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not-the-cheese · 10 months

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one sentence summaries of every TMA episode

(1-60 i'll add more soon)

part 2 up!

world's most effective anti-smoking PSA

man DOES NOT open coffin. everyone claps.

woman is judgemental towards neighbor even though she has hobbies that are just as weird.

book makes multiple people fall off chair.

man finds bag of teeth and decides he absolutely needs to fuck around and find out.

worm sti.

there was a SCARY MAN in the WAR.

fuck this tree

well at least ted bundy was a great father :)

i'm like 55% sure vampires are real and i'm willing to take those odds

bitches be dying. you're next.

we kill this man because he made the soda too warm.

sorry ur husband's dead. maybe get some help.

Unbox with me ! (GONE WRONG)

hah i'm safe from this one because i have decided to Never Go Into a Cave Ever.

man is so annoying about this spider that even his cat can't be bothered

man's bully finds a book about a Bone Turner and subsequently begins turning people's bones.

this guy sucks at DIY home improvement

aw maybe this priest didn't do anything THAT bad!

oh fuck nevermind

THE SKY ATE MY SON.

the worms stole my identity. i haven't left the house in days.

man beats german children at game of bravery and wins a coin (he later loses this coin)

my ex boyfriend gets casted in the muppets and dies

sorry mom, i've abandoned jesus for a new religion : jesus in the dark.

tall squiggly and HANDsome

old man arm wrestles demon through door knob

the buzzfeed unsolved guys finally catch a ghost but it's their sound tech

immortality but at what cost

working at the big meat factory was so traumatizing it made me vegetarian

i go to america and get almost killed by a furry

well if you love that wasp nest so much why don't you MARRY it (and then she did)

antisocial boat crew bands together to exclude one guy from a midnight party. he dies from the rejection.

bone apple teeth

remember when that norwegian guy threw a tantrum about us not digging a hole? turns out we were right to not dig that hole.

babe come over my parents have taken ill and passed away

man fucks around and it costs him everything

HOMOPHOBIC CHINESE VASE

oh god oh fuck the worms are here

thank you for participating in worms! please rate your wormsperience from 1 to 10.

the wormsperience has left me deeply scarred. i'm going to get lost in a tunnel about it.

🎸music makes me loose control🎸

spooky stories to tell at the next police slumber party

child threatens to run away and join the circus one too many times, and now the circus has come to cash in.

these mosquitoes are mad sus

man frequents local barnes and noble and then dies(?) after liking a book too much.

realtor gets eaten by the backrooms twice. it's a terrible shame.

both me and this weird goth dude have an unsatisfying italy vacation

guy who turns people's bones gets a new job where he continues to turn people's bones.

man who should never be allowed to build prisons builds a prison.

Something Big Is In The Water.

what if u heard me about 15 feet behind you fumbling around and calling out ur name 😳 (and we were both prison guards)

i'm going to be honest i didn't retain anything from this episode except that this guy has the silliest old man voice ever

everybody hates the tax man, including these creepy taxidermy animals

hmmgh. ant house.

so turns out being only 55% sure that vampires are real in my career as a vampire hunter has had some consequences.

the only thing keeping you company in space is your abandonment issues

🎶 the snack that smiles back 🎶 (my husband!)

maybe the real treasure was the house siblings we encased in spider web along the way.

your dead brother wrote books about ancient myths and WHAT

Part 2

#i hope this convinces you to listen to tma #podcast #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #tma #jon sims #sasha james #podcasts #gay podcasts #tim stoker #elias bouchard #peter lukas

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tokyo-terror · 1 year

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request 🚨

Hey there, just thinking about how the 141 + Vaqueros would react to (reader) wearing one of their big shirts, perhaps only with underwear underneath, maybe not even that. 👀 I’m not particular about the gender of (reader) insert so whatever is cool.

guess who's my fav after this 🙏 also ill def do the vaqueros in a p.2 i just have a big headache 😿 <3 enjoy fr

cw: suggestive themes 😟 , gn reader (no specified genitalia yw)

simon "ghost" riley:

☆ genuinely doesn't mean to leave his clothes around your house, he thinks that they're a bit too .. "ghost" for you

☆ that being said, he loves the ghost look on you. in general starts clinging to your waist when you have anything of his on, especially any long sleeves he has

☆ underwear on or not man is between your thighs, this is the definition of oral fixation . i don't make the rules

☆ he likes leaving marks that most can't see, but absolutely loves the marks that everyone else will see. your relationship with him may not be the most out there, but he loves having ppl know that you're somebody's and not theirs

john "soap" mactavish:

☆ actually the exact opposite of ghost, subtly leaves clothes around for you to wear. the kind of guy to hint at it too

☆ "hey haha did yk that my shirts are reallyyyy comfortable .. 👁" is ecstatic when you actually do wear his clothes, but doesn't show his excitedness until you end up in his lap

☆ this guy is literally the most waist/hip guy ive ever seen, his hands are up your shirt grabbing at anything he can. leaves small bruises from his fingers digging in a lot

☆ tries not to leave any marks that can't be hidden by the shirt, being visible is nice to him but knowing that they're in other places that people can't see is what rlly gets him

kyle "gaz" garrick:

☆ doesn't really think about you in his clothes until it actually happens, he tends to be a lot more reserved in sexual aspects unless it's actually time to do it

☆ he realizes his love for his clothes on you when it's the morning after a welcome home gift. you wearing his shirt + underwear is his favorite thing now

☆ this is the real freak within him 😿 he wraps his arms around you and tries to sweet talk you into more rounds, stares you down while you make him eat before more

☆ accidental biter, leaves bite marks all over your chest and neck when you let him under the shirt. he's lost in the sauce now

john price:

☆ i said this before and ill say it again, old man rizz ‼️‼️ he's open about a lot of things with you, including how he likes you wearing his clothes

☆ adores and borderline worships you whenever you indulge him. is instantly all over you when you're in just his shirt, even more pleased by the lack of everything else

☆ biggest tease ever though, can't help but deny any direct contact until you're either begging or about to slap that dumb hat off his head

☆ not really intense marker but biting is his thing, the occasional deep bite mark on your inner thigh or just right under your ribcage are his favorite places

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theoldsports · 11 days

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SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don��t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie

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mintmatcha · 3 months

Text

tw: implied abuse, no curses au

"Can I ask a question?" Yuuji digs his heel into the wood chips as he swings, digging a growing trench behind him. "You don't have to answer."

Ash falls from the end of Choso's cigarette. He leans against the anchor of the swing set, cheek against cold metal, and sighs. Twilight has passed and the streetlights have turned on, giving the playground a hazy, barely lit glow. Yuuji's guardian will start calling soon, but Choso decides the extra time together is worth the future ire.

"I already told you that I'm not giving you a tattoo."

"Aw, damn-" Yuuji clicks his tongue against his teeth. Ever since they met, he's been dying for a tattoo of his own, throwing out wild new ideas almost every day. One day, when he's eighteen and likes an idea for more than a month, Choso will bring him to his studio and comply.

But, not yet.

"That wasn't my question though," Yuuji says.

"Then go for it."

The younger boy takes a deep breath, then lets it out even slower, pulling the tension longer and longer until it snaps.

"Why weren't you... around? Like, when I was a kid and stuff."

Choso takes his own breath.

"Your mom-- our mom." The taste of that sits bitter on his tongue. He never called her mom, even back then. "She was different for me."

And for our other brothers, he adds silently. Yuuji doesn't need to carry that weight yet, the knowledge that he was the exception to it all.

"Why?" Yuuji pumps his legs a little softer, the back and forth motion of the swing slowly dying out.

"I dunno." Choso wishes he had the answer to that. "She was sixteen, did bad things. Don't worry about it."

Finding out about Yuuji wasn't a shock, somehow. Years after Ken had surrendered her children to the state, Choso had received noticed that she had died. The news felt overdue. No tears were shed, no love lost; the group chat of siblings had all agreed not to go to any service, but the day of, Choso had changed his mind.

He had put on his nicest outfit -some thrift store pants that didn't fit and a shirt he stole from foster dad three- and went expecting to be the only one there, the only one willing to say goodbye.

Choso hadn't known about her new family. They hadn't known about him either. It was typical of Ken to leave a mess in her wake.

Turns out, through a series of lucky breaks, the woman had clawed her way out of poverty and into the arms of a rich, but nice man. Her life was easy and sweet, filled with luxuries and love, including a son ten years younger than her eldest.

No one knows why Yuuji was different than the others, why she decided to be good to him and no one else. Mental illness is strange like that, picking and choosing how it pleases.

Yuuji huffs, gripping the metal chains tighter. "But-"

"Yuuji." Choso drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. Then, he thinks about the child that will play there tomorrow, shoveling wood chips into their mouths like idiots, and decides to pick it up. He jams it into his pocket. "You have good memories of her. Don't ruin that."

He used to resent how much Yuuji loved her. He was eight when she died, the same age Choso was when he first had to dial 911 for her. That anger had long faded, replaced with a strange amount of pity.

"But I want to know. What she did and stuff." Yuuji's voice jumps high with emotion. "I'm basically an adult, I can handle it."

"You're sixteen."

"Well, mom was doing this stuff at sixteen, so-" Yuuji is seething suddenly, brow furrowed and teeth grit.

"So?"

"So, she was old enough to be doing bad things and I'm not old enough to know about it?" He stands and the swing clatters behind him. He's stocky, yet tall, bunched with muscles that he's built from baseball. On one side of his cheek, there's a bit of chocolate stuck there, a remnant from the ice cream Choso bought him. Below it, there's a rosy hickey on his neck, a remnant of the boyfriend he hasn't told Nanami about yet. He thinks they're having sex, maybe, but doesn't know how to broach the topic without scaring his brother into never talking about it again.

"And you had tattoos at my age, by the way!"

Choso lets him stew in it, huffing and puffing. The blown out edges of first tattoo peek from under his sleeve, the image barely legible now. An older woman gave it to him at fifteen, in the basement of her house. It became so insanely infected that he ended up in the ER a couple days later.

"I'm not a kid. I can handle it." Yuuji states, calm and clear. "I'm not a kid."

A car passes, it's headlights stretching and pulling the shadows across the park. In the changes, Choso can see his mother in his brother, those soft eyes and thin lips and the same slightly crooked nose that Choso has himself. He thinks, maybe, if time was kinder and his father was better, they'd look more alike each other, but then the moment is gone and they no longer even look like siblings.

"Okay."

Yuuji untenses a bit. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Like, okay, this conversation is done, or okay, I'll tell you?"

"I'll tell you," Choso says, jamming his hands in his pocket. The cigarette butt is there, mushed and still warm against his knuckles. "But not tonight."

"What?!"

"Next time, I promise."

Choso doesn't understand why Yuuji insists on rushing away from innocence, but he knows that he can't stop him. Yuuji will find out about the abuse, the neglect, the other brothers, and the other horrors in some way or another and then things will never be the same.

"Stay a kid just a little longer." Choso resists the urge to ruffle his hair. "For me?"

"Yeah, sure," Yuuji sighs. "One more day."

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ashyllum · 25 days

Note

I am so on board with Yan Sunday physically punishing/disciplining his spouse.

In public spaces he’ll squeeze your arm so tight that it aches from the lack of blood circulation. Or he’ll dig his nails into your thigh under the table to shut you up. But that’s only if he’s really really mad. Otherwise he’ll just give you a look (to others it just looks like his neutral, polite smile— but you know better).

He has a horse crop that he regularly uses. Paddles, canes, small whips, etc. He doesn’t use his hands to hit but he does use them to grab you and yank you around. A tight hand in your hair— pulling so hard that your scalp burns. Or to grab you by the jaw to make you face him. Or to shove your head into a wall and press your face against it until it’s sore (though he prefers not to leave any marks on your face).

It’s all to set you straight. Stop resisting him, stop talking to other men, stop trying to run off, stop behaving so poorly in public— you’re his partner and you represent him now, as well as The Family. If you just listened— just gave in and accepted his teachings and his affections— then he wouldn’t have to punish you like this.

And for poor reader it’s torture. It’s like you’re walking on eggshells every second of the day, bending over backwards to please him, even when he isn’t around his servants are perched somewhere out of sight and watching you. You become terrified of stepping out of line, even the smallest mistake leaves you shaking like a leaf at the thought of punishment. It really fucks you up. It almost feels like you regress mentally, you freeze up and tears immediately prick at your eyes, you begin to tremble and your lips quiver but no sounds come out. If you do this freeze response in public, Sunday apologizes to the people and excuses the both of you (writes it off as a panic attack or a sudden flare up of illness, and that he must attend to you. His guests are moved by his devotion); and your heart sinks because you know what’ll happen once you’re both alone and you want to run but there are people watching and it’ll only make Sunday more upset. The closer you get to your room the more violent your trembling becomes. You might stumble as a result but Sunday is already two steps ahead of you and he wrings his hand around your arm and drags you along.

You can babble out apologies and beg for forgiveness but it doesn’t matter— he’s already shoving you into the room and locking the door—

It’s excruciatingly painful, and he deals out punishment with unrelenting resolve. He’ll have you bend over the bed while he deals out the blows. If you try to block them with your hands he’ll tie them up— and if you continue to resist he’ll completely restrain you. It’s hard and fast and he makes you count. It’s humiliating and painful— like a white hot iron lashing against your skin. He doesn’t mind the sobbing but when you start screaming he winds his hand into your hair and shoves your face into the the bed to muffle it. On really really bad days (usually after an escape attempt) he’ll whip you until your skin splits under the cane.

Then afterwards he’ll kick your feet apart and screw you— the writhing of your body and your sobs from earlier really got him worked up. And as it’s still punishment he doesn’t really try to make it good for you. It feels like a nail being hammered into you, sharp— but the pain is still duller than the whipping. Nonetheless your body still reacts, and it jerks away from his erratic thrusts but he yanks at your hair and pulls you back onto him. You try to just let it happen but it hurts— and your body seizes up from the painful intrusion.

Sunday will be in your ear throughout all of this— telling you how you deserve it, how he loves you, how you broke his heart when he came home and you were gone, how he’ll make you into something better, how good you feel, how he doesn’t want you to leave— he won’t allow it. He tells you that he’ll forgive you for this slight, that is if you accept what it takes to earn it.

Once everything’s over, you’re completely shattered. Everything’s blurry and your ears are ringing and you can barely making out the fuzzy colors in your vision— or anything in your surroundings for that matter. Sunday pets your head (hair matted and tangled from sweat and his constant pulling), his hands are gentle and loving. It takes you a while to finally come back, but Sunday is patient. He coos at you, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head and your damp cheeks, tells you that you did such a wonderful job enduring everything, and that he hopes you’ll be better after this so he doesn’t have to do it again. Tells you that he loves you.

He welcomes you when you finally sob into his lap and blubber our apologies and promises that you’ll never leave again. You’re so tired, it hurts to move, it feels like you’ve been gutted of everything you have. Sunday embraces you, and he is so incredibly tender with you afterwards. The affection and softness is addicting, and you can’t help but allow yourself to fall into it after all the pain.

OMG ANON!!! you're speaking my language and your writing is so so divine!!

But, one, Sunday definitely got the mom glare, that makes you squirm, and he will give you that Pavlovian dog treatment, training you, breaking you. You're his little side project he take pleasure in cultivating.

After all, he's merely your shepherd, training his naughty sheep.

#hsr sunday #sunday x reader #honkai star rail #yandere sunday #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #possessive #yandere #sunday #toxic love #toxic relationship

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jyoongim · 3 months

Note

Hello! I absolutely love your work! If it’s not too odd to ask but I was wondering if I may make an odd request- given Alastor is a cannibal- may I have some drabbles within your own comfort level of the reader with a painful disability impacting their arm offering it to Alastor as both a gift and request of pain relief for the reader? Even if in hell characters can reconstitute themselves it would be an interesting dynamic especially if it was just a normal thing between the two.

warnings: self cannibalism! Fluff, Alastor eating a piece of you. Bodily harm! Disabled!reader

You groaned as you felt pain shoot down your arm. You thought when one died, you’ll be relieved of your earthly pains…clearly not.

And the fall to hell did not help.

You tried to soothe the painful tingle that ran through your arm, but to no avail.

The only relief you got was when you cut the damn thing off. Though that didn’t last long as your arm always grew back at some point.

”Alastoooorr” you sanded finding the demon in the kitchen. it smelled like he was cooking.

He hummed in response as you took a seat at the table.

”hmm what is it my dear?” He asked

”wanna split some of my arm?” You asked, wincing at the sharp pain.

He was quickly by your side, a clawed hand dancing up your arm. “You know ill never decline such a offer dearest”

you sighed, narrowing your eyes at him playfully “dont just rip it off this time please”

he shrugged laughing as he picked up a cleaver.

”Oh but it so much more fun that way”

he rolled up your sleeve and gave a soft lick to your shoulder “remember to breathe”

You shut your eyes on impulse and hissed as the steel sliced through your flesh.

You smiled as the pain went away and wrapped a towel around the bleeding wound.

You poked at the limb that caused you so much grief, mentally growling at it.

Alastor picked it up and tossed it in a bag. “Feel better?” He asked. You nodded, rolling your shoulder blade and happy to not feel that nagging sting you were so use to.

”much thank you”

this was a normal for you. Asking Alastor to rid you of the petting limb whenever it decided it didn’t want to function properly.

”should i chill it for later?” You shook your head “No go ahead ill just take a finger”

It was interesting seeing the demon enjoy a piece of you. He didn’t dig into it like some savage, instead you watched as he deboned it, before taking a bite.

”I think you like it more than i do” you joked, nibbling on your own finger.

Alastor smiled “why of course! You taste better than even the finest meat my dear”

”I always enjoy getting a bite out of you”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #Alastor fluff

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clairdelunelove · 3 months

Text

What Pining!Yuuji Would Do For You

itadori yuuji x reader

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort

warnings: slightly suggestive

synopsis: you're in for a crazy ride! pining!yuuji means having this loverboy absolutely head-over-heels for you. told in headcanons!

a.n. I can't stop writing about this beautiful boy. I'm so sorry but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

gives you random compliments

it could be a regular, mundane day where you’re carrying out your normal routine while yuuji accompanies you

just doing some grocery shopping before the week starts,, attempting to get ahead before you’re inevitably caught up in work/school

and spending some time with him was, without exception, bliss

yuuji has this magnetic force that pulls everyone in– you included– and it’s no different when the two of you are strolling through the aisles

he’s sociable, easygoing, and friendly; so of course he’s going to catch bystanders’ attention

especially with how sincere his words are to you

“oh,” he hums and points to a brightly colored package, “didn’t you say you wanted to try these last time?”

and before you can persuade him that you don’t actually need it,, they’re just some silly limited-edition snack you wanted to try,, the blushy haired male places it into the shopping basket

“I’ll pay! don’t you worry about it!” he’ll mention while placing a gentle hand on your head

he walks off while whistling like it’s nothing,, like it’s normal for friends to pay for each other’s groceries (which was an entire week’s worth)

and oh boy, you should expect yuuji to carry the basket/push the store cart for you

it’s basically his job whenever he goes shopping with you

takes it on with such seriousness that it’s almost concerning

“oi! you’ll hurt your hands,” he lightheartedly clicks his tongue before taking ahold of the basket in your hands, “it’s heavy. I’ll carry it!”

and he's so adamant about how 'heavy' it is but uses a couple of his fingers to effortlessly swing it around

follows you through every aisle (even ambles back when you meekly tell him that you forgot an ingredient you wanted) without a complaint,, basically has the patience of a saint

and each shopping run isn’t complete without yuuji secretly picking out a gift for you

it could be anything: candied snacks, yummy dessert, a sugary drink,, he’ll just add it onto the conveyor belt before the cashier can finish scanning all the items

this time though, he’s picked out a small bouquet of flowers for you

“yuu,” you bashfully tug the bottom of his shirt to convey your appreciation, “you didn’t have to.”

because they’re beautiful– a handful of radiant flowers that are bunched together in glimmering wrapping paper

“hm?”

he seems genuinely confused, an emotion that you’re not used to identifying on his sharp features

brows furrowing, he finally adds, “oh, you meant the flowers? why not? they’re pretty like you.”

his words seem straightforward, direct but they’re wholly genuine since it’s coming from him

yuuji wouldn’t say anything he didn’t truly believe

the cashier casts a knowing glance to you when yuuji’s turned away, digging in his pocket for his wallet to pay, and sends you a badgering wink

you, on the other hand, are a flustered mess

finds any excuse to get closer to you

was yuuji particularly concerned in the ill-kept secret you weren’t willing to tell him?

not necessarily

did that stop him from pestering you about it?

nope

if anything, he’s revitalized when you peer up at him through your lashes and murmur, “I guess I can tell you now.”

and you’re so close to him,, he never even realized you obligingly closed the distance by scooting beside him

“but yuu,” you pause so your lower lip juts out into a pleading pout, “you can’t tell anyone else because this is just between the two of us.”

there's not a thought in his mind except the fact that he’s so screwed

because at this angle you’re even more stunning; wide, imploring eyes that are solely focused on him

and he inwardly melts when he manages to catch a whiff of your sweet perfume,, it never even dawned on him that a person could be the literal embodiment of his desire

his tongue feels like sandpaper, he’s tumbling over his words but reassures, “you can tell me anything! my lips are sealed.”

“you sure?”

to respond, he gestures toward his mouth, zips it close, and metaphorically throws it behind his shoulder

“good,” you’re obviously pleased at his obedience before you’re waving him closer, “come here then, I’ll tell you.”

you should’ve been puzzled about his unusual speechlessness but you’re buzzing from the excitement of the secret

and there’s no one else around,, in fact, the spot that the both of you are situated in is surprisingly empty

the top of the school building is typically bustling with students attempting to get a breath of fresh air before trudging back to class

yet, yuuji’s alone with you now,, and he’s not about to waste his chance

it’s almost pitiful how quickly he scurries to heed your every word

he ends up softly knocking knees with you in his haste, mutters a hurried apology, but it doesn’t seem like you mind

no, you just twist closer to him, invading his personal space, and he’s holding in his breath

because if he concentrates hard enough he’s able to feel your warmth on the crook of his neck

you raise a hand near your lips before your secret easily spills out, “I bought us tickets to the horror movie you were talking about a couple months ago!”

and it’s silent

you're beaming at him

yuuji’s speechless because he’s too preoccupied with, well– you

and he’s consumed with the thought of how sweet you are to him, how your every interaction with him is genuinely wholesome, or how you’re completely oblivious to the effect you have on him

“I know tickets were sold out in the first week but I pulled some strings,” you explain with a delighted smile, “and managed to snag two for us!”

immediately, his lips crack into the widest grin you’ve ever seen

in true yuuji fashion, he throws his arms around you to encase you in a warm hug and your giggles are smothered by his chest

and as he snuggles closer, he breathes you in and tenderly murmurs, “what did I ever do to deserve you?”

answers your 2 a.m. phone calls when you can't sleep

“look who’s calling.”

you recognize the lighthearted jest in his voice as it crackles through the phone’s speaker and immediately you’re put at ease

it had taken yuuji two rings before he picked up,, he’s never failed to answer your calls whenever you needed him

although he couldn’t see it, you playfully rolled your eyes at his comment and explained, “just wanted to talk and ask what you’re up to.”

he presses the ‘speaker’ icon on his phone, props it on his pillow, and shifts so his hands are folded beneath his neck

honeyed eyes staring at the ceiling, he figures losing a bit of his sleep was worth it if it was for you

“at this hour?”

he chokes out a laugh, voice a tad bit rough as he jokes,, the sound is a kind of gravelly that would’ve caused you to swoon if it wasn’t for your inkling suspicion that he was fast asleep before you called

instantly, your heart drops

“yuu,” you hesitated with a hushed apology, “sorry for waking you up. I just couldn’t sleep so–”

there’s a rustle on the other end of the phone

he must’ve tripped on something because there’s a loud clang followed by a string of curses from his mouth

“I wasn’t sleeping! I was still gaming when you called! I have my headphones on and everything. I’m on, like, level 29 now! so,” he clears his throat, “don’t be sorry that you called.”

you felt the tips of your ears burning– his reassurance was too sweet,, yet you couldn’t help but shyly prod, “you sure?”

“totally, I’ll even send a picture if you don’t believe me.”

after the words leave his lips, your phone dings with a notification and truth be told, yuuji’s contact indicated that he had attached a file

your fingers click on it, curiosity drawing you in, and you’re greeted with a picture of him; perched at his desk with his dark gaming headphones draped over his head

he’s featured with a lazy grin and has three fingers thrown up in a laid-back pose

you’re not focused on that, though

no, you’re instinctively pinching at the screen to zoom in at the enticing dip of his collarbones that peek underneath his nightshirt and how tousled his blushy hair is since it’s so late at night– a different side of yuuji that you’re rarely graced with

you save the picture to your camera roll

caught in a flustered daze, you barely hear him call your name over your ogling, “(y/n)?”

“yup! I see the picture,” you quickly chirp before smoothly changing the topic, “I like the headphones, by the way.”

he chuckles but softens his voice, almost bashful, “well, you are the one that got them for me for my birthday.”

“oh my gosh, you’re right! that was so long ago!”

“it’s only been a month!”

and when the two of you are enraptured in a fit of laughter, he pauses,, lets your gleeful giggle flow through his phone’s speaker and knows that you’re worth every second of his time

“fair point,” you gasp for air as your lips curl into a smile, “what do you want for your next birthday, then?”

yuuji manages to brush aside your inquiry, mentioning that he didn’t need anything, and the two of you chat until the sun slowly rises over the horizon

his eyes lowly droop, threatening to close, but he speaks with the same enthusiasm as when the call begun

you talk about anything and everything

hobbies, worries, the future– the whole lot

yet, you manage to include him in each and every topic

“the beach would be nice in this weather,” you sleepily suggest and hum, “I feel like you’d really like swimming there. lots of fish and seashells to collect. we should go together sometime. maybe for your birthday.”

when he hears your soft breathing over the line, indicating that you’d fallen asleep over the call, yuuji quietly chuckles

“‘for my birthday’ huh? for my birthday, I just,” he repeats your words and confesses with a hushed, “want you to notice me, dummy.”

#jujutsu itadori #jujutsu kaisen #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori x reader #yuuji fluff #itadori x y/n #itadori yuuji x you #jjk x reader #itadori fluff

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stevenose · 6 months

Text

so says i (18+)

more cowboy!steve bc he’s my shining star baby boy. contains reader with a vagina; use of the phrase ‘good girl’; impatient steve; lil rough fuckin; class disparity (reader is of a higher class); messy sort of spiteful yet also very fond of each other friends with benefits 🫶🏻 very brief mention of hunting + a gun also!

The problem - a problem - with Steve is that he isn’t quite a patient man. He can be, if necessary. He can be patient when waiting for the right moment to strike a wild bull with his lasso; patient when he’s hunting the coyote that’s been stalking his boss’ cattle; patient when he’s sweating his ass off and still has work to do in the high midwestern sun.

He does not have much patience when it comes to you.

He tries. Counts to ten, then twenty, then a hundred in his head. Grits his teeth. Flexes his jaw and wipes his nose when you get petty with him for what seems to be no real reason. When you laugh at his advances and then climb into his lap and ride him like you didn’t just make his blood come to a boil under his sunkissed skin.

And it’s been such a long day. Back-breaking. Tending to fields and animals by himself, nearly getting kicked in the head and all he wants is you. For whatever reason. It twists in his gut, makes him ache. He should have known coming to you would only make him more upset.

“Come here.” Steve has said it twice now.

You keep your back turned to him. He can’t see your face but he can sense the shit-eating grin plastered on it. “I’m busy.”

You are not. You only want to make him wait. So you polish the same silver spoon you were born with over and over again. As if you ever pull your silver out for anyone. Much less him.

“Don’t make me say it again.” His voice is low, a little threatening. Steve has no real threat to him. He winces when he shoots a gun and winces harder when he raises his own voice.

“What do you want, Steve?” you sigh. “Don’t you have a right hand?”

“Prefer that smart mouth, darlin’,” he says coolly. His fingers tap impatiently against the arms of the chair he sits in.

Impatient. What a vice.

Maybe he could handle you better with patience. But your ill-mannered behavior quickly has him pushing the large chair he sits in backwards, scraping against your pristine wooden floors. He really hopes it scratches, even though he’d be back tomorrow to buff it out.

“Your daddy ever teach you how to not be a petulant child?” he rasps, moving to trap you between his warm chest and the countertop.

You laugh. “I’m petulant?” You push your ass back against him and smile wider when he gasps. “When are you gonna learn I always get you right where I want you?”

It still rings true when he fucks into you harshly. Steve grits his teeth, his hips bucking into yours, sending your hipbones into the counter painfully. It’ll leave bruises, ones he’ll kiss and soothe the moment his anger subsides. For now, he’s relentless, holding your manicured hands under his calloused fingers so you can’t touch yourself. Get any relief. Only what he gives you.

“Maybe - this’ll - fuckin’ - teach you,” he hisses between thrusts, “to be a good - girl - for your man.”

Your giggle makes him see red.

“My man?” you breathe.

His fingers press down into yours a little harder. You squeal with delight when his thrusts become deeper, harder.

“Say it,” he moans, pressing his hot lips up against your ear. “Tell me - who’s this sweet little cunt belong to?”

You gasp at the vulgarity and it makes his cock throb, sends your pussy clenching around him hard.

“This clit, this li’l bundle,” he continues, moving a hand down towards it. “Who makes you cum? Who fills you up?”

You keen and moan, your little hand reaching down to grab his wrist.

“Uh-uh,” he tsks, though he’d certainly stop if you asked him to. “If I don’t make ya cum now, that dun’t erase what we’ve done, huh?”

Your fingernails dig into his skin. It feels good. You cry out again, arching your back a little harder.

“You don’t wanna say it?” Steve bites down on your pulse point til you squeal again. “That a dirty goddamn cowboy takes care of you?”

“Oh, shit,” you moan. Your lithe fingers reach backwards to tangle in his damp hair.

“What would yer folks say? Your friends?” The pads of his fingers work harder against your clit. “Knowin’ you let me cum in this upper class pussy?”

“Do it,” you rasp. “Steve, do it!”

“Who’s your man?”

It takes you a moment, overwhelmed. “You!”

Steve feels you begin to convulse and his patience returns, taking a more leisurely pace with you, forcing your pleasure to slow down and crash. “You’re goddamn right.”

#stevenose posts #steve harrington smut #steve x reader #ns/fw #cowboy!steve

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crippleprophet · 2 months

Text

i don’t understand how people can be so fucking cruel about people who can’t read much (including people who aren’t literate, though this post is from my experience with chronic illness). like, one of my main motivations behind posting excerpts of butch+femme writing on my main (@campgender ; it’s fine to go through my bookshelf tag but please only followers age 18+ on that blog!) is that it is fucking hard to read a full book!!

my reading comprehension & stamina decreased drastically when i developed ME, & while i’m overjoyed that i’ve recently regained a lot of that particular ability since getting blackout curtains, there are absolutely still texts i can’t even begin to parse that i once would’ve loved digging into — texts that it would be actively dangerous for me to attempt to struggle through because it would break pacing.

idk i’m not trying to be self-congratulatory here or whatever but like. the second i could access information through this means again, the focus of my (very fucking limited!!) energy has been giving it back to my people. my life has been unquestionably, deeply shaped by tumblr users who share excerpts of theory & memoir & poetry because they were providing labor of which i was in need & incapable.

finding, selecting, transcribing, formatting, & at times contextualizing passages takes a lot of fucking time & energy, but in order for me to encounter certain concepts, experiences, & histories, it’s work somebody else had to do, because i couldn’t read 200 pages of research or anthology in order to encounter the 10 that would change my life — but posted 2 or 3 pages at a time, i could save that in my drafts to get through on a good day, & quotes that were only a couple lines i could usually read right when i encountered them.

so, in memory of the years i spent unable to access theory through anything other than excerpts & secondhand summaries,

and in anticipation of the years to come where i will live the same,

and in acceptance that the brain is a muscle, in love of we the exercise-intolerant,

to you, dear reader — whatever form & frequency & duration that reading may take, even if it’s no further than this post — i make my motherfucking covenant: the issues i discuss around pulling quotes will be about the political act of the ellipse and the ethics of transcription, not shaming people for the methods of accessing information that are available to them. as often & as long as i am able, people can ask me to explain something or summarize in plain language and i will meet them with respect, interest, & effort. if someone’s looking for information on a particular topic, identity, experience & doesn’t have the energy to find it, i’m gonna give what i have towards filtering through the bullshit for the gems.

according to our abilities. according to our needs.

and the next time somebody tells you it’s not ableist to say everyone has to read [whatever work], tell them to go put their precious ability to better use in making it more accessible.

#mac.txt #continuing my trend of showing up on this blog once every couple months with an infuriated rant & then fucking off back to bed #me/cfs #reading #chronic illness #ableism

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sunooflower · 7 months

Text

adam stanheight headcanons

i'm mentally ill. anyways relationship headcanons for the silly man ig. is the adam stanheight hive even alive on here anymore?

warnings - nsfw mentions.

confession:

he's a fucking pussy he would procrastinate for like a month.

tries to come up with a damn script but can never get it right, causing him to panic even more.

decides to just freestyle the whole thing but then that makes him stress out more.

when he finally tells you, he'd be so nervous he'd try to stall.

would end up saying some shit like "hey i have to tell you something..." *panics* "uhh.. your hair looks nice in a ponytail."

"adam, my hair is literally down."

"ah.. shit.."

gives in and just mumbles the whole thing like "ireallylikeyouandit'sfineifyoudon'tfeelthesamebutijustwantedyoutoknow."

you have to get him to repeat it bc you obviously didn't hear a damn word.

he finally repeats himself more clearly and then proceeds to look at the ground.

once you tell him you feel the same way, this dude starts acting all cocky like he wasn't 2 seconds away from shitting his pants.

"ohhhh you're so obsessed with meeee~"

affection:

given his trauma from the bathroom trap and the betrayal of lawrence breaking his promise of coming back for him, adam is most likely going to be quite clingy since he feels safe with you.

there were times at the beginning where you would have to try your best to convince him that you won't leave him. sometimes you still do, but it's not as bad as it was at the start.

like you could be cuddling and then you get up to use the bathroom but adam would hold you tighter the second you start to move, and you'd have to promise him that you were just going to the bathroom and that you were going to come right back.

he's very grateful for how understanding you are though. sometimes in the back of his mind he worries that his trauma is a burden for you, but you always find ways to prove that it's not.

very big on cuddling, he tells everyone that he's the big spoon but in reality he's the little spoon.

loves having his hair played with, whether you stroke it, run your fingers through it, twirl it, etc. it makes him feel loved, it makes him feel 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦.

back hugs are essential!! he loves both giving and receiving back hugs. sometimes, if he's in his red room developing his pictures, if you randomly give him a back hug and watch him as he works he will immediately forget what he's doing and turn all of his attention to you. in which case you'd have to tell him to finish his work.

he'd do his bitchiest pout but would oblige, once he finishes his work he damn near wrecks everything with how fast he spins around and tackles you with a hug.

kissy wissy 😽

honestly the type of dude to be like "adam and (y/n) sitting in a tree, k.i.s.s.i.n.g." before kissing you.

would probably also make a cooties joke.

but he will never give up the opportunity to have some kisses!

also dude can KISS like damn okay.. 👀

nicknames:

when it comes to affectionate nicknames, he would probably call you "babe" or "baby" but i feel like that's as far as it would go.

like i don't think he fully digs nicknames, he doesn't mind them, but he seems like he cringes at some of the nicknames that people come up with, like "honeybun" or some shit.

loves giving you random nicknames though.

one time he called you "optimus pussy." another time he called you "sexy doorknob."

one time he just called you "stan the man" like idk why he did that, but he just did.

will melt at any nickname you give him though, secretly loves the cute names you give him. but he also loves it when you can match his sense of humour and give him random nicknames back.

his favourite silly nickname that you called him was "dookie stain." like it had him in stitches bro, the man has questionable humour.

dates:

doesn't actually have much experience with dates, but he tries.

his favourite activity to do with you is to just stay home, watch a movie, and eat whatever the fuck you want. he feels at peace on those dates.

sometimes he'll take you out to places to try and impress you. you mentioned ONE time that you had been craving a certain type of food from a restaurant and what did he do? well he took you to the wrong restaurant by mistake but he still tried 🫶🏻.

walks are nice, he likes holding your hand as you both walk around admiring the scenery around you.

cd/vinyl stores. yup. real bc i said so.

bro starts pulling some corny shit like playing a song out loud on one of the record players and tries to dance to make you laugh. bro thinks he's in a movie 😹🫵🏻.

but above all else, i don't think he gives a shit what he's doing as long as you're with him (preferably within arm's reach.)

nsfw:

dude.

this man is not gonna dom anyone for shit💀.

like have you seen the man? he's so pathetic.

he's vocal for sure, he whines and whimpers idc.

he is EAGER to please you, like he will go down on you as if you're his last meal.

the thought of him not getting any attention for his 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 problem whatsoever until he gets you to finish at least once turns him on big time.

he's a spit enthusiast, whether you're spitting or he is, he doesn't care it gets his head spinning all the same.

sometimes if you feel like teasing him, you won't let him fuck you or touch you. instead you tell him to simply jerk off whilst you do the same.

that makes him lose his damn mind but as i said, he's eager to please you so he'll do pretty much anything you ask him to.

talk dirty through the entire ordeal, if you say some shit like "it's a shame you're not gonna fuck me, you're doing so good it's adorable how desperate you are to make a mess of yourself." he'd probably have to stop for a few seconds in order to stop himself from cumming then and there. strangled noises and whimpers following close behind of course.

loves it when you're on top, one time you called him a pillow princess when you were riding him and bro busted immediately -much to his embarrassment- but you quickly assured him that it was okay and that it was cute.

but of course he won't let you do ALL the work. he wants you to relax from time to time too, so every now and again he'll put in the work.

aftercare:

literally the sweetest.

this is where we come back to him being clingy and a stinky little cuddle bug.

literally will not let you go, he'll ask if it was good, if you were okay, if he did a good job, etc.

showers you with compliments and i love you's. smiles at you when you return them, loves hearing you speak so sweetly to him.

runs to clean you up. sometimes if he's too tired, still a little bit in the mood, or both - he'll just clean you up with his tongue. but usually he runs to get a towel for you, and he carefully washes the mess off of your body before you take a rag and do the same for him.

one time during after care, you kissed the bullet wound scar on his shoulder (from when lawrence shot him) and told him he was beautiful. that caused him to cry and pull you into an embrace, mumbling out a string of thank you's and i love you's.

idk i have primal urges towards this man.

#adam stanheight #saw 2004 #saw #adam stanheight x reader #adam stanheight smut #adam stanheight imagines #adam stanheight headcanons #saw movies #headcanon

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