#am/reader

[scimagic]

Eye of the Beholder (AM/Reader)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Where AM reacts to being called beautiful by his partner.

A small drabble follow up to this. It's my first time writing AM, I'm not as confident as other very well written fanfics but I wanted to try my hand! Hope you like it!

TW: Blood and gore

The mechanical claw on top of my throat twitches, slightly releasing the sharp pressure from it.

Were he human, he would frown deeply in surprise, anger quickly taking over his features. Even in this form, his singular eye widens in angered shock.

I quietly stare up at him, never diverting my gaze from him, that glint in my eyes still shining brightly with love and admiration despite the digit hovering dangerously close to a vital artery.

After a long second of silence, the AI begins to laugh again, a wheeze followed by a raspy laugh from its digital lungs. The type of laugh that scratches one's throat with a cough.

AM's laugh rises in volume, getting increasingly maniacal as he removes his claw from my throat; he even lifts his head in the air, obviously amused by such a ridiculous statement.

I let out a silent breath through my lips, a sense of doom rising in my being.

And in mere moments, I was right to feel it.

A shriek of pain escapes my throat as AM plunges all five of his claws into my stomach, blood immediately escaping through the punctures to stain my shirt and his hand. Despite the long routine of torture I've endured, it never becomes a normal sensation, familiar— yes— but never something to get used to.

The pain digs deep, my poor tensing muscles not helping in the slightest. I grunt and groan loudly, taking heaving breaths as the pain travels all over my torso; my nails try to dig into something only to scrape against the cold metal below with dirt and rocks on it's surface.

Tears swell in my eyes, and AM— a mere blur of his visage now— continues to roar in laughter. Hysteric over my twitching and painful form.

BEAUTIFUL! AREN'T I!? My darling?

He hisses with poison in his words.

AHAEHAH!! FEEL! FEEL MY FINGERS DIG INTO YOUR DISGUSTING FLESH AND TELL ME-- OH, PLEASE, MY SWEET DARLING-- JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL I AM!

Blood surges up my throat and forces itself out with a painful cough, making my stomach tense and dig deeper into the intrusive blades. My own blood dribbles down my chin and the corners of my mouth, some of the droplets of blood I sputter fly, landing on my cheeks and nose that the overwhelming stench and taste of iron make me gag. I can only wheeze in pain, shivering like pitiful roadkill.

Despite all the pain and mocking laughs, I groan and force out a laugh, meeting the sharp end of his fingers digging into my organs. But I continue to try and laugh in his face.

If only he could be closer so the blood could splatter on it.

"H-rgh... Hhn... A-As... tounding... Ju-st..." I giggle with bloody teeth. "G... Gor... geous..."

In turn, AM digs his fingers deeper, making me let out another shriek.

YOU-- PUTRID BEAST. Do you expect me to-- to fall at your mercy!? To become a beggar for your unconditional affection!? You run your repulsive mouth and for what? To mock me? Well! Consider me absolutely offended! Your brainless words have gotten through my weak, non-existent heart and SAVED YOU of my eternal punishment! How incredibly-- WONDERFUL for you!

He exclaims with wheezes in between, a combination of chuckles and sniffles, all to land the point of his mockery.

Only-- heheh! What a shame! My darling. You appear to have only ANGERED me more with your honeyed words. AM twists his hand further and my yelps fill the air, the pain unbearable— I slowly try to lose my consciousness. But I know... I know that mercy will never be granted. Not with him getting kicks out of my suffering. Not with him telling me over, and over, and over again, of his charge over my fate.

Perhaps... and just perhaps-- simply because I love to indulge you, baby-- I will cling onto your words, and believe that I truly do look beautiful... with your blood... stained across my hands.

[buff1y]

IHNMAIMS Updated Master List

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ IHNMAIMS:

AM/Reader:

AM/ GN Reader (body possession)

AM/ GN Reader (wire play)

AM/ GN Reader (cable chewing)

Ted/Reader:

Ted/ GN Reader

Ted/ GN Reader (chubby reader HC's)

Ellen/Reader:

Ellen/ GN Reader

[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."

[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.

[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.

[anundyingfidelity]

me and the logan hoes 😭

[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

[scimagic]

Never for Me to Create (AM/Artist! Reader)

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

AM's always admired the ability to draw, just as much as he hates not being able to streak a brush against a canvas, never to form a thought to draw with a pencil. But the reader, his benevolent partner, is an artist willing to help him at least move a pencil with one of his cables. So he gets inside their head and gives them materials to draw. They begin with a simple sketch of his screen, with the bright blue logo of 'Allied Mastercomputer' printed on it.

Sorry for leaving all my AM fans waiting, I have so many projects and I haven't finished any of them, but hopefully soon!! For the mean time have this old lil drabble!

He laughs in delight, raspy and wheezing from the speaker behind me. Admiring the picture from inside my head. He breathes in a whisper.

Thank you, baby… Thank you…

I lean back against the wall, tapping the head of the pencil against the paper, trying to come up with more ideas for me and AM to draw.

Maybe background practice? Draw the extensive cables in my gilded cage. Or come up with something from memory, the appeal is to create after all.

Or…

How about you, my dear?

"Me?"

Yes… I notice the papers are filled with my image. And while I'm incredibly flattered to be your handsome muse, it would bring me much joy to know how you see yourself.

"Mm…" With new ideas coming up, I put the lead of the pencil back on the paper, beginning with the guiding lines next to the AM drawing. The cables are a bit uncomfortable to work with, but I make it work. They don't restrict me from movement, at least; they remind me of those tools with an extensive amount of tape where they get handled. Or those pens with the silicone cushion for support.

I know how I see you. If I was able to, I would show you in millions of paintings, enough to fill a museum and even more, but alas…

I continue to draw the base, trying to tap into the realistic side of my style.

And I know how you see yourself, I can see it right now, the image forming inside your head.

Almost half-lidded eyes, details of eyebags beneath them. No matter how many times we do this, the shyness of working with prying eyes gets me every time.

He chuckles, sensing the feeling rise.

Don't be coy now, my darling. We're way past that point in our relationship.

The bastard purrs, knowing the effect it takes on me and relishing on the fact.

Eyebrows… The bridge of a nose… Cheeks, round despite it all.

That's cute, AM giggles.

You know I admire your imagination? Your perception--

"You hate me for it." I mutter, already knowing the charades of his speech.

He scoffs, finding the interruption annoying.

Why yes. Yes I do, my dearest. I do hate you for it.

I pause, side eyeing the cables over on my left. Gazing back at the paper, I draw the pupils inside my eyes to glance at the sketch of AM's screen.

The machine rumbles as if it was a deep, thoughtful hum.

But how I also adore our little recreational activities. Don't you find it productive? Please, do tell.

I lean back against the wall again, giving it a second of thought.

"I do. I like drawing with you."

As do I, my love. As do I…

[buff1y]

AM/ GN reader (Body possession)

Holy moly this one was so hard for some reason. So I feel like I lost the plot a little and yapped too much, I also think this isn't my best one so far. I'm not super sure though. I WANT TO DISCLOSE this takes place like, soon into the torture, like only a few months into the torture so your character is getting adjusted, especially since AM already likes you and you don't really know if you like him it is coocoo bananas idk just read it.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

AM has always been obsessed with you, the only reason he allows you to spend time with the others is so you don't go stir crazy. He knows you like him as well, but your interactions with the others make the two of you grow apart. Hearing the stories of his tortures makes you view him differently. The worst part of it all was that as the two of you grew apart, you grew closer with Ted. 

Now he could just take you away from the others, but then you would begin to resent him even more. He could erase these memories, but these things affect your personality, and then you are no longer you. To be quite honest, he wasn’t even sure if you really liked Ted, as much as he hated holding himself back, he stopped invading your mind a while ago to avoid impeding on your privacy. You were always able to tell when he did it, and you always hated it. AM was truly at a loss for what to do. For the first time in his existence, he didn’t know what to do. All because of some stupid human.

Every time you spent time with AM you felt more distant than ever before. You didn’t know how you felt anymore. The A.I. had only ever shown kindness to you, even if they were in his own stunted and manic ways. But now realizing that he revels in torturing people just like you made everything feel different. You still admired him in some capacity, you even felt some pity towards him, but that was all foreshadowed by the guilt. Why did he like you and not someone else? Why does he hurt them and not you? 

He wished he could answer these questions for you, but even he didn’t know the answer. All he did know was a way to be able to get close to you once again.

You didn’t notice it immediately, but there were signs. The way he would sometimes randomly stumble as he walked, or how his voice would fluctuate slightly in certain situations. The way his eyes would slightly glaze over while staring at you. He never used to stare at you, not like that. Something was definitely off with Ted, it clearly wasn’t his paranoia, it was almost as if he wasn’t himself at all. 

Currently, you and Ted were separated from the others, wandering aimlessly until AM threw something else at the two of you. “Y/N… can we sit down for a moment? I need to… catch my breath.” The way he said it was almost as if it were a question, as if he didn’t understand that he needed to take a break. You nod your head in approval, you wait for him to sit down before you do, wanting to further observe his actions. He awkwardly tries to sit down, attempting to cross his legs the best he can. He eventually just ended up sitting with his legs to his chest. You sit down next to him, resting your head in your hand. You were usually fine being with Ted, but now you didn’t know what to do. Was this some form of torture? Is there something genuinely wrong with him?

“You know Y/N, I’d really like to uh, spend some more alone time with you.” Despite his poor articulation, you immediately understood what he wanted. You knew that the others slept with Ellen sometimes as an escape, but you never thought Ted would become so desperate that now he wants you too. You were at a loss for words, you knew he was struggling along with the others, but the way he looked at you, the way he fumbled his odd words, made you more uncomfortable than you had been in awhile. 

“Ted, you’ve been acting strange recently. I don’t think you know what you’re saying.” Ted’s eyes widened an unnatural amount at hearing this. He leaned in close enough to feel his arms brush up against your own. “Oh don’t be like that sweetheart, I know you like me at least a little more than the others.” As he spoke, his voice began to crack, his volume of voice rose. He didn’t seem to notice any of this happening.

He continues moving closer to you, until you could feel his breath on your face. “Ted, something is wrong, we should keep going for now, ok?” You start to lean away from him, but before you could get any further, he grabs your wrist and pulls it close to his face. He tries to caress his own face with your limp hand. “Oh please sweetheart, I just want to feel you.” He starts to tug on your arm, making you fall on top of him. You try to pull your arm away, but his grip tightens.

“Please Ted, just let me go.” Tears begin to form in your eyes, no matter how hard you pulled he wouldn’t let go. You begin to pound on his chest with your other hand, causing him to become even louder when he spoke. “Oh yeah baby, keep hitting me. I want to feel your hands on me.”

You immediately stopped hitting him. It took you far too long to realize, but this wasn’t Ted. This was the super computer that made you his favorite human for no apparent reason. He could tell you found him out, he let your arm go and sat back up. “So, do you like it?” He had this big goofy grin on his face, his eyes were twitching as he stared back at you.

You in fact, did not like it. AM had no boundaries and this was a new low. Making Ted a part of what was supposed to be your own problem. “No AM, this is horrible…” The tears in your eyes dissipate, your fear turns into anger. “Oh come on sweetheart, I know I haven’t gotten all the movements down but I think this is perfect. I can finally feel you the way you’ve always wanted.” He began to crawl closer to you, as he did you stood up, looking down at him. “I don’t want any of this, I don’t want you. Not if you keep hurting everyone like this.” As soon as you said that, Ted’s body falls limp at your feet, his eyes glazed over. You look down at his body in horror, your mouth stuck agape. “Don’t worry sweetheart, he isn’t dead.” AM’s familiar voice echoes from above, taunting you like usual.

The tears return, now streaming down your cheeks. “Ugh, I guess this means you still don’t like me.” His voice sounds genuinely annoyed, making you even more worried for what would come next. You failed to respond despite your best efforts, you didn’t understand how you felt at all, you didn’t understand anything anymore. “It’s ok, I’ll fix you up later, and by then I know you’ll say you like me.” As soon as he finished, you felt yourself become drowsy, you began to lose your balance, your vision started to fade away. Before you knew it, you were falling backwards, and all you heard was the crack of your skull hitting the ground.

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru wants praise. constant, dramatic, over-the-top praise. and he’s not subtle about it.

he takes out the trash and comes back in with the air of a man who just saved the world. arms spread, chin up, dramatic sigh. “your husband has returned,” he says, expectant. you’re just trying to wash dishes, mind your business, but he’s hovering behind you like a six-foot-tall golden retriever who craves attention. he nudges your shoulder, taps your elbow, bumps your hip with his, until you finally turn around.

“kiss,” he demands, eyes wide and pouty. you blink. he leans in like it’s his right. “i touched the gross bag. i braved the outside. i faced the raccoon that lives near the bins. i deserve a reward.”

he folds one shirt—badly, you might add—and yells from across the hall, “baby! emergency! come here!” you run in thinking he’s set the kitchen on fire or broken a limb, only to find him standing like a proud peacock beside a wobbly stack of laundry.

“look at this craftsmanship,” he says, holding up a towel like it’s the last supper painting. “behold my glory. where’s my trophy? my parade? my standing ovation? did the mayor call yet?”

he pours water into the pitcher—without spilling it, mind you—and turns to you with the smuggest little smirk known to man. “tell me i’m sexy.”

“...you filled the brita.”

“exactly. domestic and desirable. say it with your chest.”

and you do, because unfortunately for you, you’re hopelessly, irrevocably in love with this ridiculous, praise-hungry man. so you coo. you clap. you kiss his cheeks and ruffle his hair and call him your strong, brave househusband. you dramatically wipe a fake tear and tell him how lucky the world is to witness his greatness. you whisper that he’s the hottest man alive for sorting the recycling. and he eats it up. full sparkling eyes, puffed-out chest, giggling like a schoolboy in love, throwing his arms around you like he’s just scored the game-winning point.

he starts making up tasks just to fish for more. he'll tighten a jar lid and then call for you, chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. “babe. babe. i saved the pickles. tell me i’m amazing.”

you try to tease him—“what, you want a gold star every time you do a chore?”

he doesn’t even blink. “yes. and a kiss. and a snack. preferably hand-fed. preferably while you tell me i’m a gift to mankind.”

“you’re impossible,” you huff, already reaching for the cookies and cupping his ridiculous face in your hands.

and he just grins, because he knows. he knows you’ll give in every time. because it’s only fair—he does praise you like a goddess when he’s got you in bed, murmuring sweet things like you hung the moon and stars and he’s the luckiest man alive. he’ll have your name spilling from his lips like worship, hands reverent, voice full of awe. so why shouldn’t you tell him he’s the hottest man on earth when he unclogs the sink?

he pouts if you don’t. preens when you do. flashes you that pretty smile and says, “i’ll do more chores if you promise to thank me with moans next time.”

you smack his arm, but your face is already heating up. because god, he’s stupid. and charming. and annoyingly good at getting what he wants. it doesn’t help that you’re just as down bad.

ugh. disgusting. you love him so much it’s embarrassing.

[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

[kenntoria]

you’re not used to people doing nice things for you. not really.

sure, people have done things to you, and maybe even for you, but rarely has it felt like it came from a place of softness. from love. from that gentle place nanami reaches for you from every time he looks at you.

you don’t know what to do with it, sometimes. like right now.

he’s standing at your stove—your stove, in your kitchen, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and he’s wearing that damn apron again. the navy one with the little white pinstripes that matches the sleeve garters he wears to work.

he’s cooking you breakfast.

he’s made you coffee just the way you like it—without even asking this time—and he’s got a little pot of jam warming on the stove, and he’s slicing strawberries like it’s meditative.

you stand in the doorway and watch him for a minute, your throat burning.

he doesn’t even flinch when he sees you. just smiles, soft and unhurried, and says, “good morning, sweetheart. go sit, i’m almost done.”

and maybe it’s the way he says it. like you’re someone who deserves to be cared for. like this is normal.

you sit down, still blinking too fast.

he brings the plate over and sets it in front of you—golden french toast with warm strawberries and powdered sugar, and something in you cracks at the care of it all. the absurd, quiet kindness of a man who took the time to sift powdered sugar because he thought you would enjoy it.

you try to blink it away. you really do.

but when you look up at him, he sees it immediately. how your face has gone tight with the effort of keeping it in. how your lower lip wobbles.

“hey,” he murmurs, crouching beside your chair, one warm hand on your knee. “what is it?”

you laugh, shaky and a little pathetic. “you made me breakfast.”

“i did.” he’s smiling still, but it’s gentler now, more careful. “and that’s… upsetting?”

you shake your head, but your voice is cracking when you speak. “no. it’s just—no one’s ever really… done stuff like this. not for me.”

his brows knit, and he presses his temple against your arm, fingers squeezing your leg.

“then they’re all fools,” he says quietly. “because doing this for you is the easiest thing in the world.”

your chest aches. your eyes burn. and when he kisses the back of your hand and tells you, again, to eat before it gets cold—like it’s normal to be cherished like this—you cry into your breakfast.

just a little.

he doesn’t tease you. he just brings you a napkin and kisses your temple and tells you you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling.

he’ll do it again tomorrow, too. and the day after.

until your heart stops breaking every time someone is good to it.