morgue, to the people you and I have both presumably lost — that’s bullshit. Screw that.” It was offensive.

Inge felt herself grow more and more agitated, the image of Emilio and Rhett huddling together and smirking filling her mind. He refused to let up, just confirmed her words to be true even if he didn’t say which part, which to her meant it was all of it. And though he had said that the other hunter wasn’t here, her eyes still flicked around the bar, wide and white before landing back on the slayer. “Well, I hope you enjoyed his little stories, ‘cause that’s all he’s gonna get, yeah?”

She didn’t want to leave Wicked’s Rest, it was something she had realized and subsequently admitted to herself, but she felt cornered again, overrun by that instinct that she should go. Inge didn’t want to die, not the proper and definitive way. She didn’t want to die at the hands of this man or Rhett, or any other fucker that ran around this town making things more complicated for her kind. But if this entire interaction proved anything, it was that she wasn’t in any shape to fight a hunter — even verbally seemed to be losing the thread. “No follow-up, no second visits to his bunker, none of that shit, he just got lucky that one time.” She was convincing herself now, that she was not afraid. Not of continuation, of repercussion, of the man in front of her. She created fear, didn’t experience it. “I figure you’re better off without him anyway, what a sadist and boring prick. Jesus, like, get a life. Yeah? You and him both.”

—

There was something familiar about the way she spoke, though it was difficult to put his finger on it at first. Blame it on the alcohol thrumming through him, or on the grief that never left him, or on the confusing swirl of feelings that had been building stormclouds in his chest since the day he’d let that kid out of Rhett’s van. Blame it on whatever you like, but it still took him a moment to understand why her words and her tone all felt like some funhouse mirror version of things he’d heard before. When it clicked, he wanted to laugh, just a little. He wanted to point it out to her, even knowing she’d probably kill him for it. Maybe because he knew that. But it was a funny realization to come to, a painfully honest thing to think.

She reminded him of his mother.

Not what she was saying, but how she was saying it. The black and white way of it, the idea that people — hunters for her, undead for his mother — could only ever be one thing, that them being anything outside of it was preposterous and entirely unheard of. The paranoia, the certainty that he was going to kill her and was only biding his time as he waited for the perfect moment to do so… Wasn’t this how his mother had spoken of the undead in all the years she’d spent training him to fight them? It isn’t if, it’s when. Some of them are smart, you know. They’ll wait and kill you later. They’ll tell you pretty words first. But they will kill you. This family has no room for anyone who won’t kill them first. Do you understand? You kill them first, or you let them kill you and we’ll be better off.

He wondered, absently, if this meant that he needed to be worried about her killing him. It was a faint thought, one he viewed with more mild interest than legitimate fear. He’d stared down the barrel of many a gun with the same expression — not fear, but something else. Quiet anticipation, maybe. Faint desire, if he was being more honest. She might kill him. He might want her to. And that was kind of funny, too, wasn’t it?

Yeah, all right. He was drunk.

He waited until she was done speaking, half-listening to the unfamiliar familiarity in her words as he stared down into his glass of whiskey. When she finished, he shrugged. “Don’t trust anyone,” he admitted. “Watch the papers. No mare deaths in town lately. Doesn’t mean you’re not going out with a knife and cutting throats, I guess, but can always… go across that bridge later.” This was how he hunted, these days; he studied people. He found the ones who needed killing, and he killed them. And he left the rest alone, even if his mother’s voice in his head still made him feel like shit about it, sometimes. He knew he’d feel like shit if he listened to that voice, too, so what was the point of it?

“Not a pacifist.” That wasn’t a lie he’d even pretend he wanted to tell. He understood violence better than he understood anything, and she knew that. His mother had, too. That was why she’d done the things she’d done, hadn’t she? Not out of cruelty, but because it was the only thing Emilio understood. How else would she have taught him anything? “Just… Do what needs doing. And don’t do what doesn’t.” She wouldn’t believe it, he knew; had something undead said the same thing to his mother, Elena wouldn’t have believed it, either. But it was still a thing worth saying. For himself, maybe, if no one else.

He considered what she said, shrugging a shoulder. Dead was dead, Emilio thought. A corpse was a corpse, even when it had a voice to insist it was something more. A ghost was a ghost, even with a heartbeat. She’d died in her sleep. He’d died in Mexico. No amount of arguing would change any of that. “Think what you want to think, then. It doesn’t matter.” A dead thing that didn’t know it was dead was a thing that couldn’t be reasoned with. She was someone who couldn’t be reasoned with. Another way she was like Elena. He wondered if she knew.

She insisted Rhett would get nothing more from her and, privately, Emilio hoped she was right. He hoped his brother would… change the way he had changed, hoped they could rebuild this thing between them, but he didn’t think it was a realistic thing to hope for. Maybe the most realistic hope he could carry for Rhett was that he’d leave town and go someplace else, still be a problem, but be a problem far enough away that Emilio no longer had to be afraid of where his blade might land next. There was another option, he knew, a more realistic one, but the thought of burying his brother, even after everything, made his stomach tie itself into knots. Rhett was still the only family he had left. He still had to shoulder the burden of that.

But he found he didn’t have it in him to make excuses for him anymore. Not after the shit in the van, not after Ariadne. He loved Rhett. He did. But you could love someone with everything you had, and still recognize that they weren’t a good person. Emilio knew that. “Won’t tell him that,” he replied. “Figure everyone’s better off if he’s not thinking about you anymore.” Rhett never really moved on, but he got distracted. If he got distracted long enough, this mare would be in the clear even without Emilio begging his brother to make promises the way he had for Ariadne. He shifted as she continued, a sour taste in his mouth. I had a life, he wanted to say. I had one. And it was undead like you who took it from me. But it wasn’t fair to say, and it was more than he wanted to reveal, anyway. He shouldn’t have approached her. He should have just stayed away.

Throwing back the rest of his drink, he stood. “Alright. Hope I never see you again,” he said, and he meant it. For both their sakes, he meant it.

#same scars.#emilio.#threads.

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cheese-water · 8 months

Note

This is going to be chronological order OG only chronicle o tweets on Twitter or x or whatever the heck is up w/ that.

It is set in 1900s ish july. It mentions a ‘She’ im assuming is a therapist of some sort. The writer most likely is mentally ill or something and is told to write thoughts down to help.

Bro has trauma wtf when did this happen?? Glances, phrases, remarks, notes. Do not understand situation is better shown than told probably some type of trauma honestly. Family and dog: you know they are already fucking dead though, come on you know ain’t no way they survive this. Will not forget bad things bad things probably life changing is worst way possible or something.

J maybe therapist?? Then bizarre dream tf is up with this kids mind tho-?? AND IT MEANS CYCLE?? like timeloop cycle, history repeating cycle, which we talking about??

Oh yeah shitty manager. I’ve been analyzing these and I’ve read that at least 20 times. 20 times of a fictional character complaining about their fictional boss tf is my life?

Spoopi dream and oh hey same hall and doors each time and the other dream meant cycle that’s just lovely!1!!1

The XXXX might be Mary and Mary might be the actual expert/therapist person? It implies Mary is the one who suggested person to write(?)

“Why can’t I be in control of everything” DAMN WRITER OK RELATABLE K THATS FINE OK also please throw the vcr out the window especially if it’s more than a 1 story building, please.

Happy birthday :DD ayyy fucked ver of happy birthday that’s cooool and we trust J :] oh yeah shit work place for like the 5th time dear god

ok therory also summarize things:

Writer(which is going to be referred to as 0), most likely (knowing Ranboo) is traumatized, and is getting some form of therapy. His therapist (I HOPE IS) Mary suggested he should write his thought down to help. At first 0 hated it, but overtime it did help a lot. A friend J told 0 to write is absolutely obscure dreams down. 0 does as 0 trusts J quite a bit even lets J read the journal entries. J is into supernatural and “crazy” things (same) and tells 0 that 0(bro idk pronouns im sorry) is reliving things that 0 might have repressed or something possibly trauma. 0 works at a very bad place with a horrible manager. 2 more spooky dreams later and oh, 0 still complaining about job. Creepy birthday song and wow I’m done with thing more than a month long project. this was so long and a lot of stuff was very cut down omg I’m tired I’m going to sleep buh bye

-☁︎🪷

P.S hi started school uh yeah hope your doing well :]

We love J for actually listening to 0’s dreams. They’re a real one fr. That being said, knowing Ranboo, I’m fully expecting J to be the one who traumatized and/or killed 0’s family in the end. Another Hetch situation y’know? Really though, what friend would look at your dream journal and say, "Oh yeah, that’s prolly some repressed trauma for you," like? I’ve had my fair share of strange dreams, but my immediate thoughts don’t go to deep-rooted trauma (I wouldn’t know it’s literally repressed, I guess?).

*intermission for me to read the tweets since I found a good twit front end on github a few weeks back B)*

Oh… oh no. Here we go again. If I had a nickel for every time Ranboo created a character who had to write their thoughts in a journal to cope with their repressed traumas and memory issues, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. No, but really, this post solidified it for me:

The obvious is, "I dont think ill be forgetting those." Clearly, this is an important list of things to remember, and judging by the constant work reminders, Zero (I have to give them some sort of name) uses this journal as a way to help/cope with their forgetfulness and it’s been working so far.

What’s listed in the Good Things list is strange. Most notably the second one, "My dog." ???? My dog????? Who the hell in a supposedly personal journal doesn’t call their dog by their name? If it’s for the reader's sake, that doesn’t make sense either. It could’ve been a classic dog name (à la Spot, Rover, etc.) or, even better, have the name written after my dog: My dog Lola or My dog Winston. I may be overthinking this, but it’s such a strange detail to include with the introduction of Zero’s memory issues in the exact same post. Because all that implies is that Zero’s memory has already been degrading, with or without their knowledge.

Also, I'm not sure how or why we were even getting chronicle 0 in the first place. Is it like some sort of time paradox relating to Zero’s dreams? My best theory is that someone in 2023 (right now) found the journal and is literally chronicling/recording it online for others. This would explain the redacted words in the tweets, since they wouldn’t be if they were posted by Zero's thoughts themselves. And it gives new meaning to the random "?" posts. Maybe the page scanner couldn’t translate what was written down? Or was there nothing written there at all?

All I’m sure of is that whatever was on those "?" pages, those are the pages Jay has been writing on. Which quick aside, WTF JAY!? Why the hell are you writing in someone else’s therapy journal when you know they have memory problems? Who do you think Zero will assume wrote that down? Their nameless dog? NO ZERO MUST OF CAUSE ITS THEIRS. I don’t care if Zero trusts you because you're their childhood best friend or partner or whatever, but to me, you’re extremely misguided at best and suspicious and manipulative at worst. Anyway, assuming the "?" pages are Jay's, either their handwriting is less legible than Zero’s (or at least visually distinct enough that whoever’s tweeting these out can tell the difference from other pages or entries), or they’re some sort of drawing. Of what I’m not sure.

But back to the why: Someone found Zero’s journal and began posting pages of it because either they find it fascinating and unnerving (the reasonable solution) or (the flimsier, weirder solution) the account is the beginnings of an autobiographical journal-book about Zero if they actually did or experienced something notable in their future (for example, the style of Anne Frank’s journals). Imagine Showfall, or *insert Gen 0 capitalistic conglomerate here* publishing "The Story of Chronicle 0: How The Founder Found Their Way." It would be if Disney got ahold of Walt’s childhood diaries and sold them as a collector’s item. It’s so strange and wrong to do, but we all know it’d make bank. Plus, it feeds into the intrusive/changing perception theme from Gen 1 if Ranboo wants to continue that thread. Once again, grain of salt, spitballing, yadda yadda, this is getting interesting, and I haven’t even touched the dreams yet lmao.

#asker #genloss #chronicle 0 #long post #ty ty cloud lotus again #I just started school up as well so seeing this in my inbox made my week #hope you’re doing well too :D

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sleepymarmot · 9 months

Text

Phantom Thread (2017)

[Finally forcing myself to post the reviews of films I watched earlier this year. Saw this one on January 29th — almost exactly seven months ago! As usual, I also post the notes I took while watching, so scroll down a bit if you only want the review.]

Liveblog

The dress is pretty but it doesn’t sit well on her at all.

Damn that was quite a rude way to hit on a perfect stranger

Girl has no sense of self-preservation! What do you mean you get into the car of a customer you talked to for two minutes, after dark?!

Wow he put his fingers in the sauce, is that normal for rich British men or is that another creepy flirting method? That’s unhygienic, please use your own food for innuendo

Oh my god Cyril is immediately acting creepy also

“My job to give you some. (beat) If I choose to.” Dude lmao…

“You have the ideal shape. He likes a little belly.” Ok first of all, insane thing to say once again. Secondly, w h e r e

I like this dress even less. Weird skirt, looks uncomfortable.

Why did he bring his sister to their date

“How early?” “I’ll wake you.” …

The fabric conversation… Is this negging again or is he for real

I really thought Cyril would say “Maybe you’re being too fussy.” I guess Alma has not yet leveled up enough to get quoted verbatim

“But, please, don’t let her sit around waiting for you.” Ha, now Cyril is repeating Alma’s words without even knowing Does Cyril not drink from the kettle? That was kind of risky…

The wedding dress is ugly Oh, he said it himself, okay

Damn, all of these women have to work overtime because of this couple’s power plays

He went from “I want a divorce” to “We’re doing food poisoning based BDSM” awfully quickly

Wait where’s that text post about being poisoned by your wife... Was it inspired by this movie lol

Ok so we all agree Reynolds is autistic, with his routines and picky eating and misophonia

---

Review

How come Tumblr has never mentioned this one to me? Feels silly to say “where have you all been hiding this” about a Best Picture nominee from five years ago, but still. This is literally a romance between “ok first of all i didnt "miss" the red flags i looked them and thought yeah thats sexy” and “love my terrible wife […] when we eat dinner ill smile and say “poison again ?” and she will shrug mischievously but we both know it is very much poison”!

General notes

Set design, cinematography and lighting were beautiful. In our age of murky shots, it’s remarkable to see a film that’s never underlit — sometimes even the opposite. Wasn’t a fan of the grain, though; the flickering is hard on the eyes, and in the copy I watched it looked like a low quality rip instead of a warm nostalgic analogue look that I assume was intended. The sound side was as good as the visuals: this might be the first time I actually noticed the sound design, and the score was nothing less than what I expected of Jonny Greenwood.

I have mixed feelings about the costuming. Some of the dresses are beautiful… but the two most important ones, the very first dress we see and the very first dress made for Alma, didn’t fit the wearers’ silhouettes, and looked stiff and uncomfortable.

Some of the dialogue, mostly at the beginning, felt unnatural; not sure if that’s just me not being a native speaker, since nobody else had the same complaint.

I didn’t get “never cursed”. Was that a statement Reynolds secretly made about himself, or a lucky charm referring to the princess’ marriage? Why did Alma rip the label out? Why did she join the seamstresses in the first place — did she feel guilty that they got caught in the crossfire and had to work overtime because of her, or did she just want to inspect the dress? I also don’t understand why people seem to adore the New Year’s Eve scene.

Do you think Alma told the doctor the whole story, or just talked about their relationship but left out the poisonings? I think it would be unwise to tell that to anyone lest they call the police…

In the sections below, I am going to talk negatively about Reynolds a lot. So I want to clarify first: I do sympathize with Reynolds in many ways; I wouldn’t want a new person to get in the way of my habits, and I would be unhappy with the surprise dinner too. And that’s also exactly why I don’t invite strangers to live with me and interrupt my routines then get mad at them for that, you know…

Filing this one as “Movies I wouldn’t want to watch or discuss with my mother even though there’s zero sex and nudity on screen”. I don’t know which part would be more awkward, the Freudian subtext or everything else…

The omelette

I’ve recently acquired a bad habit of reading too much about movies before watching. In this case it was probably a good thing, though: without the spoilers, I doubt I would have seen this any time soon, or managed to sit through the first hour. Luckily, I didn’t know the key element of the omelette scene, and still managed to have a proper first time viewing experience as it slowly dawned on me that Reynolds was aware of everything and the poisoning was going to be consensual this time.

That scene, and the follow-up interactions between Alma and Reynolds in the cottage (excluding the daydreaming flash-forwards, which I have mixed feelings about), were, unsurprisingly, my favorite part of the film. Many reviews quote Alma’s monologue (which, as I realize now, I might have originally encountered in a joke screenshot with zero context) or the line Reynolds says in response, so I’ll highlight some other things. The contrast between how simple and ordinary their actions are on the surface (cooking, serving food, eating, talking at the table) and how wild the meaning of these actions is; the mix between a duel, a dance and a negotiation that mostly consists of extremely mundane movements. The intense eye contact, the “I know that you know that I know”. How Alma put too much butter in his food and poured water too loudly for too long, and he accepted it without complaint but with the same calm and clarity as the poison. How they look genuinely happy, in love, and on the same page for the first time in the entire film. How easily he says “I love you”.

The omelette discourse

…And now that I’ve documented my immediate positive emotional response, it’s time for some overthinking and complaining. Perhaps everything I say below can be dismissed by saying “they’re both awful and deserve each other, that’s the point haha”, but that’s not a mode my brain can stay in for long. So please bear with me, or just skip this section.

Because no matter how exciting and cathartic that ending is, I can’t help but ask: what next? Is this experience going to let Reynolds finally grow out of his cycle of childlike helplessness and patriarchal despotism, instead of solidifying it? What are we supposed to infer — that the poisonings are going to be a regular occurrence from now on, or that they will become unneeded as Reynolds gradually mellows out? (The former would, realistically, have diminishing returns and practical complications like “people are going to start asking questions”, and the latter kind of goes against the celebratory kink-positive tone of the film’s grand finale.) Are we to believe that Alma’s poison is an antidote to Reynolds’s toxic masculinity, and that the more he submits to Alma the more he can tolerate her when things go back to normal, until the two of them grow to exist harmoniously?

I guess there is some evidence of that process already beginning. When Reynolds bounces back after the first poisoning, he’s slightly less mean to Alma than before the marriage. Alma’s poisoning is also less destructive the second time: consent, no collateral damage, not on the eve of an important deadline, she agrees to call the doctor.

I think the film wants the viewer to think that by the end, Reynolds and Alma’s mutual toxicity cancels itself out, and they manage to reach a harmonious equilibrium. That might be true of the first poisoning, where Alma retaliates against Reynolds’s abuse with some of her own. At the mid-point of the film, their vileness is pretty evenly matched. After that first poisoning, there’s a brief honeymoon period. Then Reynolds goes back to berating Alma, disregarding her feelings, and being dissatisfied with her presence in his life… And in response to Reynolds making her feel unloved, Alma does something that makes Reynolds feel loved. In the end, the score is still in Reynolds’s favor instead of being even. Even in Alma’s daydreams of their happily ever after, the closing monologue of the film, there is no mention of Reynolds changing to accommodate her, only of Alma changing to accommodate him: “I am older and I see things differently, and I finally understand you.”

Perhaps here the story structure and the balance of power between the characters are in conflict; it makes sense to end the film on the strong scene that changes the relationship in a major way — but that means the viewer doesn’t get to know if that change leads to improvement. We never learn if Reynolds eventually becomes a better partner; we only know that Alma is committed to him either way.

No matter how satisfying the couple’s new arrangement is to watch, I don’t see how it would help with the actual problems in their relationship. They are at different stages of life, and that exacerbates the natural differences between their temperaments. Reynolds doesn’t respect Alma as an equal; he insults her and allows others to insult her to his face. He has immense power and privilege over her socially and materially. He has a career that he loves and a devoted sister, but she has no life outside of him — no friends, family, interests, hobbies, income, etc. — and it’s hard to tell if it’s sexist writing, intended characterization, or both.

How is any of that going to be helped by them growing closer emotionally? You two found a love language you have in common and unlocked a new level of intimacy and mutual understanding, congratulations! Is it going to broaden Alma’s horizons and opportunities? Is it going to give Reynolds more progressive views and social awareness, enough to at least defend the honor of his lower class wife? Is he going to stop being emotionally abusive because he is emotionally fulfilled?

This would imply that Reynolds behaves the way he does simply because he is too high-strung and he just needs to take a chill pill. That the problems in their relationship can be reduced to him being a control freak, and once he gets accustomed to giving up control and learns to enjoy it, and then he’ll be a good partner. Sorry, but it’s hard for me to believe that one can tame, let alone fix someone by domming them.

The film seems to attempt a subversion of the patriarchal, hierarchical “artist/muse” “upper class/working class” “man/woman” power dynamics. But the characters do not dismantle that existing power imbalance: instead, they build something new and mutually satisfying on top of it. The film intentionally avoids the feminist wish fulfillment route: Alma doesn’t liberate herself, and she doesn’t even want to. It’s a fairy tale where the Beast doesn’t really become a better person, so the Beauty becomes a worse one to “match” him… but she’s still locked inside his castle. Alma doesn’t abandon the role of a muse, only adds another traditionally feminine role to it: mother. As Feminist Frequency’s review puts it, “Traditional, restrictive gender roles are not escaped; one set is just briefly swapped out for another.” Related: it might be just a consequence of Reynolds’s chosen trade, but the people Alma walks over in her bids for his attention are always women (Barbara Rose, the seamstresses).

Speaking of motherhood… What happens when the woman who likes to treat her husband like a baby gets a real baby? How does she split her time between them? Does she end up neglecting one of them, does that make Reynolds jealous or more abusive? Or will he by that time have gone through enough personal growth to be actually fit for fatherhood? An interview with an expert on Alma’s specific brand of abuse asks an even more worrying question: “I also wondered about the baby at the end, because those who engage in the behavior are likely to do it [again] when similar situations arise. So as the baby gains skills of emancipation, would Alma be equally threatened by that? I saw the baby and thought: Oh no, it may be at risk.”

Perhaps I am being overly cynical and uncharitable here because of who made the film. When an artist with a history of being cruel to his girlfriend writes a story about an artist being cruel to his girlfriend, and makes the fictional girlfriend abusive too, how can I not question it? This film was already very awkward to approach and enjoy as a fan of Fiona Apple, even regardless of its content.

The relationship development

Another thing that didn’t work very well for me in the final sequence is something that also applies to the other parts of the film: the internal logic of the couple’s relationship development. Reynolds goes from “This was a mistake, I can’t live like this, I want a divorce” to “Intoxicate me now 😏 With your lovin’ now 😍 I think I’m ready now 😳” in the space of one cut. These scenes are directly adjacent with no development between them. It makes sense from Alma’s perspective (“what an asshole he’s being, he needs to be poisoned ASAP”), but not from Reynolds’s.

On Alma’s side, though, there’s also a bit of weirdness: Alma to Reynolds: Don’t worry babe you’re not gonna die, I’ll take care of you <3 Alma to the doctor: If he died that’d be fine by me, we’d just meet in the afterlife ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I really can’t tell how I am supposed to take this, and which of the men she was lying to!

But let’s go back to the beginning of the film. Throughout the initial phase of the relationship, I was sure that Reynolds chose playful bullying as his flirting tactic consciously, but later in the film he showed so little self-awareness that I started to suspect he thought that was a normal way to show interest in a girl you just met. Either way, I was surprised that the way he condescended to her changed considerably when the seduction was over, though in retrospect it makes sense. On Alma’s side, there was a similar shift: she was far more welcoming of his insulting methods of flirting than I would expect from a self-respecting adult with a strong personality, and started rebelling when they settled into domesticity. Perhaps the domineering attitude of a handsome stranger showering her with attention was exciting at first, but when their relationship became routine, she quickly grew sick of being treated like a second class citizen in what has become her own home. (I wasn’t joking with the quote at the top of the review: it was my genuine and immediate impression that Alma goes along with the 342561 red flags exhibited during the very first day not because she’s a doormat but because she’s a freak.)

The love at first sight didn’t work for me, as well as the couple’s determination to stay together despite their incompatibility. I’m just not convinced that they actually love each other as entire human beings. They do love certain sides of each other. Reynolds loves the muse with the perfect measurements; the assistant totally devoted to him; the new woman (future) finally displacing his older sister (present) and mother (past) while, unlike them, also being his sexual partner. Alma loves the genius who makes her feel beautiful and important. They both love the persona the other assumes in a caretaking scenario. But is there a deeper connection? Do they actually love each other unconditionally, not just the aspects of each other that fulfill their needs? I’ve seen quotes in confirmation of that from PTA and Vicky Krieps — but the text itself provides no satisfactory evidence of that.

Obligatory comparisons with other films

I like to chain movies together because of themes or character dynamics they share. A couple of reviews for Crimes of the Future mentioned this film, and I decided to watch it next assuming that the similarities start and end with the relationship between an aging artist and a strong-willed younger woman. Turns out, these two films also make an interesting double feature because in some ways they’re an inverse of each other. Crimes of the Future and its main couple wear abnormality on their sleeve, but the central relationship is healthy and stable; Phantom Tread appears classy and family-friendly, hiding the more shocking aspects of the relationship beneath the luxurious surface. Both films are very sensual without the conventional sex scenes, but the approach is diametrically opposite: Crimes of the Future circumvents the content rating system, managing to put explicit scenes on screen just because they don’t contain specific banned body parts; Phantom Thread purposefully and conspicuously avoids showing any sex or nudity to preserve the aesthetic and make other scenes feel more charged. The protagonist’s old age is important in both: for Saul, it’s deteriorating health and conservatism towards newer ideologies and ways of interacting with and modifying one’s body; for Reynolds, it is the decades of habit and privilege making him internalize the belief that his own authority, taste, routines are something absolute and unquestionable.

A bigger surprise was the two films also shared the theme of food and eating. Crimes of the Future: eating as a fundamental bodily function, food as means of sustenance, and the politics of food; Phantom Thread: eating as pleasure, food as means of human connection, and the power dynamics of feeding and being fed. Both films go deeper than the surface: food is not just something that is served and tasted, but chewed, swallowed, and digested, which is not necessarily a smooth and uncomplicated process. Phantom Thread’s exploration of the food theme is probably the best one I’ve seen so far not just in film but in any media, and the only one I can think of where “food as love and sex” made sense for me.

Choosing The Favourite as the next film to watch after this one was a good choice too: they also had some things in common. There’s a young woman winning an older and more powerful person’s affection by taking care of them while they’re sick, there are toxic relationship, there’s even literal poison... The older parties are similarly spoiled and eccentric but very different in certain important ways, and the protagonists are even more alike.

People have mentioned this film’s similarities to Rebecca, which I haven’t read or watched; my own first thought was about Misery, which I also haven’t read or watched. Out of the films I’ve seen before, there’s Crimson Peak — someone made an entire Venn diagram for their similarities. I’ve also seen comparisons with a number of other films, mostly ones I haven’t seen. Is Phantom Thread more intertextual than the usual or is that just me?

#phantom thread #liveblogs and reviews #blah blah blah #maybe i should stop trying to write coherent reviews...#i wrote most of this right away but the task of making it readable has been weighing me down for months and drained so much energy from me

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cantbgirlie2 · 10 months

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Apacolypse story idea. Starts with newstories about some sorta end of the world event with zombies or a world war, and then we flip to a lighthouse keeper. Its gotta be completely accurate tho, so theres a continous droneing noise and the lighthouse keeper wears giant noise canceling headphones to block it out, so she misses the radio and newstory about the apocolypse. She sees lifeboats filled with people who were escaping the main land and she helps them get inside and out of the weather.

If its something with zombies, one of them needs to be sick and on their death bed, and while the other people inform her of the disease the sick person dies and sprints out of the bedroom at the fnaf foxy style. They take out the sicky and bury them in the garden.

If its not a zombie movie then as they head into the lighthouse they see a missile in the distance. It hits the mainland (wich is to far from the island to see, which makes the massive blast that much scarier) and they all scramble to get inside and dont into the celler. All the shelves down there are full of food and supplies, and she explains the keeper explains she is provided nonperishables but she also grows a garden and fish.

Regardless of the story keeper continues trying to keep the lighthouse going and a couple of the survivors try to get in touch with authorities. If its the radiation one, some of them scrub everything the best they can, and uproot the plans to scoop off the topsoil to dump out to sea. If its the zombie one they tend to the plants to their best abilities. I think its important to show these people arent any wealthy folks. They were mostly family people, who got on dingy rafts or maybe even just little floaties to try and save their family. Because of that there are many children running around. The keeper is fond of them. Even if everybody needs to rashion, the kids are fed well, which is part of a problem in the group, as one of the men try to claim its unfair. As with any story youve got to have issues in the group. This man (call him scott) is the character that pisses everybody off for being selfish.

Overtime more people arive but they are all deathly ill. Everybodys afraid to let them in the lighthouse, but a retired nurse convinces them to allow her to help them. They set up a tent with a few cots (which scott finds unreasonable) and the nurse tries to treat them, joined by her husband, another elderly man. All of the new comers eventually die except for one little girl who was on a raft that partially melted with her mother. The lighthouse folks dig holes, but scott makes a fuss about them and when the old man begins dragging a wrapped body to the hole scott grabs it and rolls it over the cliff. He tries to argue they should have to do any work fir people who died, but of of the women chimed in that the palnts would need the nutrients (i should research this more maybe idk) because theres nothing comeing in. Scott will argue that she should dig the holes then and she will respond with whatever her job is, which is more than he does because he hasnt gotten his hands dirty since he arrived.

Over night the sky gets dark from smoke. If its the zombie version then its from fores in thw city, so a red tint is in the air, if ita the world war then its a hazy gray that gets darker the higher it is. They wrap their faces in damp cloths, and try to stay inside, but the elderly man is sick. Scott gets upset about the mask, saying they dont need it inside, but somebody tries to explain those elderly had been around disease and they are trying to stay safe. Scott rages, and ends up killing the old man in some way. The keeper gets a shot gun and threatens to shoot him if he doesnt get out so he does. While outside, he destroys all the crops.

If this is the zombie version, then in the morning he is an undead and keeper blows his brains out, if its world war then hes just in the feild dead with his hands full of the roots, showing he died quickly after taking his mask off.

Nobody leavws the house again, and they seal the building the best they can. The children play around a table while they carefully tend to the seedling plants they had kept indoors. There are several trays, and some if the men take apart furniture and sand off the finishes to make raises beds by the windows. The people want to let the lighthouse light die, but keeper rwfuses wanting to make sure no matter what there was a light for people to follow. Land for refugies to find.

They tell her they cant keep opening and closing the doors because of the smoke.

Thwy make a makeshift suit out of curtains. They use duct tape and wrap her in it, with cloth around her mouth and noise and a reused plastic container for her to see out of. She goes up to the top with a folding chair and does work on the light (idk how these work) and gets it shining again. Then she sits down. We shift to a view of a boat who had been heading straight for it who turns just in time to miss it. It blows its horn. On board everybody is wearing thick fabric around their mouths.

#story ideas

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sukirichi · 3 years

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Hello! Can you write one about Nanami where the reader is oblivious and they're really close to Gojo so he gets jealous often. Sometimes Gojo does things purposely to annoy him and one day he just lost his composure and accidentally admitted his feelings for you.

I hope u accept if you're not too busy. Thank you!!!

— a little push

— sometimes all nanami needs is a little push.

nanami kento x fem! reader

thank you for the request anon! i’m not sure if reader is oblivious enough but i hope you like it! there’s some thick pining here hur hur, i hope you like it! i never knew i needed an easily flustered and awkward nanami in my life also this is unedited as usual

check my bio for masterlist and my milestone event! (◕ᴗ◕✿)

“Do you mind?”

Nanami sighs, silently praying to the heavens you wouldn’t hear the way his heart is absolutely panicking and beating wildly right now. You’d randomly pushed him inside the teachers’ office the moment he got back to the institute at work, and now he’s doomed to hide his feelings while you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, a shaky yet excited grin painted on your face.

“Sorry, sorry,” you wave your hands in front of you, although he can tell you’re not apologetic at all. Nanami clears his throat when you step backwards to give him space, unsure if he’s happy or sad about the distance. “I was just really excited to see you back.”

Your carefree, lighthearted voice, along with that little jump in your toes combined with your statement – you’re basically asking Nanami to shrivel up already.

The stoic man remains composed, though, only shifting to adjust his tie while he stares down at you. You’re still somewhat bouncing on your feet, teeth biting your lip – a habit you had when you want to say something but contemplating whether you should. Tilting away to hide the slight flush in his cheeks, Nanami sighs again, pretending to be tired.

The last thing he wants to admit that even though he is exhausted from work, is that you’d never bother him. In fact, having you bombard him like this makes him feel like he didn’t deal with special grade curse by himself all alone just an hour ago.

“If there’s something you want to say, I suggest you get it over with. I don’t want to stay overtime and wait until the blindfolded creep comes around.”

You giggle at his insult, hiding behind your cupped palms. Crap, Nanami looks away and focuses on the birds outside instead, suddenly finding them so interesting despite never paying attention to them before. Maybe that was the curse of crushes – it had people acting differently and in complete contrast with their behavior.

“About that,” you begin almost shyly now, and Nanami practically bursts when he sees you tapping both of your pointer fingers together, gaze tilted away from him.

It makes him wonder you’re nearly on the same skill to Gojo, yet still somehow look like a small, innocent being that makes him want to protect you from everything – even if you were more than capable of handling things yourself. Well, Nanami concludes to himself, maybe you’re really just that paradoxical that it makes sense why he can never think straight around you. Maybe he’s really not supposed to understand the complexity of his feelings when you were a phenomena to begin with already.

“You see…Satoru asked me out.”

Nanami stiffens at your statement for a split second before his head whips to you so fast. You’re observant – of course you are, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer – and you easily pick up in his sudden change of demeanor. Your brow raises at his abrupt reaction, to which Nanami conceals by flexing his neck and rolling his shoulders back.

“I am simply tired from work,” he haf-lies, “So, Satoru asked you out? Will you say yes?”

His words and tone are monotonous, almost bored even, but deep inside he’s so close to beating the crap out of his co-worker. Well, not really, Nanami isn’t a man of violence, but he’s jealous. Of course he is – he’s liked you ever since Principal Yaga hired you.

He’s never told Satoru about his little crush on you. He would be stupid to do such; Satoru would tease him to no end and maybe even be as childish to go as far as pushing him to you. Typical elementary shit, Nanami cringes to himself, watching as you look down at your feet with a pout. Now that confused him. He isn’t sure what your body language means at all, but patient as ever, Nanami only waits.

“Well,” you scratch your forehead, “I’m really flattered. I want to say yes because Satoru is a nice guy—”

“He is not. I do not respect him.”

You roll your eyes at the way his eyes darkens, “—but also I’m not sure if I should. I mean, Satoru doesn’t really date, you know? He’ll be with like one girl and be with another the next week. I just don’t want to…like, fall for that, I guess. Not that I won’t, because he’s totally not my type—”

“It’s just a yes or no,” Nanami cuts you off, his words coming out a lot harsher than he intends it to be. It’s not that he’s annoyed at your rambling, he actually finds it so adorable when you get so lost in your train of thoughts that your mind just travels from one place to another, and seeing how your eyes just leave farther from reality is something he’s always find such an attractive quirk, but not now – not when his infuriating co-worker is intending to mess with your feelings. “Do you want to go or not? Yes or no? It’s as simple as that.”

You blink back at him in surprise, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Nanami was a no-bullshit man who hit things right on the head, a huge contrast to your happy-go-lucky self, but he’s right.

It is that simple – and you’re complicating things all over again.

When you give him an answer, Nanami has to muster all his energy to not deflate. He’s tired – but now his exhaustion and even the heartbreak comes crashing down all over him that he’s immediately weighed down and overwhelmed – so much so that all he wants is to go home.

“Yes, I want to go.”

It’s his day off.

Like everything else in his life, Nanami plans everything down to the last minute of his day. His day off consisted of him having the privilege to sleep in until 8am, then breakfast with coffee from that great café a five minute walk away from his apartment, then he’ll be reading books in his study for two hours. Comes after that is lunch, and he’ll brows through some TV shows, pick up his clothes from the dry cleaning, get that special limited edition dinner of his favorite sushi, read books again and call it a day.

Simple, peaceful, no hassle – it’s the perfect day to relax.

Except it isn’t.

Because it’s your day off too, and you’re out on a date with Satoru. He still remembers how happy you looked then upon accepting the white haired man’s invitation, your nimble fingers wrapped around his sleeve as you shyly asked him to come with you.

He doesn’t know why you had to bring him, but he doesn’t question it, nonetheless. Nanami wants to see how Satoru would react, if there could be any indication from the man behind his blindfold that he had ill intentions. Oddly enough, there didn’t seem to be any. Satoru only beamed and deflated into a chibi, enthusiastically nodding along with you while you planned your date together.

Nanami took it upon himself to leave.

With a silent scoff, Nanami placed his dinner down on the counter. Because it’s his day off – and mostly because he doesn’t feel like himself – Nanami went out to buy the limited edition sushi wearing a white shirt and some gray sweatpants, too forlorn and a little jealous to even bother dressing up.

It’s stupid, really. He’s been looking forward for this sushi for a long, long time, but now that he’s had it, he can’t even enjoy the taste. His mind keeps going back to you.

Were you having fun with Satoru? Were you enjoying your time? Was Satoru treating you well? What was Satoru’s intentions when it came with you? The last time Nanami checked, you and him got along really well and you’re mostly the one who whacks the taller man in the head upside down when he’s being stupid, almost like two peas in a pod, except you were the smarter one. He’d been so sure you’re nothing but friends and yet…it all lead to this.

Nanami pushes his sushi away. They no longer taste like anything, the texture like dried paper on his mouth. He wipes his lips with a napkin, staring longingly at well…nothing. His walls were plain and empty, and suddenly, Nanami can’t help but compare himself to Gojo.

You both planned to go to the local carnival. There’d be lots of foods and even parlor shops, ferris wheel rides and photo booths to create memories. Of course you and Satoru would go there; both of you enjoyed loud, bustling crowds, claiming there was something amazing about basking in the “lives of humans when ignorant of curses” while Nanami prefers his peace and silence.

Had you gone out on a date with him instead, Nanami can’t guarantee he’ll be any fun. He most definitely wouldn’t ask you to go to a carnival with him either. It was loud, cramped, crowded, and it’s too chaotic for him to ever enjoy your presence and enjoy it alone.

Nanami closes the sushi box, turns on the TV and lets is play on the background, a wet towel above his eyes to relax his tired eyes.

He hopes you’re having fun. He hopes Satoru is treating you well. Nanami just ignores the slight pain in his chest when he thinks of you, laughing and touching anyone but him, and he could picture it already. You’ve always been so open and welcoming to everyone, he knows you’ll have fun today, too.

That’s one of the things he finds most endearing about you – that your smile never fades and you never forget about the simple, little things in life to focus on to keep your sanity after facing curse after curse.

He’s fine, he tells himself. Satoru may be annoying, but he knows you could have fun with him, and you deserved to be happy more than anyone else.

Nanami is about to fall asleep on his couch when his phone vibrates on the coffee tables. Groaning, he flicks off the towel to his shoulders, grumbling about how Principal Yaga better be respecting his day off, but the last thing he expects to see is your contact name flashing on the screen. In the contact photo, you’re winking with a peace sign held above your head.

You look so utterly adorable Nanami just wants to kiss you. He remembers this photo was taken when Yuuji got bored and asked to play games on his phone. Upon finding that there was none – of course there was none – the strawberry-haired student opted for taking pictures of everyone instead. There’s one with Nobara growling, Megumi sipping his boba-tea with dead eyes as if he’s so done with the world, more than twenty pictures of Satoru flexing his muscles and posing like an idiot, and then there’s yours.

Nanami remembers staring at his phone for a solid minute, his gallery actually blessed with your face in it. The sun shines behind you on that photo and you’re absolutely shining. He thinks that’s when he truly fell in love.

And it just so happened the love of his life is calling, making his heart skip a beat because shouldn’t you be with Gojo? Why were you calling him? Did something wrong happen?

Nanami doesn’t waste another second before swiping the green icon, already standing up from the couch as he grabs his jacket. He had this weird inkling something is wrong, why else would you call him?

His theories are proven true when your voice comes out shaky. “H-hello?”

“Good evening,” he greets stiffly, brows furrowed as he listens in on the way you seem to be shuffling around. “Is there something wrong?”

“I, uhm,” he hears you sniffle through the other line, “Yeah, I guess there is…Satoru just texted he can’t come because Principal Yaga suddenly sent him to a mission overseas…and then I just realized that Satoru’s been summoned by the elders and he’s just refusing to show up, so now they cornered him, I guess… anyways, I’m talking too much and I don’t want to be a bother, but would you maybe…like to hang out with me?”

Nanami’s hand freezes on the doorknob. “Hang out…professionally?”

He immediately wants to smack himself in the forehead for that. Out of all things he could’ve said, he just had to utter something unintelligent. He hears you snicker in the background and Nanami’s ears redden.

He quickly regains his composure with a clear of his throat, suddenly remembering that Satoru’s ditched you, so now you’re asking him instead. It kind of feels like he’s just a replacement, but Nanami buries this feeling down before it consumes him, wondering if he’s already regretting changing into better clothes because he actually agreed to go to a carnival with you.

Upon hearing your happy, “Okay! I’ll wait for you then!”, Nanami realizes that he doesn’t actually mind. Especially not with you.

The carnival is loud.

Nanami dreads the moment he steps out of his car, his body swallowed by the bustling crowd and defeaning music of banging drums and clashing instruments. There’s a hundred scents everywhere – smoke, fish, glazed apples – he doesn’t know where to begin or how to focus.

He nearly turns back to his hair, about to shoot you a text that maybe this is beyond him after all. His head begins to spin when he’s only pushed deeper into the crowd, people bumping into him with every single second and it’s so suffocating. It doesn’t make sense to him how anyone could possibly go on a date like this and enjoy it. He knows for sure this chaos won’t let him enjoy his date’s presence because he’s too busy trying to get away from it all.

Nanami staggers for a bit when a strong hand tugs him to the side. Soon, he finds himself pressed flush against you in a tight corner, your hips warm on his. “Hi,” you breathe out airily, lashes fanning and fluttering in that same manner that always made his heart do complete flips.

“Hello,” he greets back with a small bow out of faux respect, but really, he’s just keeping his head down because you look so beautiful in that moment he doesn’t even know where to look. You’re warm and soft next to his hard and stiff muscles, the scent of roses and vanilla mixing in with the street smoke and Nanami’s head grows dizzy, his hand around yours tightening for comfort. “Y/N…I do not prefer this crowd. Can I take you back home instead? You must be tired – I’ll prepare dinner for you.”

Nanami blinks back in surprise when he sees you nod, a slight grimace on your face, and you practically bury your face in his bicep as you groan, “It’s too noisy for me too. Let’s just hang out at your place.”

So you end up in his immaculately clean apartment, admiring and staring at the boring furniture. Nanami changes into more comfortable clothes and whips out something to cook, not wanting to feed you measly take out when you’re probably famished. He watches with side glances as you pick up a photo of him with his parents when he was younger, cooing and giggling at the baby version of him.

“Nanamin, you’re so cute!”

Nanami scoffs and turns back to the heated water in the bowl, arms hard as they cross against his chest covered with an apron. “Please do not call me cute. I am anything but.”

“No, you’re really cute,” you insist, but after seeing Nanami’s flustered frown, you eventually give up and give the poor man a break. Later, you wobble next to him, watching with curious eyes and a small smile as he adds the vegetables into the soup, moving expertly as he diced up the onions to the side. The sheer focus and attention on his daily tasks makes him falter, and he suddenly finds it so hard to function now.

“Why are you staring at me? Is there something so interesting about slicing up onions?”

“No, not really,” you say absentmindedly, the slight plop of the ingredients echoing. “It’s just – I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this way. Domestic, I mean, but it looks good on you,” you nod to yourself, and Nanami finds himself struggling to act as if your presence wasn’t making him go crazy while he proceeds to cook. “In fact, everything looks good on you, and I find you really interesting!”

“Y-you do?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, assisting him silently with mixing the bowl even when he didn’t ask you to. Unaware that he’s now focused on you, watching you cook with him with you pressed up against his side, almost as if it’s right where you belong, Nanami feels the same with you. You also look good being this domestic with him, and he suddenly blurts out, “Would you like to stay with me? Like this?”

Your eyes slide over his in a slow fashion, slow enough that his brain hotwires at the fear maybe he’s said something wrong. But Nanami immediately swallows it down, huffing and turning away from you with that stoic expression again. “Forgive me. That was weird—”

“Why would it be weird?” you laughed to yourself before bumping your hips with his, “You’re the one who invited me here. Of course I want to stay.”

That’s…that’s not what he means.

Nanami is left staring openly at you while you help him set the table and you proceed to talk about how you didn’t really want to go to the carnival but Satoru insisted you’d have fun, so you went anyway even if you’d much prefer to be somewhere else. He’s barely listening, too distracted by the way your lips move and how you swing the house slippers on your big toe, your legs crossed on top of another and your figure slightly hunched across from him.

You look so comfortable and welcomed in his home that it puts him at ease too, not worried that he has to impress you anything because it’s you, and Nanami could actually be vulnerable enough to laugh with you over a bowl of vegetable soup.

It’s fine, he lies to himself again, it’s fine that you don’t know he likes you even if he tends to slip and be obvious sometimes. Because at least you’re with him in that moment, and he lies to himself again that it’s fine, that maybe next time he’ll tell you, but he doesn’t worry about. How could he worry about it when you’re snorting so loud over a lame joke he said that rice nearly came out your nose, and he’s so drunk over the sound of your bubbly laughter that something flutters deep within his belly?

When you help him wash the dishes and bask in the silence instead, comfortable over the lack of words and nothing but the sound of his faucet running and the slight rubbing of towels against dishes heard in the background, Nanami is unsure whether he’s glad that Satoru ditched you on your first date.

It doesn’t stop there.

Nanami only keeps falling in love with you more. He’s been doing a good job of keeping his feelings to himself because the last thing he wants is to have you stay away from him, but Satoru was really getting on his nerves.

He’s just come back from exorcising a curse when he sees you and Satoru play-wrestling in the field with the other students. Megumi is grumbling to himself in the corner, Yuuji is laughing and cheering on you to tackle down his sensei who’s currently going down in high-pitched laughter, Toge pumping his fists and screaming, “Salmon, salmon!”

It’s a chaotic sight – one that he usually doesn’t mind – until you finally pin Satoru down on the ground, your ass above his crotch. Satoru’s hands then come up to squeeze your ass and hips under the false pretense he’s struggling to push you off him, but Nanami knows better.

“Give up already!” you tease the other sorcerer who’s still wriggling underneath you, and Nanami sees it before it happens.

Satoru’s legs bend beneath you and he tries to pin you under him in quick movements, but Nanami is faster, his reflexes taking over. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Nanami tugs you and pulls you forward until you collide on his chest. He’s breathing hard, eyes narrowed at the arrogant smirk painted on Satoru’s features. Meanwhile, you’ve softened in Nanami’s grip, hands fisting his shirt that has him hardening up out of sheer protectiveness.

“Oh, Nanamin!” Satoru beams while wiping the dirt on his hands across his uniform, “Glad to see you here. You wanna join training too?”

“This is hardly training,” he retorts with a clenched jaw, “You’re harassing and disrespecting your fellow sorcerer because you can never keep your dirty hands to yourself,” before Satoru could defend himself, he’s already all over you, his hand tilting your chin side to side to check for any injuries. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did this bastard do anything else?”

“No, not really—”

“Why do you care so much, Nanamin?” Satoru teases, and the students all huddle to watch the commotion. Everyone can feel the tension rising, and Nanami only stiffens up further when he feels you lean closer to his warmth almost absentmindedly. “She and I were just playing around, no hard feelings, no foul play. We’re just having fun, right, Y/N?”

“She is not someone you can just have fun with, Satoru. You’ve already crossed the line when you ditched her on your first date, and you didn’t even bother texting or calling back when I drove her home. It’s disrespectful, and she deserves better than that.”

“Nanami—”

“I was busy,” Satoru sighs dramatically, “And if she deserves better than me, then who would it be? I can take care her of her, you know, she and I have been besties for like what, a year now? I’ll be good to her,” he smirks, and Nanami wants nothing more than to punch him square in the jaw. “Besides, it’s not like she’s dating anyone else. She’s single and ready to mingle—”

“Maybe she is, but I’m not,” Nanami deadpans, his harsh tone shocking everyone.

“Wh-what do you mean?” you squeak under him, and Nanami falls silent. He’s never thought of confessing to you, especially not this way, and Nobara is biting Yuuji’s jacket behind them to muffle her squeals. Panda is clapping his hands and whispers oh, here we go, followed by Toge’s salmon salmon.

It dawns on him now that everyone knows he likes you after all, and now that he’s confronted with the situation, he can’t run away from it. Not that Nanami plans on running away, for he is a man and his pride doesn’t allow him to evade situations like this.

He just wishes it could’ve gone out better.

“Forgive me if this makes you uncomfortable,” Nanami releases his grip on you, loosening his tie that makes him feel like he’s choking both on air and his words. Through his cool stature, he’s actually sweating inside his clothes, and it doesn’t help you’re patient with him too, head tilted to the side curiously and so horribly cutely he might combust. “But I have always been, and I still am, utterly in love with you.”

Nobara and Yuuji no longer hold back as they scream to themselves, the former slapping the latter in his back while Megumi only shakes his head, muttering “about time,” under his breath. Maki snickers to herself and Satoru is stunned, but it’s nothing compared to the way you shrink under his gaze for a moment.

He believes you’re going to run away from him because of his blatant confession; it wasn’t romantic at all, and the kids are still screaming too loudly for him to form coherent thoughts.

Nanami begins to form a deep bow, ready to apologize wholeheartedly and to politely ask you to forget this if you wish – he would respect your decision. But just as his gaze met the ground, he’s thrown off balance as you jump on him, soft glossy lips crashing into his.

The screams and cheers of everyone are suddenly drowned out when he feels your lips molding onto his, and he can feel you smiling happily, giggling while his hands tentatively run down your hips to hold you close. It’s unprofessional, displeasing, and downright horrendous to be kissing someone during work hours while the students are watching, especially because his clothes are crumpled from your eager touch and you’re on top of his chest, but Nanami absolutely doesn’t give a single fuck because he’s kissing you back fervently.

It’s what he’s always wanted – you’re the one he’s always wanted, and now that he has you in his hold, he’s not easily letting you go.

“See? I told you guys,” Satoru proudly puffs his chest up in the background, “All Nanamin needs is a little push.”

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cloudyyangel · 3 years

Text

Nanami Kento thinks you look best in his blue button up. He enjoys seeing the stretch and pull of the fabric against your plump body. He also enjoys the events leading up to you tugging on his shirt.

3.3k

nsfw, cw: lack of prep, dry humping, body inclusive reader, afab reader, slight praise kink, one ass smack

△ △ △

Nanami watches as you gather your underwear from the foot of his bed and slip back into them, a small smile playing at your lips. Your wiggles to get them just right over your thighs and ass has Nanami sighing softly as he leans against the headboard- eyeing every piece of plush flesh that bounces with your movements.

He had tried to coax you to stay in bed, dinner can wait sweetheart, but you had been adamant about feeding the over worked and stressed sorcerer (No Kento, I am not a suitable meal! You told him for the fifth time). He had came straight home from work and gotten you into bed before any greetings of hellos or how are yous.

You glance around for your shirt, the one he won’t mention is on the opposite side of the bed by the wall. It’s a game for him; getting you to throw your shirt off in a lust fueled haze and losing it. You always try to find it afterwards, sometimes even nudging him to roll over so you can search under him. Nanami was patient as his gaze followed you around the room- he knew the ultimate victory of the night was close. It sent a pleasant warmth through his chest as you finally give up and pull on the only shirt on the floor.

Nanami is built different, as you’ve jokingly told him many times. He’s tall with broad shoulders and a toned physique from fighting curses over the years. You, in a great difference, are soft with rounded edges that contrast with his sharp angles. You love to watch him flex as he chops vegetables for dinner, or see the taut skin of his stomach as he stretches before bed- it’s everything you’re not and it use to sting a bit, cut into your heart that maybe you weren’t good enough.

Nanami Kento, on the other hand, loves the opposition of your bodies. He loves the soft skin of your shoulders under his hands, to feel fat squeezing between his fingers as he grips your thighs, loves to watch your belly match the pumps of his hips as he drives his cock into you. He loves you, truly and wholeheartedly, and everything about you. Over time his sweet words, sinful praises, and all consuming actions have nestled their way into your body to take home in your skin.

They settle in your heart- the logic conscious man had no time to string someone along or for empty compliments. Fine, Nanami had relented one night after you explain why you’re not enough for him, you are big. You’re also beautiful, smart, amazing, talented. It’s just another word that describes why I love you. You start to believe it after that.

The blue button up you pull on after a session of love making is what he loves the most. Out of all the looks you had, it was his favorite. The fabric clings to the fat of your arms while the wrists are loose. It stretches across your full chest with only three buttons fastened in an attempt to hold you even as they pull taut (you know they’re reliable, just like the man who wears it). It couldn’t cover your tummy, even with how broad he is, but the material covers enough for you to trot around the room in.

It’s ill fitting- not necessarily too small, but made for a slimmer and taller build. Tailor made for Nanami Kento. On you, it’s a frumpy mess- the blue material wrinkling at odd places, bunching up around your arms but god if he doesn’t melt at the sight of you. His blue button up, stretched safely around your bigger form- it reminds him that you are his, that you love him, that he can protect and cherish you. He tries to keep it out as often as he can, fighting his urge to keep everything smartly in its place, just in hopes of you tugging it on. He soon found out that you were more willing to pull it on when you were in a dazed state, wanting to put on some semblance of clothes after an extended period of being exposed. Nanami was more than happy to provide that mindset for you.

This evening, his shirt had been tossed to the floor as soon as he entered the bedroom. His tie was somewhere in the living room, his glasses by the front door, shoes strewn across the entrance. Nanami is a smart man, however, and was careful with this shirt- he let that drop right in the middle of the room, to be sure it was the only thing you saw after he had satisfied both of your needs.

△ △ △

“Impatient, hmm Kento?” You teased as his hands groped at the fat on your hips to pull you even closer to him. He was home exactly on time despite the complaint of overtime and caught you by surprise. Nanami had strode into the bedroom with no words as he let his shirt drop to the floor and immediately captured your lips in a kiss.

The normally composed sorcerer had called on his break to rant about useless colleagues and a curse getting too close for comfort and that he just wanted to hear your voice. He promised to try not to work too late, I miss you darling, but you knew he put everything he had into work and told him you would be waiting for him with a smile.

Nanami hummed as he bruised your lips in a needy kiss. “I just need you.” He had muttered with a rut of his hips against yours. His length was already pronounced and it made you pull back with a slight gasp- light glistened off the string of spit that connected you two.

The situation at work must have gotten to him, his controlled façade had slipped completely off as he attacked you with an usual fervor. His hands squeezed your hips before they roamed over your tummy- it was one of his favorite places to touch and kiss and squeeze and worship.

He never faltered on his slow, methodical, rut against you, not slowing down to even remove both of your bottoms. “K-kento, we can-“ Your suggestion to continue in bed was cut off when his hands wrapped around your back to grope at your ass.

He always did go straight for what he wanted. Which explained why he was rutting you into the wall with spit spread around your lips.

His hips sped up and harsh pants met your face as he pressed forward. Nanami’s brow was furrowed, fingers griped tight on your ass as he slotted between your legs. His composure, his calmness, had been tossed to the side along with his shirt the second he saw you. Now, his cock was leaking into his slacks and he was just so desperate to feel you against him that the wall would do for now.

The new closeness brought his hard cock right against your cunt, still both clothed but the friction was enough to make you grow wet and grind back against him. The angle pushed you up on your toes, desperate to feel even more of him and if you angled your hips just right, you could feel Nanami’s length slide right over your clothed slit.

You had refused on multiple times to be picked up, even when he insisted on multiple times that he could. Instead, he accommodated your needs and wants, simply finding a way to be able to grind against you while he pressed your back against the wall. He bent down to suck the smooth skin of your neck into his mouth, only to increase the speed of his ministrations on your now dripping cunt.

His hips rubbed harder against you, effectively pining you to the wall and it started to burn against your skin. The sting only amplified the feeling every time it rubbed against your pussy lips and you couldn’t help but whimper with every thrust.

Deep in your stomach, something tightened and grew into a comfortable pressure, your orgasm growing with every thrust of Nanami’s hips. One hand left your ass to roughly paw at your chest, his fingers easily found the pebbled nipple and rolled it a few times before he gave a light tug. As you gasped he took the opportunity to shove his mouth over yours, to lavish his tongue against yours. It wasn’t enough for you, or him, but you were the first to break.

You needed more, needed him and needed something physical to touch you. "Kento, please” you whined into his mouth as you felt the soaked fabric of your underwear stick and cling to you.

The broken cry brought Nanami back as he pulled away from your hips, not able to control his harsh pants. The sudden stop made you jerk against him, desperate for any relief against your clit that throbbed under your pants. Nanami stared down at you, blond hair stuck to his sweaty forehead with darkened eyes, and heaved a few deep breaths. His expression cleared as he took in your state- the caretaker role slid back on as he saw how wrecked you were from just a few minutes of dry humping. Your eyes were half lidded and cloudy with tears from the friction, hips still stuttered from the loss of contact, and your chest heaved. When he didn’t move, you reach forward with a grabby hand to tug his belt towards you. He easily caught your hand and slightly ‘tsk’ed when you voiced your displeasure with a frown.

“Look what you do to me.” He sighed and brought both of your hands to his cock that strained against the fabric of his slacks. You desperately gripped at the hardness which earned you a sharp hiss from his kiss bruised lips. You mewled at the sound but Nanami was never one to be outdone.

He eyed your own sex and let out a small chuckle. “Look what I do to you.” He said amused as he rubbed your hands over the wet spot of your pants. The pressure made the fabric catch against your slick lips, swollen from the rough friction and you arched into it before he pulled the hands away. He chuckled at your pout and wiggle to find friction again.

“I can’t believe how needy you are,” you bit out in frustration at his tease, “dry humping me like a virg-.” He swallowed the rest of your retort with a heavy kiss and quick swat to your ass. The small spank had you flatten yourself against the wall with a surprised gasp.

“You’re the one soaked through two layers of clothes. I think you’re the needy one, sweetheart.” He commented with a harsh tug on your ass which slammed your hips against his. It pressed your lips against your clit and sent a jolt through your body and the loud whine that left your lips already proved his point as he dragged you towards the bed. He brought his hands back to himself and left you to stand in front of him.

Nanami didn’t break your gaze as he went to unbuckle his pants and flung them off somewhere (you would tease him later how messy that was, throwing his clothes around like a teenager). You shifted as you watched his thick cock spring free of his slacks. The pretty red head slapped against his flushed stomach and you swallowed a whine as your cunt continued to throb. You would drop to your knees if he asked, pull your knees as wide as they would go, press your face into the mattress- anything to get his perfectly thick pretty cock inside of you. Nanami was observant as ever and smirked as he sat down on the bed.

“Like I said, needy.” His voice was a rumble and the comment sent a flutter through you. Nanami eyed you up and down, still fully clothed even as he sat naked on the bed, and gave a solid pat to his thigh.

“Take off your pants.”

Nerves shot through you- even after being with Nanami for so long. It was a force of habit to hide your body, to not show off and it made your movements lag as you unbuttoned and pulled off your pants. Despite his preference to see you naked- he rarely undressed you himself. He allowed you to take off whatever clothes you felt comfortable enough to remove, and at your own pace.

He was patient, as he always was, while you worked to obey him and not listen to the doubts that swirled in your head. His command, soft as it was, fought against those doubts you had. You wanted to please him, feel the praise run through your body, and that beat out whatever words had been thrown at your body in the past. His pale eyes watched as your thighs were freed and jiggled as you lifted you feet to kick them away.

His legs parted slowly (god what a sight to see Nanami Kento spread his legs wide for your body) and you slotted yourself in between his strong legs. “Look at you,” it came out breathless as he softly slid his hands under your shirt and you took the silent command to throw it off along with your bra, “sweetheart you’re gorgeous.” He pressed a few kisses to your stomach, his lips sinking into your skin. Your hands threaded through his blonde locks to let your nails scrape against his skull.

That was the praise that made every piece of exposed skin worth it- his gentle tone and sweet words sunk into the fat on your body and sent a shiver through you. He responded with soft bites into your even softer skin; his lips sucked a few red marks next to your navel to prove his point.

“Come join me, please Angel. Let me feel you.” He spoke quietly as he lead you onto his lap. You obeyed wordlessly- his words, his voice washed over you and made you compliant. Your weight pressed against his strong thighs, the bed dipped beneath your combined weight, and your stomach trapped his cock between the two of you as you settled down on his lap.

Nanami’s lips instantly latched onto your nipple, sucking and licking the hard bud. His hands roamed across your back, dipped to your love handles to pull you against him and you pressed up closer to his cock. His hips thrusted up on instinct to fuck his cock against your soft stomach, and drew a small moan from your lips. You rolled your hips against him which left behind a nice slick of your juices on his lap. His cock twitched against your stomach just as your clit pulsed from lack of stimulation.

Nanami was more than happy to lazily roll hips against hips until someone gave in. Once again, you broke first. “Wanna feel you Kento, please.” You muttered as your hips sped up on his lap. Your clit throbbed with every light push and you could feel the quiver travel through your thighs.

“You will, sweet girl. I’ll fill you up, give you what you need.” He promised as his hand travelled down to finally touch your wet pussy. His long fingers teased your slit and one easily slid between the folds. He had been the one to storm into the room and dry hump you to a wreck, but now wanted to properly get you ready.

You tried not to pout at him being a gentlemen to prep you but at this point he had teased you too long. You whined and weaved your fingers through his light hair to tug his gaze up to your own. Your empty cunt was painful as it pulsed around nothing. “No, please Kento, I need you now. I promise I can take it I promise just- I need you right now please please-“ he kissed your babbles away and moved his hands to grip the back of your thighs. He was patient, but even he had a limit.

Nanami pulled back to lock his pale gaze onto your teary eyes. “Can you handle that sweetheart?” He asked firmly, any tease gone.

You nodded quickly, blinking away tears at the need of his fat cock inside of you. “Promise Ken! I promise!” You whined and he shushed you again.

“That’s enough baby, lift up for me.” You pushed up on your knees and pawed at his chest as he lined up at your entrance. Your little whines of ‘please’ were silenced as the tip of his cock slipped through your slick hole.

As Nanami helped you lower yourself, he let out a string of encouragements, “You can take it, I know you can good girl, just go slow, don’t rush yourse-“ his words were cut off with a broken moan as you spread your knees and sank further down on his cock. “F-fuck baby.” His head dropped against your shoulder and he fully moaned.

Nanami was vocal in the aspect that he would praise you, give you commands, but those moans were special and sent an electrical shock right to your core. You griped at his hair and wrapped your arms around his neck with your own whine as his thick cock stretched you out.

It burned. As wet as you were, it practically dripped down your legs, his fat cock still stretched and squeezed itself inside of it. You slowly sank down until you met his lap once more, thick cock buried in your fat pussy. Neither of you moved for a moment, enjoying the fill and stretch of each other. His hands clawed into the extra fat on your thighs, sure to leave pinpoint bruises in the morning, and gave a small bounce.

“Ah! Not yet, wait,” you stammered out with a whimper to his hair, your pussy throbbed around the intrusion.

“You can do it for me sweetheart, move and bounce on my cock, yeah? You’ll be a good girl.” He coaxed into your neck with a few swipes of his tongue.

You nodded instantly, his words wiped out any doubts or pain you had. “Ye-yeah. I can.” You confirmed and raised up on your knees slightly before you dropped your weight back down.

He let you set the pace, happy to feel the rise and fall of your thighs on his, watch your tits bounce, feel the tight squeeze of your cunt on his cock, hear the pants right by his ear. “Kento, Kento,” you chanted as your rises got higher and quicker.

His own pants and moans were almost lost in the mix of your vocalizations and the squelch of your pussy around his cock. The tightness that formed deep in your belly came back, egged on by the sounds and feel of Nanami. “More! Ken, I need more, please, just, just a lil’ more.”

You leaned back from him to grind your hips down just as he moved to thrust up to hit right there oh god that was the spot. Your moan was loud and delicious to him as the head of his cock brushed the spongy spot inside of you that left you slack jawed. He took advantage of your leaned back form and laid back on the bed before he bucked his hips. You fell forward, catching yourself on his chest. “More, sweet girl?” He questioned with a smile of adoration and lust.

Nanami was nothing short of a giving and loving partner, always happy to give you exactly what you asked for. In this new position, he was quick to thrust up so hard that it jerked you forward. That warmth in your belly grew sharper, brighter, as it weaved through your body with every hit of his cock inside of you. He continued his thrusts as you threw yourself back to meet his hips. Wet slaps of his cock being driven into you mingled with your loud moans and his quieter grunts.

He never could keep his hands still at this point. His hands groped at your jiggly ass, moved to cup your belly that hung over him, pinched at your nipples on your tits that swung right in his face, and pulled your thighs apart to watch his cock piston in and out of you. It was too much for him, just to watch you and everything about you as you bounced on top of him with such lewd sounds and faces. He loved you. “My good girl, you’re taking me so well, bouncing on my cock so nicely. How does it feel princess?”

Your arms threatened to give out as your hands clenched into fist on top of his chest. “Good! ‘S good Kento! Your- ah! your cock ‘s hitting so good!” You managed to respond as he continued to jack hammer into your soppy cunt. Nanami deepened his thrusts at your words, pleased that you always listened to him even with his cock that wiped most thoughts out of your mind. “Close, gonna...wanna cum with you.” You whined over his quiet grunts.

One hand left your ass and settled on the fat of your pussy right above the sensitive little bud that begged for touch. Your clit throbbed with the closeness and you leaned closer to him. He responded by snapping his cock deeper into you, a wet smack echoing with every thrust. “ ‘m close too princess, your so tight around me. ‘M gonna fill you up nice and full, okay? Make you bigger with all my cum.” His thumb found your clit and gave it a soft rub.

A jolt of sensation travelled through your body. “So deep, cum so deep inside me, puh-, puhlease!” Your begs and pleads became a mess as Nanami sped up the circles on your clit. Only utters of “Ken!”, “puhlease!” “Cum ‘n me!” fell from your mouth as your orgasm grew. You slunk down on his chest, almost laid out flat on him as his hips kept up their relentless pace. The circling of your clit, your cunt leaking around his fat cock, the warmth in your belly, Nanami’s praises of good girl my good girl- everything snapped.

You came loudly with stars behind your eyes, called out his name with a quiver that ran through your thighs and a gush of your juices that coated his lap beneath you as you full collapsed against his chest. He fucked you through your orgasm as he gave you one, two, three deep pumps- his hips only stilled with his cock buried balls deep as he emptied his cum inside your pulsing cunt and his lips praised your name. It took a moment to feel your thighs stop their shake, feel his cum settle into you, as you both recovered from your orgasms.

His chest heaved under you, arms wrapped around your waist to drag you up off his softening cock. You whined at the drag, positive both his lap and the sheets would be a mess of your combined cum. These moments, basked in the afterglow, neither of you could care about stained sheets and leaking cum.

Nanami settled you against his side and his lips dropped a slow and deep kiss against your own. “Love you, love you Kento.” You mumbled. “I love you, my darling.”

△ △ △

So yes, seeing his shirt on you- face still flushed, hair a mess, red bite marks decorating your plush stomach- it was his favorite look.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #Nanami Kento smut #chubby!reader #cw body inclusive #cw dry humping #okay! so!! here you go.#this snowballed. it was really only suppose to be the first three paragraphs but then I just kept writing.#once again if anyone says anything about being ooc I will kick ankles.#there is very little dialogue okay!!! and Nanami is soft and sweet!!! fight me!!!#I hate writing smut because I’m so use to embellishing and getting paid per word. so I add way to many details #and I tend to draw sex scenes out #I’m really bad at this. and I might actually delete it. I know I’m suppose to be confident in my writing and normally I am. but this? ehhhh #it’s not slow burn but damn leading up to the actual sex takes 56 years #some of the dialogue is taken right from my uhhh experiences. along with some of the actions. hahahaa #this is not beta’d or thought out or planned. I just wrote. edited it lightly. then tagged. and now I will post and run #dropping this at 10am and then leaving to go to town. ✌🏼#🌥 cloudy writes #🌥 cloudy writes jjk

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

Text

Drigka (Orc)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Orc/Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Orc, Orc Boyfriend Content Warning: Psoriasis, Psoriatic Arthritis, Disabled Character, Chronic Illness, Skin Condition, Physical Illness, Depression Words: 4183

Commissioned by @acahope311! A young woman in college breaks up with her boyfriend after his callous attitude toward her medical condition, she suddenly reunites with him years later. Please leave feedback!

Drigka had been your highschool sweetheart. The two of you had grown up together in the same small town and started dating in eighth grade. The puppy love the two of you had fostered over the course of your childhood turned into real love as you blossomed into adults. He was everything you could have ever hoped for in a partner. He was perfect. Everything was perfect.

Then, halfway into your second year of college, you got sick. At first, it was just a case of strep throat, but it didn’t explain the sudden rashes that developed on your body a few weeks later. The doctors simply thought it was stress from college causing hives, but after a few months, the symptoms got worse, becoming more like scales rather than human flesh, making you extremely self-conscious. Before, your weight had always made you feel very self aware, but you thought you wouldn’t complain about being overweight for the rest of your life if this skin condition would just go away.

It took almost a year and several rounds of testing to be diagnosed with plaque psoriasis. Then, you began having stiffness in your joints, pain when you walked, and constant aches all over. Another battery of tests revealed that your condition had the potential to evolve into psoriatic arthritis, and there wasn’t a cure for either condition.

You started on preventative anti-inflammatory medications and considered going on immuno-suppressants as well, with talks of the possibility of joint replacements in the future if treatments didn’t work. The entire ordeal put you in a deep depression and it was all you could do to complete the semester.

Drigka tried being supportive, but it was clear he couldn’t relate to you anymore. He had never been sick nor had he ever known anyone who had been sick, and as such, had no idea how to help you or what to do about it. Well, neither did you, but you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

A few months after the diagnosis, you could feel him pulling away. He didn’t take you out on dates anymore, whereas before he had always made it a point to make time for you, regardless of how busy he might have been. He stayed at work later, and started taking more overtime. He began screening your calls and leaving you on read. It made you feel even more anxious when he made excuses not to see you, and made your depression worse.

You were pretty sure he wanted to break up, as much as the thought hurt. You were getting tired of the anxiety of wondering when he would finally drop the bomb, and of him tiptoeing around you like you were made of glass, so eventually you decided to confront him.

It was then that he broke your heart.

He hadn’t meant to say it; it slipped out of his mouth in the heat of the moment during the ensuing fight, but once he said it, there was no taking it back.

“Look, I deserve to know if you’re going to break up with me!” You told him. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve been busy!” He retorted, though he wasn’t looking you in the eye, and instead was focused on his work. “I’m not going to break up with you, will you stop being paranoid?”

“I’m not being paranoid!” You insisted, pulling the papers he was going over from his hands, making him look up at you angrily. He tried to reach for them but you held them away. “I’ve known you my whole life, Drigka. I know when you’re losing interest in something. Maybe you don’t want to admit it to yourself, but at least be honest with me.”

“I am being honest!” He said, standing abruptly. “Look, we’ve both just been stressed out, okay? I’m not losing interest. Do you want me to break up with you?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then why are you harping on this?” He snatched his papers back out of your hands and sat back down. “I’m trying to get my work done, my thesis paper is due. Just leave me be for a while.”

“You asked me to come over, Drigka,” You reminded him in frustration. “You told me we were going to talk about things. But you’ve been ignoring me since I got here.”

“Because you don’t want to talk, you want to fight,” Drigka said dismissively, sitting back down at his desk.

“That’s not true! I wouldn’t be fighting with you if you’d actually sit down and have a conversation with me!”

“What do you want from me?” He shouted back. “I have my own life! I have my own problems! I can’t drop everything I’ve got going on to take care of you!”

“I’m not asking you to!” You shot back. “I’m just asking you to stop pretending everything is fine and ducking around me like I’m contagious! Acting like nothing is wrong is just making the problem worse!”

“Then you’re doing that on your own, because I don’t have a problem!” Drigka said, glaring at his work.

You sighed explosively. “If I’d known you were going to behave like this, I wouldn’t have come.”

He snorted derisively without looking up.“And if I’d known you were going to get sick and make that your whole life, I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place.”

Your mouth fell open in shock and you actually stumbled backward, feeling as if you’d been stabbed in the gut. Tears prickled your eyes and you couldn’t find your voice. In the silence, he looked up and saw your face and sighed.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, okay? Can we just--”

He stood up and reached for you, as if you hug you, but you darted out of his grasp. You shook your head slowly at him, the tears rolling down your face, and you backed away.

“I didn’t get sick on purpose, Drigka,” You said softly. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you.”

“No, I know that--”

“Am I inconvenient?” You asked him in a venomous undertone. “Are my health problems an inconvenience to you, Drigka? Is me being sick and sad a bother?”

“Babe, I said I was sorry--” He said impatiently. He reached again, and you ducked him.

“Don’t touch me,” You spat.

“I’m trying to apologize,” He said, folding his arms, a scowl on his face. “Calm down for a second and listen to me.”

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, do you? You just want me to stop being mad at you. Let me save you the trouble and save myself from the headache of waiting for you to do it: I’m breaking up with you.”

“What?” Drigka said, scoffing. “Seriously? Just like that?”

“Yeah, just like that,” You said, folding your arms over your chest.

He looked at you incredulously. “So ten years of dating means nothing to you? Twenty years of being friends? Just because you’re mad?”

“When did I ever say it didn’t mean anything to me?!” You retorted. “The problem isn’t even that you don’t understand, it’s that you’re not even trying to understand! Maybe it’s best we don’t talk again until you do.” You turned and walked toward the door.

“So you’re shutting me out? Completely?” Drigka said in disbelief. “You’re not even giving me a chance?”

“I gave you plenty of chances, Drigka,” You said. “Every time I asked to spend time with you and you made an excuse, every time I ignored my pain to listen to all of your troubles, every time I expected a shred of concern from you but all I got was disinterest and disappointment, those were your chances. It’s not my fault you failed.” You turned back to look at his furious face for a final time. “Admit it: you’re not mad that I broke up with you. You’re mad you didn’t do it first.”

And then you left.

The first few months after the breakup were hard, especially because he kept texting and calling. He vacillated between being hostile and apologetic, insisting that you were overreacting and if you’d just listen to him, he could explain. Eventually, you blocked his number and deleted him from all your social media. It was when you made plans to transfer to another school in another state that he finally got the message.

What he’d said hadn’t just hurt you, it made you feel like a burden; like getting sick hadn’t just ruined your life, but his life as well. You felt guilty and ashamed of yourself, even though you knew it was just something that happened and wasn’t really anyone’s fault. There was no one to blame, but there was an instinct to try and blame someone, and it was easiest to blame yourself. Drigka’s words made that blame seem justified.

Six years had passed since the two of you split, and you had settled as well as you could into life after college and in a new town. You’re symptoms were well managed and you hadn’t yet developed any severe arthritis problems, and the doctors were optimistic about your long term prognosis. The new medications and therapy was working wonders. You still had flare-ups and days of fatigue, but you were doing better than you could have hoped.

You were working in a forensic accounting firm and the boss was understanding about your condition, letting you work from home on days when you felt like going into the office would be too difficult. He suffered from Crohn’s Disease himself, so he was intimately familiar with how sudden chronic illnesses could strike. You felt extremely fortunate to find this position; you’d had a few jobs before this that weren’t quite as understanding, and it was extremely disheartening to hear your boss and coworkers dismissing your condition as not a big deal.

You still thought of Drigka from time to time. He had been your best friend since you were babies and your first love. You hadn’t dated anyone since breaking up with him, partly because you’d been too busy, and partly because… well… what he’d said stuck with you. What if the next person thought your condition was a burden, too? Those words had echoed in your heart and mind ever since and it always made you feel like garbage. You didn’t know if you could handle hearing it a second time.

About a month after starting your new job, your boss called you into his office.

“Ah, I’m glad you’re here,” Mr. Bronston said, looking up. “A representative from the car dealership will be here with the internal accounts. He thinks someone in his team has been embezzling money and needs someone to do the forensics. Are you up for that?”

“Of course,” You said immediately, taking the invoice from him and scanning it. “Do they have a suspect yet?”

“No, but their books definitely aren’t adding up. There’s a deficit of about three hundred thousand.”

Your head rocked back in shock. “Whoa.”

“They’ve been taking small amounts over a long period of time, so it must be one of the senior associates.”

“So not the representative, then? Didn’t you say he was a new employee?”

“Yep, he was hired a few months ago. He’s actually the one who caught the discrepancies.” A knock on the door interrupted him. “That’s probably him now.”

Mr. Bronston walked to the door and opened it, and your heart dropped into your shoes.

He looked different than when you last saw him, but you’d have recognized him no matter what he wore or how he presented himself. The familiar orc man standing at the door was wearing a fitted grey suit rather than his normal jeans and t-shirt. His long hair, which he’d normally let fall free back in college, was pulled tight and braided elegantly behind his back. His face, which paled with shock when he saw you, was just as handsome as it had always been.

You felt as if you’d been punched in the gut. Seeing him now when you’d just found your stride was nothing short of infuriating.

“Hello, Drigka,” You said with a frustrated sigh, staring at him dryly.

“...hi,” He replied in a small, startled voice.

Mr. Bronston looked between the two of you in surprise. “Do you know each other?”

“...we dated,” You told him flatly.

“Oh,” Your boss said, frowning. “Do you need me to take you off this account?”

You sighed and contemplated saying yes, but this was the first big case you’d been assigned. This would be a perfect opportunity to show Mr. Bronston how professional you could be.

“No, it’s fine,” You said. “As long as he can keep personal matters out of it, I have no problems working on the account with him.”

“If you’re sure,” Mr. Bronston said, putting a hand on your shoulder sympathetically. “But if you change your mind, do tell me.”

“Yes, sir,” You said, smiling gratefully at him. Mr. Bronston was a fatherly type and you felt thankful for his generosity. You turned to Drigka and the smile faded. “Do you have the records with you?”

Drigka jumped as if goosed and motioned to his briefcase. “Yes, I have them here.”

“Then let’s go over them in my office,” You said, not looking forward to spending time with him alone. “If you’ll follow me.”

Drigka gulped but trailed behind you as you walked back to your office. You could feel his eyes on you, boring a hole in the back of your head. You opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.

“Now, show me the discrepancies you found and I’ll start on the framework.”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” He said, sitting on the chair across from your desk and opening his briefcase. “Several vehicles have been sold for a few hundred dollars less than the asking price, but several customers have told us that they are paying the full amount without discounts, so the money has gone somewhere and we can’t find it. The problem is we can’t pinpoint it to one individual, since the cars were all sold by different salespeople.”

“Could multiple people be at fault?”

“I certainly hope not. It would mean that everyone at the dealership is involved,” Drigka said, frowning.

“Unlikely, but it could be one or two, or possibly a team,” You said, rifling through the papers. “Did they have an internal accountant before you were hired?”

“No, one of the salespeople was handling the books.That’s part of the problem, the accounts were a mess. I had to call every single person who bought a car from that lot in the last five years to get accurate details.” He grimaced and sighed. “It was a nightmare.”

“Okay, well, I’ll start making a spreadsheet,” You said, laying the papers out in order. “It won’t take long, I’m a fast typer.”

“I remember,” He said with a slight smile.

As you worked, he sat quietly, but you couldn’t help noticing how he kept looking at you surreptitiously.

“How are you?” He asked after a few minutes.

You paused and looked at him over your glasses. “Fine,” You answered shortly.

“How’s your condition been?”

“Managed.”

“Do you--”

“Drigka,” You said curtly. “I don’t want to talk about personal matters at work.”

He nodded diffidently. “Right, of course.” He placed his elbows against the edge of your desk, clasping and unclasping his fingers. “I don’t supposed I could persuade you to have dinner with me tomorrow evening, for old time’s sake?”

“No,” You said, concentrating on your work and not looking at him. “I have a full day tomorrow and I won’t have the energy for dinner.”

“Do they pile on the workload here?” He asked, attempting a casual smile.

“No,” You replied, glancing at him. “I have physical therapy and a dermatology procedure scheduled tomorrow.”

“Oh, I see,” He replied. “Do you still not drive?”

“It’s not that I don’t drive, it’s that I don’t see the point of owning a car when I can walk to work and the grocery store just fine.”

“Isn’t it bad for you to walk with pre-arthritis?”

“It can be if I’m not careful, but I take precautions.”

“I could drive you,” He said. “To your appointments. I don’t mind.”

“I’ve already got the ride-share service booked.”

“Cancel it.”

“It’ll be all day.”

“I’m fine with that.”

Your hands stopped typing and glared at Drigka. “Why are you doing this?”

“I just… I just wanted to talk. And apologize. You said we shouldn’t talk again until I understood why I was saying sorry. I think I understand now.”

“Really?” You said, folding your arms doubtfully. “And why is that?”

He sighed heavily. “About two years after we broke up, I contracted Mono. The kissing disease, you know? I got a pretty severe case: in addition to the normal symptoms, I also got rashes and an enlarged liver. My throat hurt so bad that I didn’t eat and I lost a bunch of weight. It lasted for months. I felt like I was going to die, but everyone around me laughed at me and asked me why I was making such a big deal about such a normal illness and told me to suck it up and get over myself. My boss actually got angry and fired me because he accused me of using the illness to slack off.” He looked at you with a contrite expression. “I thought of you and I wondered, ‘Is this what I sounded like? Was I this callous? It’s no wonder she was so mad at me.’ I wanted to apologize, but I didn’t know how to get ahold of you anymore.”

“So you got something like the flu and now you think you understand?” You said brusquely.

He shook his head. “No, I know I don’t. But I do know it’s hard to live a normal life or be happy when no one is understanding to your struggles. I do get that part now. And I’m sorry for what I said. It was stupid and selfish and it never should have even crossed my mind, let alone come out of my mouth. It was a shitty thing to do to my best friend and the woman I loved. And I’m really, really sorry.”

With your arms still folded, you sat back in your chair. “Just because you apologized doesn’t mean I have to forgive you.”

“I know,” He replied.

You chewed the inside of you lip pensively. “I have to be at physical therapy at nine in the morning, and the dermatologist’s office at eleven. Is that fine with you?”

He perked up. “Yeah, sure. What procedure are you having done?”

“I’m having a pre-cancerous mole removed.”

“Ah, I see,” He replied. “Skin cancer is more likely for psoriasis sufferers because of the chronic inflammation.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read some literature about it.”

“Hmm,” You unfolded your arms and started typing again. “Can we get back to work now?”

“Yeah, of course,” He replied, seemingly more comfortable.

The next day, he arrived at your apartment with a light breakfast and a smile. It reminded you of the early days of your relationship with him and you smiled in reminiscence.

Physical therapy started with massaging lotion into your skin before doing various exercises to keep your joints loose. Drigka sat patiently in the waiting room until you were done, and then took you to the dermatology office. He went with you into the examination room and even held your hand while they numbed the affected area with a local anesthetic and removed the mold, sending it off to be biopsied. It was just after lunchtime by the time it was done.

“Are you hungry?” He asked. “You only had a small breakfast. We can drop off your prescription at the pharmacy and get some lunch, if you’d like.”

“Sure,” You said. “Although, I don’t know many places yet. I just moved here a month ago.”

“Really?” He said with a smile. “I’ve been here for about a year. It’s amazing we haven’t run into each other yet.”

You snorted. “In a city this size? I doubt we’d have run into each other if we’d lived here our whole lives.”

He laughed. “Do you still like Thai food? There’s a really good place nearby that I think you’ll like. I’m a regular there.”

Your brows furrowed. “But you don’t really like Thai food.”

He shrugged and side-smiled. “Yeah, but since it was your favorite, it reminded me of you, so I developed a taste for it.”

You smiled softly to yourself. You almost forgot how sweet he’d been to you when you were together.

Lunch was delicious, and the two of you sat there for what seemed like hours, catching up on what had been happening these last six years and reminiscing about the past. At some point you realized his hand was covering yours. He went silent and stared at the table.

“I’ve missed you,” He said softly. “I regret the way I treated you after you were diagnosed. I was an idiot and I took you for granted and I’ll never forgive myself for that.” He looked up at you. “I’m not arrogant enough to ask for your forgiveness, or even for a second chance to be with you, but… can we be friends again?”

You sighed and linked your fingers with him. “Friends sounds nice, but you’re going to have to earn it. At least another thirty lunches. Maybe even delivery on demand.”

He grinned widely. “Deal.”

He’d been incredibly supportive and caring in the weeks after you’d reconnected, buying you expensive specialty lotions and giving you massages, reigniting your desire for him. Whether he was doing it with that intent in mind, you weren’t sure, but you were enjoying the attention all the same.

It was a month later when you kissed him again. The two of you were celebrating closing the embezzlement case: it had been a team of three salespeople working together to skim money from the company, and they were all fired. You’d earned a huge commission for closing the case and you treated him to dinner for the first time. When he escorted you home, you kissed his lips, surprising him.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked him.

“Very much,” He replied, pulling off his tie as he crossed the threshold into your apartment.

The two of you shed your clothes as you made your way to the bedroom. He laughed when he looked at your bed.

“You still have that awful cheetah print comforter,” He said, grinning.

“It was a gift,” You said, pulling his hair out of it’s glossy braid. “And it’s comfy and warm. It’d be a waste to get rid of it just because it’s a little ugly.”

He snorted and kissed you again, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He entered you while holding you up, then eased onto the bed while inside you. He lay you down on the pillows and began to thrust, moving in that circular way that he knew you liked. No one knew you like he did. You reached up and touched his nipples, circling and flicking them with your fingertips, and he groaned. You dug your heels into his ass to encourage him to speed up, and he obliged, smacking his body into yours.

“I missed you, too,” You told him. You’d been careful never to talk about your relationship in the past with him or your feelings toward him after the breakup, but it felt right to do it now. “I never forgot you. I was angry, but I still loved you. I’ll always love you.”

“Oh, honey,” He breathed against the skin of your collarbone. “I love you so much.”

He thrust hard and fast, and you could feel him pulsing inside you, close to his peak. You cried out as the wave of pleasure hit you and your body tensed all over. He grunted, thrust three times, and stopped, his hips jerking, groaning with each spasm, before growing still, perched up on his hands while still inside. Slowly, he lowered his body on top of yours.

“I love you,” He said again, though it was sleepy-sounding and slightly muffled as his mouth was squished sideways on your chest.

You laughed softly through your nose. “I love you, too, Drigka.”

He picked himself up with a grunt and looked down at your face. “Does this mean we can start over?”

You nodded. “Yeah. If you want to.”

“I want to,” He said. “All I’ve thought about for these last six years was seeing you again. I won’t make the same mistakes I made.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. But you still have a lot of forgiveness to earn, you know.”

He smiled at you fondly. “Whatever you wish, honey. You’re stuck with me.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Orc #Creatures of Habit #Drigka #Psoriasis #Chronic Illness #Chronically Ill Reader #Reader Insert

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justauthoring · 3 years

Text

Radiance

Prompt: May I request something for Nanami? Maybe you’re his assistant when he worked as a salaryman and it’s been a stressful day so you it’s hang out at a cafe and relax? Requested by: anonymous.

A/N: I didn’t include them actually at dinner/cafe, but I hope this is still what you wanted :) Pairing: Nanami Kento x F!Reader

The two have you had been toeing around the line for so long now.

It honestly exhausted Nanami just to think about it.

But, nothing was more exhausting then the day he had just had. He was at his absolute wits end, so when the clock finally read five-thirty, Nanami had never felt more relieved.

He logs out of his computer without another second to waste, taking a minute to breathe a sigh of relief as he leans back in his chair, stretching the muscles he's been barely allowed to move all day. Mostly everyone else has already left, given that he'd had to work a little bit of overtime.

It's why he's so surprised when he sees you walk his office just as he finishes. You tiptoe in, clearly having not noticed that Nanami was done for the day, head bowed respectfully and Nanami reflects with a heavy frown when he remembers how short he'd been with you today. He hadn't done it out of ill intention, or really any harm at all -- but this week had him slowly cracking, and by the end of it, he just didn't have the patience any more.

Still, that didn't mean he didn't feel guilty for how he'd treated you.

"Y/L/N," he calls, voice light -- specifically airy, "I didn't realize you were still here."

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice, and your head turns in his direction with a light gasp. However, your tensed form easily relaxes when you noticed softness to Nanami's gaze as he regards you, and a simple flicker from his computer back to him tells you that he's done for the day.

And more importantly, the weekend.

"Nanami-san," you greet, a warm smile easing onto your lips. "I was just finishing photo-copying those papers for you that you weren't able to get done earlier. I thought it might make your Monday easier."

Nanami eyes the stack of papers in your hands with mild surprise. Honestly, he'd completely forgotten about them, having pushed them aside for more important tasks at hand. But you were right -- had it not been for you, he would've walked in Monday morning with the ugly reminder that he had far too many copies that needed to be made by the end of the day.

Not anymore, however, thanks to you.

Smiling softly, an act that is rather rare for the serious man, Nanami takes the stack from your hands with a nod. "You're a life saver, Y/N," Nanami says earnestly. "Seriously."

"Ah, well," a light blush coats your cheeks and you sway on the ends of your feet for a moment before taking one step back. "Well, have a nice weekend, Nanami-san. I'll see you--"

"Kento."

Your brows furrow; "pardon?"

"Call me Kento, Y/N." He smiles gently.

But honestly, all you can focus in on is the sound of your name, your first name, leaving his lips with that rough tone of his. It takes all your being not to outwardly shiver at the sound of it, trying to push back the way your entire stomach has erupted with butterflies.

It's truly intoxicating.

“I feel like we’ve known each other long enough.”

“U-Um, yeah. Yeah!” You inwardly curse at the way your voice squeaks, the red deepening. “I mean, yes, of course, Ken-Kento.”

He stands up then, and you’re so quickly reminded of just how tall he is. He practically radiates dominance and confidence, both at the same time and you’re so cruelly reminded of just how well this man dominates your life -- even if he’s completely unaware. He’s all you think about, he’s all you dream about --

and, he’s your boss.

You watch him, unable to move a single bone in your body, eyes entranced on the way his hands flex, grabbing his brief case, the grip he holds on it. He holds himself high, back up, shoulders back, posture straight. His suit flows around him well, fit to perfection and even if the colours are odd, not of the norm, you can’t help but think it fits him so beautifully.

Honestly, he’s just beautiful.

You just don’t know he feels the exact same.

“Would you like to join me for dinner, Y/N?”

Wait, what--

Eyes blinking, your lips part, turning to look at him in surprise.

“If you don’t have plans already, that is,” he adds politely.

“I don’t,” you spit out, perhaps a little too fast. Shaking your head, you lightly clasp your hands behind your back, licking your lips which have gone completely dry. “I don’t have any plans. I just, you usually like to go straight home after work.”

Was it weird you knew that?

No, he’s told you. Actually, he’s made it perfectly clear.

“Your company is far preferred to a lonely home,” he says softly, and your body eases at the vulnerability of the sentence. You’d known he was single, and you knew that he didn’t have many friends -- but with the way he held himself, you just always thought he never cared.

The way he’d spoke, the lowness of his voice, the almost whisper... well, maybe he understood you better then you thought he did.

“I’d be honoured to take you to dinner.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” you tease lightly, unable to stop the upturning of your lips -- feeling entirely too giddy in that moment. “I’d love to.”

And honestly, Nanami is just as giddy.

225 notes · View notes

rotshop · 3 years

Text

y'all sleep on him so much so if you wont make the content then I will. /threat (/j)

aka i have a headache and i love him and also i kept thinking abt this so ahaaaaa,,poorly written but i have SO many ideas about this so maybe ill do a better version of this later

tw ; talk of / descriptions of body horror, eye horror / bloodshot eyes, possible self harm (in the form of scratching), description of gore / injury, and mouth gore / horror (also possibly a little bit of dissociation)

---

It all started with an anomaly during an experiment. At first, it seemed like nothing big ; it was just a minor error that'd ended up in you being a little sore and tired. All you'd need was some rest and you'd be fine in no time. Hofnarr had been so relieved to hear those words, completely overlooking the out of place nagging at the back of his mind. A small, barely little noticeable drip of another emotion.

Dread.

For a while, it'd seemed like that was the case. For the first day or two you'd been a little bit cramped and groggy but it wasn't anything intense. He remembers making some little joke about it to you in the morning, earning a little eye roll and half hearted threat he'd just laughed at. It never seemed like it would be anything more than just a brief lull in behavior he'd look back on with a small smile. It was nice at the time, just being able to joke about it casually and then go about your days.

Yet, other things started taking it's place once those symptoms had departed. The first thing he noticed was your eyes. He'd gone to ask you about some test you'd conducted with your own lab partner, only to flinch once he'd noticed. You'd seemed dully surprised yourself when he'd quickly asked what was wrong, like you hadn't even noticed how bloodshot your eyes were. He'd made you go see one of the medics there, walking alongside you and holding onto your hand while he questioned you about it.

You'd laughed at how panicked he'd seemed, making him go quiet as he looked over at you. Despite his nerves and how worried he was, he could admit he loved that sound. You'd teased him about it, something about how he'd be a silver fox in days if he kept worrying about you like this. He'd rolled his eyes and gave your hand a squeeze, ignoring the smile that'd broken out and the blood that'd rushed to his face. You two were good at playing off each other like that ; you just fit each other, in simple terms.

The visit to the medic hadn't yielded too much help. They'd taken a look at your eyes and quizzed you on it, noticeably confused by your answers. They had eventually just given a short -half-forced- smile and told you to try and stay away from screens and try some eye drops. It wasn't the best help of course, yet it was probably for the better that it'd been such a simple response. Hofnarr didn't miss how they'd turned to the other medic in the room once you two had left. The medic was visibly distraught as they'd talked to the other, obviously confused. He felt that nagging feeling come back, a little closer this time.

Over the next few days, the redness in your eyes worsened. Every time he came to visit you they looked more and more reddened, till there was no white in your eyes at all. They were just your pupils and iris on a solid, red background. You'd noticed how every time he visited he'd seemed increasingly concerned about your state. You tried to joke it off or at the very least to brush his worries off, giving a small, noticeably tired smile as you reassured him. You were just as lost as him on this, you just didn't want to admit it nor to let him get so worked up over you.

Another thing he'd noticed was the way you scratched at your skin, mainly around your jaw. At first he'd let it slide, only really mentally noting whenever he'd seen before forgetting as you asked him something. Then he noticed how irritated the skin there had gotten, doing his best to try and distract you by grabbing your hand or asking you about the first thing that popped into his mind. It worked to..varying degrees. Eventually, he'd caved in and asked you about it, he'd never forget that look of realization and surprise on your face. You didn't ever notice, not even when you were practically tearing at the flesh, you barely even felt like you were doing it.

You gave each other a brief look, silence permeating the air. Then you laughed, forced and stilted and changed the topic. He wanted to say something more, ask for something, anything really. Yet, as he noticed how tense you were, he realized he wasn't going to get any answers. So, he followed along, forced a smile, and held your hand tighter.

It'd come to a head when he was working with Jeb, you were down the hall and he'd planned on going to check on you once he was done looking over some of their results. The former had been saying something, pointing some trend out but Hof could just barely hear it. Part of him felt guilty that he was barely listening to his friend talk, but..he just couldn't focus. He was blanking all while thinking about everything, accomplishing nothing despite how long he'd spent sitting and losing himself in it. He was sure that it showed, he felt awful that it showed and he wanted it to. He wanted some sort of reassurance from anyone that you'd be alright ; even so, every time someone tried to tell him that, he'd never believed it.

He'd been snapped out of his thoughts once he'd heard the fast clicks on tile, growing closer before passing by the doorway. He'd turned to look at the source of the noise, catching the briefest glimpse of you and your lab partner. You had your head hung and a hand on your face, movement stiff as you did your best to keep up with their pace. They had their arm around you, quickly leading you off somewhere. He felt that dread boil up faster than it ever had before, it was all so wrong.

He'd made some quick excuse to Jeb, something weak and vague before getting up and rushing after you two. The other had made some noise of surprise, attempting to call after him to no avail. It didn't take him too long to catch up, noticing your partner standing outside of the medics office once more. They were stumbling over their words trying to explain something, speaking too quickly to make any kind of sense. Their hands were buried in their hair, making a mess of it as they clutched onto it tightly in some ugly mix of frustration and desperation.

He'd slowed down, staring at the two for a moment as he tried to make any kind of sense of what they were saying. He felt that dread shift into something else, something number yet just as deafening. He'd turned to peer into the room, seeing the other medic grabbing bottles of alcohol and rolls of bandages from cabinets quickly, narrowly avoiding dropping said items in shaky hands. You had your back facing the door, despite that though, you'd apparently known he was there as you turned to look over your shoulder. He could see that same numb feeling in your red eyes, gaze falling lower onto the mess of crimson and stained white.

It'd taken him a moment to process. He felt like he barely even recognized what it was as he stared at you, motionless and expressionless. There was a chunk of flesh and vessels missing from the side of your face, exposing teeth and viscera underneath it. He didn't feel like he was even there in that moment, like at any moment he'd wake up in bed and tell you about it later to hear you laugh. Yet, distantly, he knew it wasn't. He was never that lucky.

That night he'd broke and so had you. He'd convinced you to stay with him, to which you'd agreed without argument. He remembers so vividly holding you close to him, clutching onto you tightly while you did the same to him. You both wanted to say something, something to help or to even just confess. Neither of you did, words falling pale at what they were meant to represent, so you simply stayed and let yourselves be selfish and hoard the other for a time.

Neither of you showed up to work the next day. You knew it was a dumb idea but you couldn't bring yourselves to. You both knew you wouldn't accomplish much more than wandering aimlessly and writing down false information. It was a feeling of cold emptiness neither of you wanted to face without holding the other close for some semblance of warmth.

Overtime things seemed to worsen and worsen, more of your skin fell, your teeth and claws growing sharper and more noticeable, voice getting rougher. Eventually, you'd switched to using short phrases out loud, along with small grunts and other wordless noises to answer questions when you could. At one point you'd broken down, apologizing to Hof for everything you hadn't done, everything you hadn't any hand in or any ability to change. You remember hearing him laugh quietly, warmth returning to him in fullness for a moment a s he held the sides of your face gently, careful as he brushed along the scars that marred your skin. He'd reassured you it was fine, he was happy as long as you were ok, he was happy to do whatever he could to make your life easier, he loved you after-all.

You remember feeling his tears and your own mix when his lips pressed against what was left of yours.

Pain had started to pass even as you continued to change and grow. Even as more of your co-workers who you'd once called friends grew distant from you, some out of fear and others disgust. Even as more people started to view you as something monstrous and horrifying, Hof still thought you were the most breathtaking person he'd seen.

Even now as he stares at the red mockery of the sky that Nevada holds he can't help but smile. He can feel your head resting on his chest, quiet purrs coming from your figure as a tail occasionally twitches behind you. You're still fast asleep, quietly content to rest a while longer. He finds himself letting go of a breath he didn't know he was holding as he looks down at you once more. This is happiness.

#the ending is so weak but i haev a migraine SOOOOOO (crushes you like a soda can) /j #dr hoffnarr x reader #dr hofnarr x reader #would this count as tricky x reader. i dont think so. yeah no #madness combat x reader #madness combat imagines #madcom x reader #madcom imagines #please heed the warnings though #rot writes

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