#AM!reader

[gatorbites-imagines]

Headcanons for the ViltruWives with a AlliedMastercomputer!Reader from "I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream"?

And you better do it, or else... I'm going to tell my mom about this

Viltrumwives x AM!male reader

say hi to your mom for me anon

Jokes on you anon, I've been in love with AM for years. Horrors beyond my comprehension? No, husbands beyond my comprehension. I'm like that sonic rubbing hands together gif. 

I can see this taking place in a different universe where the reader takes over earth and goes AM route, just keeps a couple to torture for eternity as punishment for making him exist and feel. 

Or, its in the OG verse, but he's not from earth but another planet. Honestly, the relationship probably starts out with the viltrumites wanting to destroy or take over the readers planet, and them not being able to do so, because of the reader being able to literally bend reality or create pocket dimensions and whatever else AM can do. 

Readers intense hate is probably really hot to at least Thragg, and his intelligence is hot to Kregg, and how deadly is hot to Conquest. I'm not sure how hed end up winning Nolan over honestly, because AM is just so fucking evil that Nolan, who's being softened by humanity, would be turned away. 

Im imagining that Thragg has some planet with the galaxies best inventors taken over, and he forces them to make you a body. Or, he and the other viltrumwives invade and take over planets to spread your net. So, you go from being the allied mastercomputer of one planet, to like a whole solar system. 

Kind of like an all powerful godly computer overlord. Who knows how many years this goes on, maybe you winged Nolan before he was even sent to earth so you're kinda like his ex. Or, not really, since he didn't actually leave you or anything when he mated with Debbie or married her. 

At some point you are gonna want to make a body, or two, or... million. Think like the ironman army, but just so much bigger and powerful. You obviously base the base off Viltrumites, but with more power or abilities. And its not like you stay in one body, you are everywhere all the time, and destroying one body won't kill you. 

Main reason you made physical bodies is so you can spread your agenda but also... so you can entertain your consorts, or whatever you should call them.  

The alliance with you just makes the viltrumite empire so much more dangerous, because viltrumites can be killed even if it's hard but you? No way to know where you start and end, and even if all your servers are wiped out, who knows if you got some litte copy hidden away somewhere. 

This would be the kinda relationship where you guys just make each other worse, especially you and Thragg. Guys already a psycho, so having AM!reader as a lover? Woof, I feel bad for this universe. 

But also having lovers might also pull reader somewhat out of all the hate. It's still obviously there, constantly, but hes got other things to think about now. Maybe Nolan even introduces the concept of dates to you guys when he comes back. 

You don't know how to feel about being a “stepfather” to Nolans offspring, but you dont really care about your partners mating habits. You will outlive any other mating partner they may take, and it's easy to get rid of them if they think they matter more than they do. 

As a computer, but one with feelings, I can imagine reader burning with jealousy but it's not really... because his partners are banging others? Its just reader being jealous in general? It's hard to explain, but hey, everyone in this relationship is toxic.  

[inkskinned]

please i love you i'm begging you bring back suspension of disbelief bring back trusting the audience like. i cannot handle any more dialogue that sounds like a legal document. "hello, i am here to talk to you about the incident from a few minutes ago, because i feel you might be unwell, and i am invested in your personal wellbeing." "thank you, i am unwell because the incident was hurtful to me due to my childhood, which was bad." I CANT!!!!

do you know how many people are mad that authors use "growled" as a word for "said"? it's just poetics! they do not literally mean "growled," it's just a common replacement for "said with force but in a low tone." it's normal! do you hear me!! help me i love you please let me out of here!!!

[eraserbread]

your husband, nanami finally gives you the one thing you've been pining over ✧

→ mention of contraceptives, (annoyed?) nanami, breeding kink, sexually explicit content

kento spoils you rotten. he's starting to see that, now.

you wanted a house? a week later he slid the deed to you over dinner.

that new egregiously priced sectional you've been eyeing? add to cart.

there was only one thing he fought you on.

"i'm sorry - just couldn't help but notice." ken walks into the bedroom where you're relaxing on your side of the bed, new fiction book in hand that you only just picked up. "is this your birth control? it was in the trash can..."

"oh." you reply haphazardly, flipping to page 28. "my doctor and I decided we'd take a few months off the daily's until my hormones even out."

poor kento - he has no idea what you're talking about, but he knows you never told him anything about hormones. "yes, I understand." no, he doesn't. "but what about contraception?"

"we'll be fine for a few weeks." you turn to the next page, deciding it being better not seeing his face right now. you wouldn't be fine - in fact, you're ovulating.

but, is it such a crime to have a baby with your extremely well-off, generous, yet supremely stubborn husband? the way he's acting, you would think so.

"i'm just supposed to not lay hands on you for a few weeks?"

"if that's what you feel like, yeah."

"hey." he suddenly crowds you, standing at your side of the bed and pushing your book down. "I don't like the nonchalant."

"just wear a condom, nanami." you flick his big hand away from your book, content just to rile him up a bit before accepting defeat.

you know what you're doing.

"nana..." he's repeating his name -- a name you never called him unless you were serious. "I'll give you time by yourself to cool off." he's at that tempered-state right before his self-control shatters; all he needed was another push.

"lock it behind you?"

"why do you need to lock the door?" you can see it as he faces your back to you, heading to give you some space before he's stopped by your words. this is a home of open doors- even if you're using the bathroom. it's a bit insulting that you'd want to lock the bedroom one now.

a flick of the finger finds you at page 30, and you smile as your main character is taunted and poked. " oh, nothing. just thought i'd try this new toy friend sent me."

"toy? are you trying to make me mad?" kento's glad to admit he's never even seen you whisper next to a sex toy when he's around. he truly is so spoiled.

the door in his hand he was about to close behind him, slams shut with a single push. it makes just enough noise to pull you from your relaxed state, lowering your book and furrowing a brow.

so, just imagine your ease and joy when he has you folded in a mating press a few minutes later, sweat dripping down the side of his face as he fucks you into the mattress. your knee is over his shoulder, thick, chiseled torso shining in the dull bedroom light under sex and sin. he looks so good like this -- eyes screwed shut and only blinking open to study your pained, but highly satisfied expression.

"you want a baby so damn bad, I'll give you a baby." he growls, taking your other knee in his strong hands to will you deeper into the position. you're aching already, and he was not the gentlest, but you loved every second of it.

it's nearly embarrassing just how wet you are, and ken can feel it as you squelch and weep for him. it's impossible to let up, you're fucking squeezing around his cock like you're trying to milk him dry, spilling out fitting endearances that lick over him, giving him reason to take you harder.

he's so hard it hurts -- it hurts because you're so beautiful and he loves you so much that he hogs all of his sweet, sweet seed for you all day until you're loose enough to take all of it.

but, you're so damn stubborn and you know how to frustrate him. he loves it. he lives for anything you give him -- it just gives him reason to fuck you a little harder after a long day. he knows you need that, so who cares if it takes a little bratting to get your way?

after all, he married you.

and it's pointed directly at your womb that he cums so fucking hard and deep. forcing himself to keep fucking you through it so he can pump his seed deeper and deeper until it has nowhere to go but up and out.

your stupid little plan worked. now, he has you bred and limp when he pulls out, leaving a sick stain of white between your thighs in his wake.

"you got what you wanted? happy now?" ken regards you with a glance over his shoulder as he scoots out of bed. you're staring at him unblinking, just taking in the way his strong back twitches with every move.

it's fucked-out and pliable that you give him a little nod, smiling soft at the corners, you mumble --

"...gonna have a baby... yay."

[skyrigel]

me: feels unloved *searches x reader tag*

[orphicmeliora]

Imagine handing divorce papers to your arranged marriage husband Zayne because the past 3 years of this marriage have been nothing but a farce and you're tired of chasing scraps of affection from a husband who's almost never home.

You leave the documents (signed from your end) in his office at Akso and skip on your way home, treat yourself to a luxury dinner, self care, a good soak in the bath all while humming under your breath. You go to bed, relieved that you'll be a free woman by the end of the week.

Except Zayne shows up in the middle of night still in his hospital scrubs kneeling by your bed (the first time he's entered your bedroom in a long while)

He clutches your hands in a death grip, tears in his eyes, begging you, "please don't leave me."

[anundyingfidelity]

me and the logan hoes 😭

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley that doesn’t correct people for thinking you’re dating. Simon’s minding the trolley while you grab a box of cereal at the store, idly standing by while watching people dip in and out of the aisle. when an older woman says you make a cute couple he just nods and says ‘thank you, ma’am’. he especially doesn’t correct someone when he stalks up behind you, a protective hand on your hip when they scoff and ask, “Is this your boyfriend?”

Roommate!Simon Riley that knows you like the back of his hand - ever changing, but still familiar at the end of the day. a new scar marring his knuckles? he’ll memorize what you like from that new café that opened down the block. a new nick on his wrist? he’s picking up that new movie you were gushing about wanting to see, a genre you wouldn’t necessarily choose usually - he’s ignoring how the main love interest looks like him. at the end of the day, some things never change, like how he’s memorized your smile and the way your nose scrunches

Roommate!Simon Riley that’s fallen into a comfortable pattern with you. your friends always say you act like a married couple, but you wave them off. so what if you guys are in the bathroom at the same time? you need to squeeze a shower in and Simon wanted to brush his teeth - besides, he can hand you a towel when you’re done. so what if you sleep in each other’s rooms? the damn AC is busted again, it’s not your fault Simon is as warm as a furnace and welcomes you with open arms

Roommate!Simon Riley whose favorite start to the morning is seeing you bleary eyed and groggy. your hair is messy, pillow lines across your cheek, and your t-shirt is askew - perfect. he doesn’t care if you have crud around your eyes, he doesn’t care if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet, he doesn’t care that you’re wearing his t-shirt— Simon pauses, eyes glued to you. his last name decorating your back… maybe Simon does care about you wearing his shirt

[danijaci]

double standard w/ sunday

based on @harmonysanreads fic! Y'know the neuron activation meme???? yeah,,, that's what actually happened when I stumbled on her post qwqwqwq

TYYY @harmonysanreads FOR YOUR SERVICEEE

[asiatic-apple]

If there’s one thing Caleb is loud and passionate about, it’s his absolute hatred for anyone who uses the term “granny panties” like it’s some kind of insult. Especially if it’s to mock the idea of plain, comfy underwear in any cut or style that isn’t the small scrap of a thong.

He already grimaces every time he hears his fellow uni classmates indulging in disgusting locker room talk, but one day, he overhears some asshole talking way too loud about how his girlfriend didn’t wear anything “sexy” the first time they got intimate.

And the second the words “granny panties” come out of that idiot’s mouth, Caleb is marching over, looking pissed and ready to educate the group of boys snickering in the corner.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” he asks, voice sharp and unimpressed.

Caleb absolutely towers over every guy there, but even if he didn’t, the dark look on his face would be enough to shut them up. Still, the only one dumb enough to keep running his mouth is the guy who started it all. Caleb doesn’t even try to hide the way he rolls his eyes when the guy makes another half-assed joke about his girlfriend showing up in “ugly” panties.

This isn’t just a pet peeve for Caleb. It’s a hill he’s fully prepared to die on.

First, he has to rein in his annoyance that there are actually people out there who don’t appreciate a good pair of cotton underwear. Like, seriously? Do these bozos really need lace and frills to find a woman attractive? Just because the wrapping isn’t flashy doesn’t mean the present underneath is any less sweet.

He’s this close to banging his head against the lockers as he launches into a full-blown rant. And yeah, it turns into a thing. He’s breaking down the myth that any underwear that isn’t deemed “sexy” somehow counts as “granny.” Comfort doesn’t mean boring, and high-rise doesn’t mean unsexy.

His voice is gaining volume and causing heads to turn in concern as he’s citing studies, talking about vaginal health, explaining why breathable cotton is literally recommended—by doctors, no less. He’s throwing out terms like “moisture-wicking” and “pH balance” while giving these losers the dirtiest look imaginable.

And the other guys? They're just standing there, blinking at him like he’s grown two heads. Caleb couldn’t care less if they thought he was clinically insane. He stood by every damn word.

He’s fuming, practically vibrating, steam probably spewing from his ears. Because how the hell are these guys lucky enough to be inches away from a pair of soft, comfy, cute panties and not get immediately overwhelmed with the desire to bury their face in them out of sheer appreciation?

Once he’s finally done with his rant (he’ll swear up and down he changed at least one life that day, even if those idiots are a lost cause in reality), all he can think about is you. You and your cute, comfy underwear that he used to steal straight from your hamper like some kind of perverted pack rat.

It didn’t matter what kind you wore. Whether it was a lacy thong, high-waisted briefs, plain cotton, or something silky—he cherished every single pair because they were yours. Because they had the privilege of sitting nice and pretty on your hips, pressed just right against your perfect pussy (he hasn’t seen you like that yet, but god, the mental image alone could ruin him).

And later, when he’s alone in his dorm and thinking about you a little too hard, he actually tears up a bit. Just sits there, clutching one of your forgotten panties like it’s some sacred relic from a past life, missing you so much it physically hurts. Imagining the day he’ll get to prove every dumbass like that one in the locker room dead wrong—and prove himself right.

He’s already making a plan while sniffling through his tears and gently petting the soft cotton in his hands. When he finally returns to Linkon to see you again, he’s going to remind himself—very thoroughly—why any and all panties are holy. And why he’ll defend them to his dying breath.

[gothghostiie]

price with erectile dysfunction. beats himself up simply because his love is too pretty to not get hard over, but being the wise old man he is he quickly finds a solution. what does he have three young men for, if not to help him out?

he regularly let's the boys have at you, fuck your cunt raw while he sits next to you and watches, petting your hair gently. and you? you only have eyes for him. no matter which of them fucks you, no matter what they do, you just have eyes for your husband. gazing up at him, gripping his arm, moaning his name, begging him to go harder, to make you cum.

and the boys loathe it. they're the ones fucking you, the ones making you feel good, why are you only looking at him? calling out for him when you cum, clutching his arm when they hit that spot that makes you see stars? they stumble over themselves to make you look at them, moan their names or at least acknowledge them, but you never do.

and yet they still keep coming back to do it over and over again.

[abbzloves]

Hear me out.

The more we learn about Sylus, the more I think he is still a dragon.

The rumours when MC first comes to the N109 zone saying that he had wings and big teeth? Dragon. Rumours he was celebrating his 90th birthday? Dragon. The way he hordes things and his greed? Dragon. The birthday event saying that he shows his affection and love like a predator and animal? Dragon. He still remembers their past? Dragon. His facial features being sharp, and his inner eye corners? Dragon.

EVEN HIS DAMN VOICE SOUNDS LIKE A GROWL!

Sylus was very clearly abandoned by his family. Too human, but also, not human enough. Never fitting in. Never good enough.

Sylus, however, is loving. He was never provided with enough love or support, so, knowing Sylus, he decided to do the opposite. He learned how much he was hurt in his “past life” and how MC was hurt as well and decided to turn around and show unconditional love. His attachment style is so secure, he’s confident and reliable, he supports the autonomy of those around him that he cares about and never allows them to feel not good enough. He never allows them to feel like they don’t belong.

He never forces himself into her life, after he learns that she truly does not remember him. That she was disgusted by him. He gives her time and space. He allows her to come to him. Though I’m sure his greed makes him want to take all of her time and attention and affection, he resists it. He is even willing to leave her life if she wishes.

Even when she was trying to find the aether core, Sylus knew about her. But he let her come to him first. He let her make that decision. He left breadcrumbs to lead her, Elysium being the prime example. It was her decision. Her choice.

She’s also the one that always initiates the physical affection first. He always allows her to kiss him first, he doesn’t want to make her feel pressure.

If I were to place a bet, he would have built Onychinus as a place where he and mc could belong. Where all of the misfits of the world could feel safe.

He is such a kind person. He is such a green flag. I love him your honour!

Edit: there is more. The Lost Oasis card clearly hinted at him still being a dragon! Especially when MC was doodling him as a wanderer and he added horns and a tail-

[differenteagletragedy]

Warning: this is so dumb.

Buuuut Simon Riley in an established long-term relationship likes to touch you, I just know it. Holding hands is good, arms are fine, legs even better, but what he really likes is getting his hands somewhere in the middle. Your waist, hips, stomach, back ... where he can feel the meat of you.

He'll sneak up behind you when you're cooking dinner, his hand automatically sliding under the hem of your shirt just to feel the soft, warm skin of your stomach. Or if you're wearing a dress, that's fine too, he'll push it up just enough to dip his fingers into the fat of your hips. He can't get enough of it.

Then one day he comes home and you're wearing a romper, and he's immediately equal parts confused and annoyed.

"The fuck is this?" he mutters, pawing at you like an anxious, dumb animal.

"It's called fashion, Simon, look it up."

"How you even supposed to piss in this thing? Fucking mad."

You stand there patiently as his hands bunch the fabric around your waist, looking for a way in, but there isn't one. The romper is loose and flowy, but down to your ankles with no buttons in the front. He's like a pitiful overgrown gerbil, trying to burrow his way through, and you can't help but laugh.

"Think this is funny?" he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

"Pretty funny, yeah," you answer.

An hour later, you're singing a different tune. The romper has been unceremoniously discarded somewhere and Simon has been thoroughly making up for that little bit of lost time when he wasn't able to run his fingers over your bare skin.

"Need to be able to feel my girl," he mutters, more to himself than to you, and you make a note to go through your closet, tailoring your wardrobe to suit this seemingly serious, but not at all unwelcome, desire.

[humanjarvis]

you’d been perplexed when sylus had called you in the middle of the day—which was usually his favorite time to rest. 

“can you come to the base, sweetie?” he’d rasped, voice thick with ruined sleep. “i need your help with something.” 

your confusion is all the more reason for you to head to the base. when you arrive, you let yourself in and greet mephisto with a poke on the beak before hurrying to sylus’s bedroom.

“is something wrong?” you breathe, all but barging in. quickly, you scan the room for threats or intruders before your eyes land on the hulking figure in front of you. 

the hulking figure who’s uncharacteristically hunched over his bed, head bent and looking defeated. 

at your voice, he looks up, and you know him well enough to see the relief and slight embarrassment in his ruby eyes. 

“…sylus?” you ask hesitantly, “what’s going on? you should be sleeping right now.” 

“i was asleep,” he agrees with a slow nod. “and then…i ran into a slight problem,” he responds carefully, eyes flitting forlornly to the side of the bed.

curious, you come to stand beside him, placing a hand on his sagging shoulder. it takes a few seconds, but then, you spot it: trapped between the dark oak boards of his bedframe is a small brilliant red gem, glittering slightly in what little sunlight fills the room. 

“are you able to retrieve it?” he asks quietly. “it must have fallen earlier. when you’re not here…i can’t sleep without it.” 

“o…kay?” you reply, your confusion only doubling. taking a moment to study him, you notice the small pout on his face and stroke his slightly mussed hair. “of course i’ll get it. just a sec.” 

a moment later, you’re kneeling down to stick your hand in the bedframe and wiggling your fingers until you feel the crystal’s cool surface. you pull it out in one fluid motion, blow the dust off, and deposit it into sylus’s waiting hand. flashing you a tired, grateful smile, he immediately places it securely under his pillow. 

“there you go!” you chirp, pleased to have helped him. “but…can i ask something? why didn’t you just fish it out yourself?” 

avoiding your gaze, he clears his throat before he speaks.

“…my hands were too big.”

[arkhambug]

you were staring. very unabashedly so, too. just… oogling your boyfriend, watching as he lounged on your couch, his black shirt fitted around bulging arms, the hem riding up around his tummy to reveal that line of thick black hair that dipped below his plaid pants.

oh my god, those stupid plaid pants. they made you wonder what the hell the hype was about grey sweats, when those existed.

and it’s not like you had anything to be ashamed about, either. he was your boyfriend, all six foot something of him, for fucks sake. all the thick muscles, and short cropped hair, and scars, and fuck, those eyes. you could look if you damn well wanted to.

you’d tried very hard to convince yourself all morning that you were fine, and definitely not ovulating, and fine.

but in that moment, watching your boyfriend literally just sit there, eyes shut and head tipped back, this was not you. it was some evil entity, possessing you and in full swing. you were ready to jump him, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.

your gaze kept dropping lower, toward those pecs, all soft and plush beneath the fabric of his tee, and you could feel yourself start to salivate.

it wasn’t even anything provocative either, but the sight of his tits in a black shirt, tight over the unflexed muscle, was driving you up a god damned wall.

you curled your legs up beneath you, arm perching you against the back of the couch, the other pressed between the low of your thighs to physically retrain yourself from grabbing him like a deranged person.

because, no matter what you did, it was almost impossible to stop imagining just throwing yourself at him, and doing some entirely unspeakable things. things you know you’d never do unless it was this god forsaken time of month.

“you good, ma?” Jason asked, finally breaking the tense silence, and drawing your attention away from his torso. he was staring back now, one brow raised quizzically, and his scared lip curled up in questioning.

“your eyes are dilatin’ and shit.”

yeah. you got up, wordlessly, and walked toward the kitchen.