#like your body will never be good enough. why on earth should you try to hold yourself to those ridiculous standards when you're infinitely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 10 months ago

Note

eddie x latebloomer, virgin reader (so not self-projecting...) who isn't innocent or typically what people say is "virginal" (because virginity is a construct!) but still gets super nervous about heavy petting/sex because they've never done it before and don't want to be bad or weird and literally just flees at the confrontation

until that ovulation hits and r! is trying so hard to ignore it, squirming on Eddie's couch/bed and he's like 🤨 you ok? and then it just comes out in a whole word vomit that he's super hot and they're absolutely soaked but don't know what to do and it probably won't be good and they should just go home and eddies like... no big deal, I'll just eat you out, no penetration 🤷🏻

and when they do actually have sex later, I know Eddie talks R through it

ty for suggesting this anon! u got me inspired here's a lil blurb. also dedicated to @wdsara48 who asked for more inexperienced!reader content 🫡

+18 mdni: Eddie’s a bit clueless about the hormone cycle, oral (r receiving), cumming in pants (guess who), ovulation horny (™)

____________

On second thought, it was probably a really bad call to visit your boyfriend when you were this horny.

Which sounds silly, you know it does- who wouldn't want to visit their hot boyfriend at a time like this?- but you've really been enjoying taking it slow this time around. Eddie is the first boy you've dated who has totally and completely earned your trust when it comes to sex- he's never once pressured you to take your heated make-out sessions any further, pulling back and unwinding himself from you with spit-slick lips every so often to gauge your comfort level.

Is this okay? How are you feeling? Wanna take a break?

So kind. So considerate. So far away, in the kitchen, humming to himself while he fixes dinner, hair loose and curling around the shoulders of his tight Metallica tee. Every time he reaches over to stir the pot of chili on the stove, the lean muscles in his upper back and biceps curl and flex.

Hormones are flushing hot through your body, the couch you’re seated on feeling more and more confining by the second; you cross your legs at the ankle in an attempt to stave off the fidgeting, but when this causes the thick denim of your zippered jeans to press into the ache between your legs you are quick to uncross them again.

There’s a low-toned buzz that’s taken up residence in your hearing, like all the raging horniness has no place else to go- which is why you don’t hear Eddie the first time he speaks.

He’s standing at the edge of the living room now, hands on hips, one dark brow raised in your direction- “Earth to angel. You with me?”

“Huh?” You swallow harshly against the dryness in your throat (contrasted with the excess wetness in other places) and shake your head, slipping your hands underneath your thighs to sit on them and ground yourself a bit. “Sorry, I was zoning out. What’d you say?”

“I said you seem antsy tonight,” Eddie repeats, moving in to sit next to you, close enough for your knees to touch. “Had too much coffee or somethin’? Y’know, you really shouldn’t drink that stuff after noon. Not good for ya.”

He’s teasing, all smooth movements with an easy grin as he snakes an arm around your shoulders.

The smoke-sweet smell of his cologne floods your senses- musky and heady and this underlayer of something earthy, wild, that you could swear hits on a primal nerve by the way it makes your clit throb.

When you stiffen under Eddie’s arm, he reads your signal as one of discomfort, tsking at himself underneath his breath before starting to pull away. “Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to make you-”

“No!” Your hand darts out to grab at his over your shoulder, keeping him from leaving, because if the warmth of his body pressed to your side stops you might actually die. “No, it’s not you. I promise. It’s me. I’m…”

Eddie watches you with mild concern as you flounder, mouth opening and shutting a few times before settling on just the truth- “I’m ovulating.”

He blinks. “Um. Shit. Do you need to go to the doctor? ‘Cuz the main office is definitely closed this time ‘a night but the ER is for sure open-”

You bend at the waist, pitching forward with a groan and cutting him off. With hot cheeks buried in your hands, your voice comes out muffled- “Didn’t you take sex ed, like, three times?”

“Sure did. Learned basic anatomy real well.” His palm has slid to your lower back, your shirt ridden up to expose a stripe of skin that his warm hand now rests on. “Help me out, princess. What’s goin’ on?”

With a pounding heart, you manage to sit up, looking down at your hands in your lap as you whisper, “Ovulation makes me, like, super horny.”

At first, you think he didn’t hear you, but after a beat of silence there’s a subtle shift in his posture, spine straightening.

“Oh.” Eddie’s hand on you doesn’t move but his other one smoothes down the line of his jean-clad thigh, clearing his throat before asking, “And do you wanna… do something about that?”

Mustering courage, you swivel slightly to look at him- the joking tone from earlier has drained out of his voice, and this is the shyest you’ve ever seen him: staring unseeing at his own lap, plucking at the knee of his jeans.

“Like what?” You ask, matching the same low tone he’s just used.

When Eddie looks back at you, that’s when you realize your mistake- his lack of eye contact wasn’t due to shyness. The way he’s looking at you now, dark chocolate eyes holding a steady gaze, it’s a wonder he’s been so restrained this whole time.

“Could eat you out. Only if you wanted, though.”

You shiver. Visibly.

A slow, half-tilted smile pulls at Eddie’s lips; he brings your free hand to his face and kisses your knuckles, then tugs you up with him to stand.

“C’mon. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Cast in soft lamplight, Eddie closes the door to his room before cupping your face in his hands, cool rings against your cheeks. He kisses you gently, at first, plush lips notching in steady rhythm against yours; when you tug him in closer by his waist and slip your tongue between his teeth, he groans into your mouth.

He pulls away, wet click of your separating mouths loud in the quiet of the room before giving your hip a light tap. “Up on the bed, angel.”

You’re quick to comply, crawling backwards on the duvet, lust unfurling in your stomach as you rest half-propped on your elbows.

Eddie divests himself of his shirt in one fluid motion without taking his eyes from you. His pale skin gleams in the low light, silver chain and guitar pick necklace swinging as he moves to hover over you.

“You okay?” He asks, dark hair a curtain around both your faces as his bare torso presses against your clothed one.

When you nod, he ducks to kiss you again before sliding a hand up your shirt. “Good. ‘Cuz I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”

You know he’s mostly joking- you and him have a safeword, and he’s always attentive to your body signals- but the pure desire that he’s kissing and touching you with is indicative of a boy who’s waited too long to be able to have you like this.

Eddie laps at your mouth, tongue twining with yours as his hand squeezes and molds the fat of your breast through your bra as both your nipples stiffen in response. When his knee slots between your thighs, you moan, hips jolting up to chase the friction.

“Can I…” you’re panting, forehead crushed to Eddie’s as you search for the words. “I want your mouth, on me- please.”

You’re rarely ever so communicative, usually hidden away behind a wall of reservations that are totally melted away now. Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched, sucks at a spot behind your ear that causes your hips to rock forward again, then says, “Yeah, sweetheart, yeah. You can have my mouth. Fuck.”

While he kisses down the slope of your neck, between your clothed breasts, your bare stomach where your shirt’s been rucked up, he’s muttering (to himself, to you, hard to say): “‘Course you can have my mouth. Have it wherever you want it. Christ. Should’a asked for it sooner. Give you anything you want.”

Eddie pops the button on your jeans and you lift your hips so he can pull them completely off your body; when he sees the wet patch of arousal darkening your baby blue underwear he chokes out another curse before working the fabric down your hips and tossing them to the ground.

“Gonna let me taste you, baby?” he asks, stretching his lower half out on the mattress and pulling your legs over his shoulders, his mouth inches from your soaked core. Eddie looks up at you, face bracketed by your thighs, pupils blown out with desire, waiting for your go-ahead.

“Please,” you murmur, stretching out a hand to pet at the crown of his head.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment with your touch; when he presses a kiss to the top of your cunt, your hand tightens in his hair, his resulting hum of encouragement vibrating against your clit.

Eddie flattens his tongue and licks a wide stripe up your folds, spreading the wetness from your leaking hole up to mouth sloppily at your clit; when he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your elbow supporting your half-propped frame gives out and you pitch back against the covers.

“There- ah- shit, there, Eddie…” you sound wrecked already, voice husked with the strain of holding back whines. Normally, you’d be so in your head about the exposing condition you’re in, but at this point you’re too wound up to care, Eddie’s tongue against the beating heart of you coaxing that tightness in your stomach closer and closer to snapping.

His nails bite in where his hands span the width of your thighs, holding you against his mouth even as your legs tremble and hips twist jerkily with each sweep of his tongue; Eddie gives one last suck to your clit then follows the line of your cunt down, down with his tongue to prod at your sodden entrance.

When his tongue slides into you with a wet squelch, obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room, you both moan in tandem- your hand in his hair tightens to near-brutal, and the bed underneath you both tremors with the jolt of Eddie’s hips rutting into the mattress.

He sets a steady pace with his tongue, fucking it in and out of you as his nose nudges against your clit. That coil in your stomach is starting to make all your muscles tense up, your thighs locking Eddie in place (who seems to only be spurred on with each constriction of your body).

“Gonna come?” The lower half of his face is coated in your slick as he takes a brief pause to kiss at your inner thigh, one hand coming to rest on your tummy, pinning you down. “C’mon, baby. Let me see it.”

Your body obeys, tension snapping as his mouth returns to your cunt, a high whine of “Eddie Eddie Eddie” that you don’t bother to hide this time loosening from your throat as everything around you bursts and crashes into orgasm.

Toes curling against Eddie’s lower back, cunt spasming around his tongue, Eddie fucks you through it and then some, his own hips mindlessly grinding down as your release triggers his own, spilling warm into his boxers while your high spirals out.

When the spams of your pleasure turn over into aftershocks, Eddie comes up for air, pressing one last kiss to your overstimulated cunt before crawling up your body to lie on top with his head in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck,” you say aloud to the ceiling, breathless, arms automatically encircling the boy. “Holy shit.”

“I’ll say.” Eddie’s breath cools over the sticky patch he kissed into your skin, his mouth still wet with your release. He gathers enough energy to plant his elbows on either side of your head, looking down at you, suddenly serious. “So um… how often do you get ovi- ovel… like this? Once a year or somethin’?”

The laugh shakes out of your chest before you can stop it; you reach up to tuck Eddie’s curls behind his ears, your previous bashfulness having been tongue-fucked out of you.

“Eddie Munson, do I have news for you.”

#lu’s anons #e.m. thots from lu #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie x inexperienced!reader #eddie munson x you

2K notes · View notes

sahisan · 1 year ago

Text

★ summary: harbinger!scaramouche x harbinger!fem!reader. you reveal that your favourite body part of his are fingers.

☆ cw: nsfw. scaramouche's fingers' appreciation. established relationship (may not be seen here but anyway). reader is a harbinger. alcohol mentioned, but reader doesn't drink. fingering. overstimulation. scara uses degrading praise (use of 'whore'). soft dom scara. reader's title in the harbingers is 'brighella'. 1810 words.

☾ a/n: kay why essing myself if this flops🧍‍♀️/hj

you didn't know how you could possibly end up here.

around the table there were seated harbingers like arlecchino, columbina, signora, scaramouche, you and, of course, the bastard who initiated all of this - tartaglia. a few bottles of expensive alcohol were also placed on the round table, along with some glasses - some full, some empty.

the gingerhead even got scaramuche here. you couldn't even begin to imagine how he got the sixth here. probably, by begging or promising something stupid like not bothering him with his fights for a month.

idiot, dunce, moron-

you sigh for the nth time, straightening your warm, fur coat on your shoulders, then rubbing the bridge of your nose in an attempt not to make a face at the smell of alcohol on the table in front of them all.

a regular game with questions and drinking, except that you don't drink. and that’s why you have to answer all the questions asked, tartaglia explained. you held back the urge to leave.

"should've chosen drinking.." you think, already regretting your decisions. you couldn't possibly know what kinds of questions all of them could ask eachother. kana's guesses started off something like "what's your favourite colour" and continued up to "what's your favourite sex position". the harbingers were always so chaotic that you could really imagine someone asking that. especially tartaglia.

well, enough whining about that shithead.

your bored gaze falls upon the balladeer at the other end of the table. his hat is so big that everyone sitting next to him had to sit at least a meter away from him.

you look him up and down, your eyes lingering on the folded hands on his lap. the length of his fingers, their softness, their position-

you swallow the saliva in your mouth. this is not what you should be doing right now. at least not now.

you don't realise you're literally staring at him for a good few minutes already, until you hear someone calling you.

"...ghella. brighella!"

a familiar voice calls out your title, interrupting your glaring session, and you nearly jump out of your seat, trying to look like you were definitely not staring at scaramouche. not that he'd be against that.

in front of your unfocused eyes, they move their hand, waving. you immediately recognize this hand. its fingers, to be completely honest.

"earth to [name]!" scaramouche leans back, grinning in a slightly mocking way as soon as he sees that he managed to bring you out of this 'trance'. "you were asked a question." he simply says, when you finally manage to focus your vision.

crap. were you staring the whole time? humiliating.

"what?" you ask, having no idea of anything what happened while you were busy. clearing your throat and straightening your back you try not to appear embarrassed.

you sincerely hope you succeeded.

"i asked you a question." tartaglia’s voice is heard from the side, and she turns her head in his direction. of course it will be tartaglia, who, if not he, will never miss an opportunity to joke around.

"sorry, i didn't hear it. repeat the question." you sigh, asking calmly, propping your chin with your palm.

tartaglia grins widely. what a brat.

"i asked..." he makes a dramatic pause, looking around at everyone present - arlecchino, columbina, signora, scaramouche and, finally, his gaze stops at you. you pretend not to be in the least bit intrigued. "which part of scaramouche's body is your favorite?"

you pause, eyebrows raised up in surprise and confusion even when your face stays calm. you blink. twice. three times.

you think you might've misheard the gingerhead.

trying your best to stay calm, you cock your head, brows falling back in their place. "...what?"

"which part of scaramouche's bo-"

no, you definitely did not mishear him.

"i heard you the first time." you retort almost sharply, confusion coating your once bored features. you start to wonder what could he possibly think when asking that question in front of the other harbingers and, first of all, in front of scaramouche. "why... why this question?"

"just because." tartaglia simply replies, shrugging as if it's the most innocent question in the world.

"just because?"

"just because."

fucking bastard.

jokes aside, you didn't know if anybody from the harbingers or of all the fatui knew that you and scaramouche were together. you never told anyone and he didn't bother with telling anybody - no public kisses or words of affection when outside your private chambers - that's how it was for both of you.

nonetheless, you do give his question a thought. a big thought.

you feel the gaze of everyone present in this room on yourself, and especially - scaramouche's gaze. it's like he's burning a hole in you, yet having that usual mocking smirk present. for a second, you even wonder that he's fucking you with his eyes. just for a second.

you, quietly swallowing the suddenly viscous saliva, turn to the one mentioned, allowing yourself to look at him again.

eyes. his eyes, his endless indigo eyes, on which you'd let him drown you without saying a single word of protest. it's like looking at the infinite myriads of stars in the sky.

hair. his hair is incredibly soft, even if it is artificial. you can spend hours running his strands between your fingers without saying a word.

lips. his lips make your knees weaken and the butterflies in your stomach flutter with renewed vigor, and you're talking not only about kisses. his degrading praise has you on your knees for him anytime.

fingers.

"fingers." you blurt out without a last thought. this all is absolutely about his fingers. thin, long fingers, at which you could just glance at once and your legs would already shake in anticipation.

you notice the silence of all the present in the room. from the other side of the table, opposite from tartaglia's, arlecchino's all-knowing chuckle can be heard - she had you ranting about every little thing you'd like him to do with you, and every single thing you and scaramouche have already done together.

you're too embarrassed to turn to face scaramouche.

tartaglia can't stop himself from grinning even wider, looking at you with some kind of suspicious glint in his eyes. what is he up to now?

"what?" you confusingly frown at him, turning to face the man.

if it hadn't been for the tsaritsa, you'd crush every single bone in his body a while ago already.

tartaglia only smirks. "nothing. so, you're asking someone a question now...'

nothing is also something.

—

"yes, there you go... say that again." scaramouche cooes into your ear, leaning over you, his voice sounding like a literal honey - soft and gentle, a usual contrast to both how he acts around the fatui and the other times when you make out.

"i-i love your f-fingers, scara- i love them, i absolutely love them..." you breathe out, barely holding back a mewl that escapes your lips when his fingers start to pick up the pace yet again.

scaramouche had been fingering you for... you don't even know, mind too hazy. maybe it's been a few hours already. maybe even barely 30 minutes. you can't remember how many times you've came, creaming all over his fingers time after time, orgasm after orgasm, your white discharge dripping from his digits. the time certainly didn't matter now, as his fingers' inches filled your cunt, bedsheets soaked with your secretions.

he had your back pressed against his chest, one hand fingerfucking you and the other slowly, as if to soothe your overstimulation, stroking the skin on your stomach in comforting circles. the touch felt a contradiction in comparison to how rough he could get when you fucked before.

you writhe in his grasp as his other hand's fingers got under your clothes, starting to toy with your nipple, occasionally squeezing your breast every now and then, letting out quiet whimpers of overstimulation which get louder every time his thumb finds your sensitive clit.

"what a good little whore." scaramouche's voice is now basically a whisper-like purr next to your ear. he laughs quietly, taking out his fingers and smearing your secretions on your pink, puffy folds, occasionally rubbing your clit before sinking his digits inside your cunt again. "mmm, made such a mess all over my fingers, didn't you... i can finger you for eternity and you'll beg for more."

you felt like you were going to either fall asleep or pass out. your hips buck instinctively against his hand, eyes closing and head resting on his shoulder. you did try your best to hold your moans back with biting your lower lip, but, after some time, you just couldn't hold it in any longer.

"hey, c'mon sleepyhead, keep those pretty eyes open. i can't let you fall asleep while fucking you, can i? keep them open." he says, voice a tad bit louder just to keep you awake and in touch. you whine and murmur something about how you can't take it anymore but, nonetheless, tilt your head and open your eyes to meet his.

fuck, the way he's looking at you makes you get even wetter in a single moment, and you clench around his fingers one more time.

"there you go. now just look at me, mmhm?" scaramouche leans down to you, his lips hovering dangerously close to your lips. his voice gets much quieter now - still just a bit louder than your soft mewls - and raspier than before, with a single ounce of threat to it. his fingers keep getting faster, pace increasing with each word. you feel like you could come undone just from his voice. "keep those eyes on me while you cum on my fingers again."

"mmmn- s-scara, g-g'nna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum-" you mutter, a breath away from another orgasm.

scaramouche's fingertips curl around that sensitive spot inside you once more, and that is when you crash.

his lips quickly settle on yours and he uses the opportunity for his tongue to enter your mouth immediately just when you open it to moan loudly. he shushes you with a kiss, but still hears you groaning into his mouth, back arched upwards. quickly finding your hand, he intertwines fingers with you, feeling just how you squeeze his hand while your hips buck into his other hand, riding the aftermath of your release, your walls clenching desperately around his digits.

when the kiss is over - you're a whining, almost crying mess, with tears in the corners of your pretty eyes from all the overstimulation.

" 's too much... scara, i c-can't-" you whine out loud when his fingers enter your cunt yet again, and you cry his name out, now more quietly.

"this was the fourth time you've came just from my fingers." scaramouche whispers into your ear, cutting off your soft whimpers. "let's see if you love them so much to get that to five."

#genshin impact #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin smut #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x you #kunikuzushi x you #genshin x you #genshin x reader #wanderer smut #kunikuzushi smut #scaramouche fluff #genshin fluff

2K notes · View notes

daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

Text

Kinktober #3 Playing House

that’s it, that’s the title

Warning: smuuuuuuuuuuuuuutty wheewwy! 🥵🌶️

You and Daryl are out scavenging on a run, going through a row of houses to find canned goods to stock up for winter before the cold front hits. No one knows what winter will bring-will walkers be more docile?

Surely the cold has to slow them down like it does for people, right? But no one is sure.

When Daryl offers to make the run, you're surprised when he calls your name to join him. It's not that you're afraid-you go on runs all the time. Just... not usually with Daryl. He's intimidating and aloof, and usually you head out with Glenn and sometimes Rick. You're quick, good at getting in and out, even it there are a couple of walkers around. You can get what's needed and leave.

So when Daryl asks you to join him today, you only hesitate because you ve never been alone with the man before. But you agree, feeling like you kind of miss the adrenaline of not knowing how the day will go since you all moved to the prison. You're happy life feels safe-of course, you are-but at heart, you might be called an adrenaline junkie.

You walk a few paces behind Daryl in the woods behind the row of houses, your eyes drawn to the way his muscles move beneath his shirt as he navigates the path ahead. Every time he pauses to check the trail, you take the opportunity to watch him longer than you should. His broad shoulders, the way his fingers expertly grip his crossbow… if only it were warmer and he wasn’t wearing that damn long-sleeve, you could see the gorgeous valleys of his arms. You catch yourself staring once or twice when he turns suddenly, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitches, and you look away quickly, a blush rushing to your cheeks. You swear one time you catch the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

It only gets worse when you stumble on a root sticking high out of the ground, feeling the earth rushing toward your face. Daryl’s strong grip catches you before you hit the dirt, pulling you up effortlessly. He holds you there longer than necessary, his eyes scanning your face as he brings you back to stand.

“Thought you were supposed to be good at bein’ quiet,” he murmurs. The rasp of his voice sends a tingling sensation through your skin. Why did you allow yourself to be alone with this man?

“Usually I am,” you grumble. You pull away, but the feeling of his hands lingers longer than it should.

There are a few more times where you know you stare too long at his arms as he holds up the crossbow, or brush up against him when you pass by to stake a lookout to the street before crossing into the suburban neighborhood.

Finally, you reach one of the houses. You quietly open the front door, wincing as it creaks so loud it might as well paint a big target on your back for any nearby walkers. You stop just as it’s wide enough to slip through, hyper-aware of Daryl’s body close behind you, his closeness throwing you off your game. You need space to breathe. You take off into the rooms, sweeping through with your knife held high as you check around. You’re at the top landing of the stairs when you feel a hand on your leg. You nearly jump out of your skin, turning quickly to see Daryl reaching through the banister, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of your pants. For a second, you forget how to breathe.

“We ain’t got time to mess around,” he grunts up at you. “Don’t be long.” Your eyes flicker down to his hand, and he follows your gaze, quickly removing his hand as if it’s burned him.

After checking the rooms, trying to shake off the goosebumps from his touch, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Your nerves are still buzzing, but you realize Daryl is nowhere to be found. You trust he’s around somewhere. You reach up on your tiptoes to quietly sift through the top cabinets above the counters, your fingers coming into contact with a cool metal can. As you pull it down, you read the label—Baked Beans. You’re about to set it on the counter when you feel a hand wrap around your waist, fingers firm on your side. Your breath catches as another hand covers your mouth before you can make a sound.

The grip is firm, possessive, and for a split second, your body tenses in shock, adrenaline spiking in your bloodstream. But then you hear the familiar rasp of Daryl’s voice in your ear.

“Easy,” he growls quietly, his breath hot against your skin. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Your heart races in your chest, but not from fear. The roughness of his palm against your waist sends a shiver down your spine, and though his grip softens, he doesn’t pull away.

He’s close, too close, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

The smell of leather and sweat clings to him, his warmth radiating into you as his hips press you forward, pinning you against the cold surface of the counter. You suck in a breath, goosebumps rising as his voice rumbles low in your ear.

“Wanna play house?” The words are playful, teasing, but there’s an edge of something darker, something that makes your pulse quicken. His lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks, sending a jolt of heat straight through you. He pulls his hand from your mouth now that you’ve settled from the initial shock of his appearance.

There's a moment of heavy silence, the tension between you thick. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, the weight of him pressing into you as if he's been waiting for this, as if the world has finally stopped long enough to give him this moment.

After a beat, his voice comes, low and gravelly. "Ain't like I just thought 'bout this today," he mutters, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. "Been thinkin' about it... for a while."

You swallow hard, your pulse racing, utter disbelief clouding your thoughts. "You have?"

His grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel every inch of his strength. "Yeah," he admits, his voice rough but certain. "Tried to stay outta your way, but.." He pauses, his breath catching for a second. "Every time I look at ya, it's like... I can't stay away."

He shifts behind you, his mouth hovering dangerously close to your ear again, his words thick with something between need and frustration. "Ain't good at sayin' shit like this, but... you gotta know, I been wantin' this... you." His voice drops even lower, almost a growl, "Wanted ya since the first time I saw you."

You feel the truth of it in the way his hands won't let you go, the raw edge to his words, the way he's so close, yet still holding back just enough for you to make the next move.

"Daryl..." you start, your voice soft, but you don't know what else to say.

His lips brush your skin, rough, like he's fighting not to lose control. "This what you want too?" His voice cracks slightly, a vulnerability hidden behind his usual gruffness. "Cause if it ain't... you gotta tell me now. Ain't gonna stop once I start."

“I—I—“ you stutter, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Suddenly he’s spinning you around, his hands coming up under your thighs. You squeak at the sudden movement, your arms flying to grip his neck as he hoists you up onto the counter, your legs around his waist. He keeps your hands firmly on your hips as he says, “been wondering what you’d feel like,” he whispers, rubbing up your thighs, “your skin,” his hands move up to your face, eyes flickering down to your mouth, bringing his thumb up to trace it, “these lips,”

"Tell me," he rasps, his thumb brushing along your jaw now, rough and slow, "you want this." His lips hover, so close, yet still not touching.

The air between you is electric, and you're frozen, caught in the space between wanting more and the shock of him finally saying it.

Finally acting on it.

"I want this." It's barely a whisper, but it's all he needs.

In an instant, his lips crash into yours, rough, urgent, and desperate. The kiss is nothing like you expected-it's not soft, not tentative.

It's raw, almost hungry, like he's been holding back for so long and now he can't stop. His hand on your jaw slides up to your hair, fingers tangling as he deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer.

His other hand grips on your waist to hold you steady, keeping you tight against him, his body solid and warm.

His kiss is demanding, lips moving over yours like he's trying to memorize every inch of you, every breath. You open your mouth for him, his tongue plunging into you, discovering your taste, your tongue, everything.

His lips leave yours for just a second, barely giving you time to breathe before he's kissing down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Shoulda done this sooner," he mutters against your neck, his voice thick with frustration and something darker.

"Daryl..." you gasp, your fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the rough edges of his skin, the scars, the heat radiating from him.

He groans at your touch, his hands bringing you flush against, pressing harder into you.

"I ain't stoppin' now," he growls, his mouth returning to yours, the kiss even deeper, more desperate this time. His teeth graze your lower lip, and you shudder, feeling him smile against your mouth, a rare moment of triumph as he finally lets go of the control he's always kept so tightly wound.

His hands are everywhere now-one gripping your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as if he's afraid to let go, afraid this moment will disappear if he does. He's rough, but there's a tenderness hidden beneath the urgency, a need to show you exactly how long he's wanted this, how much he's held back.

You’re pulling at his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin radiating off of him as he pulls away for a split second to remove it, his fingers expertly finding the hem of yours a moment later, ripping the fabric off of you. His kiss is ravenous as he pulls you in again, its teeth and tongues and fire as you explore the heat of his body against your bare skin, your body feeling electric under his touch. Soon his hands leave you, and for a moment you’re left feeling only the cold counter under you until you hear the clatter of a belt coming off, and pants being pushed down. He has his fingers hooked into the waste and of your pants soon after, pulling them off in a haste. The counter is freezing under your bare body and the contrast of the heat of him on you only raises more goosebumps along your skin.

His lips hungrily trace down your neck, nipping your shoulder and skin of your chest as his lips find your nipple and his tongue flattened against it, teeth grazing just right until he’s moving to the other. You lean your head back and moan quietly. His head comes up quickly, hand in your hair pulling him into you.

“As much as I want to hear you sing for me, sunshine, you’re gonna have to be quiet out here,” he growls into your lips, pulling you in for a desperate kiss before continuing his torturous teasing of your skin. You whimper at the sight of him lowering down in front of you, his blue eyes flicking up to yours as he pulls you forward, so the apex of your thighs sits at the edge of the counter.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his breath fanning the slick heat of your center. You bring your own hand up to your mouth, biting your finger to keep quiet as he dives for you, his tongue expertly finding every crevice of you, lapping and drinking you in. He’s moaning against your wet cunt as he continues his greedy attack, and you feel the pressure of an orgasm building in your abdomen. Daryl’s eyes are on you as you whine and whimper, and he brings a finger up to tease your center. Your eyes roll back, your hand coming down from your mouth to cling to his hair. He gently pushes in a finger, quickly followed by a second, and you’re spasming under his touch when he hits the top of your g spot, making you gush around him. He hums his devotion and rapture at your pleasure.

As he pulls away from you, his fingers dive into his mouth, his tongue cleaning up every last drop of you as you grab for him. Pulling his face to you, you kiss and slide your tongue along his, the sweet tangy taste of you still on him. He’s growling into the kiss, pulling you off the counter to stand. Your knees nearly collapse at the sudden need to have to support yourself, but his hands hold you, the rough calluses sturdy against you. He spins you around, pushing you flat against the counter. The cool touch of the countertop makes your nipples harden as they press against it, your cheek laying gently down as Daryl kisses along your back.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do ya?” His voice is gravely against your skin as he kisses down your spine, his hands traveling up and down the sides of you and landing on your hips as he stands.

“Can ya feel what you do to me?” He asks you, his thick, hot cock pressed up against the center of you. You gasp at the contact, never knowing how thick he really was. You’re not sure you’ll be able to take it, and maybe he can feel the tension in your body as your hands come up to your sides, bracing yourself.

“Shhh, shh.. say the word and I’ll stop right here, right now, baby,” he says, hands gentle on your sides, thumbs rubbing circles where they lay against you. You let out a shaky breath, leaning up against him. Your hand snakes up and around his head, holding his hair while the other goes behind you to touch his side. He smiles, kissing your shoulder, bringing his hands to your front and kneading your breasts and your breath steadies.

“Just… be gentle, at first, please,” you whisper, “I don’t think I’ve had anyone— not that big,” you let out a breathy, nervous laugh.

He breaths against your neck, and you can feel the smile against the column of your throat, “I promise,”

You tentatively lay your hands back on the counter, laying yourself back down. He brings his hand to his cock then, stroking it himself before bringing it to your wet lips, readying himself for you. You hear him spit, and look behind you to see him lubing himself up with his own juices, and something about how absolutely carnal he is makes you shiver in fervent anticipation.

He holds you hip with one hand and gently guides himself into you inch by inch. You gasp at the feeling of nearly being split in half, and hear his deep, animalistic growl at the feeling of your walls constricting around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts out, barely above a whisper. He pauses as he bottoms out into you, his entire length buried so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb. After a long moment letting you adjust, you’re shaking with need. The list coursing through your body causes your mind to go blank with absolute desperation for this man, for friction, for movement.

“Daryl, please— move,” you beg, pushing yourself against him. He leans down suddenly and bites onto your shoulder.

“Say no more, darlin,” as he snaps his hips back and into you with hungry speed. You jolt forward, your body never feeling as full as it does now. He stays leaning over you as he grips your waist even harder in your hands, his hips unrelenting in their thrusts. His cock feels like it’s splitting you in half and filling you to the brim as he continues ruthlessly fucking you against the counter. You’re trying with all the caution left in you to not scream his name, only letting whimpers and small moans out, his name on repeat from your mouth.

“Drive me crazy, that’s wha’ ya do to me,” he says breathlessly between kissing your back as he moves in and out of you, “couldn’t stop thinking about you— about this. How you’d feel taking my cock, how you’d look with it buried in ya, fuck, baby,” his thrusts are becoming irregular, and he snakes one hand between your legs and your eyes widen at the overstimulation as he pulls back the hood of your clit, pressing the calloused pad of his finger perfectly on the nub, causing your legs to shake.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper into the counter, unable to stop your body from convulsing under his touch.

“C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum on my cock. Love seeing you so desperate for me, so cock drunk for me,” you barely can hear his words as your cumming again, biting your lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming and you taste the metallic hint of blood on your tongue. The feeling of your walls squeezing him like that has him toppling over the edge too, a long, carnal grunt escaping from him.

Both of you are gulping down breaths as you come down from your highs, his arms now tight around your waist. You both finally stand and you turn to face him again, your hands coming up around his neck.

“If I knew this is what you had in mind, Dixon, I would’ve gone on a run with you a long time ago,” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips. He mirrors it, his rough exterior softening for a brief moment as he pulls you into another kiss.

But then, a distant snarling fills your ears, snapping both of you back to reality. You whip your heads toward the kitchen window, eyes narrowing at the sight of walkers accumulating by the woods where you came from. The urgency crashes over you—it’s time to go, and you have to move now.

“Time to show me how quick you really are on your feet, sunshine,” he says, scooping the discarded clothes into his arms before holding yours out to you.

#daryl dixon #daryl #twd daryl #the walking dead #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl one shot #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl twd #prison au #kinktober

303 notes · View notes

beenbaanbuun · 6 months ago

Text

cub w/ choi san

this is not proof read but it will be!!!!

——————————————————————————

having thoughts about san with bear hybrid!reader, specifically on the first day of spring….

winter had been pretty lazy for the two of you. with a hibernating bear, there wasn’t much for him to worry about other than making sure you ate enough. you could keep yourself curled up in the little den you slumbered in in the corner of his room, all warm and cosy and safe in the knowledge that san would be there to take care of you. it’s safe to say that over those chilly winter months you were pampered—more than you perhaps should have been—but san was far too soft to care. if his little cub wanted something, then he’d be damned if you didn’t get it.

it was a few days before the beginning of march that he started to notice a change in you. you were actually asking for the things you wanted instead of just making sounds and expecting him to figure it out. your sentences were short, and you almost never lifted your head from beneath your blankets to say them, but it was more than he’d had for the past while. he’d even caught you stretching your limbs between bathroom breaks once or twice which almost made him drop whatever he was carrying every time he walked into the room to see you standing up, wobbly and bleary eyed.

you still let him feed you during those more lucid days. perhaps you might have been ‘awake’ enough to traipse yourself to the kitchen and grab a sweet treat from the fridge, but it was just so much easier to ask san to do it for you. he practically jumped at the chance, pressing a teeny kiss to your forehead with each request before shooting out of the room to complete it as soon as possible. it’s in his nature to be caring; you were simply using that to your advantage.

but perhaps san had gotten too used to your laziness as when the first day of spring finally rolled around, he found himself being rudely awoken by a weight falling atop his stomach. he groans, face screwing up in pain as all the air gets forced from his lungs. there’s a giggle that comes from the strange thing that’s wriggling over him like an overactive earth worm, and despite his frustration at his streak of lazy days being broken, he can’t help but crack a smile.

“it’s spring, i assume,” he murmurs, voice still gravelly with the remnants of last nights sleep. the worm wriggles it’s way up to his body until a head finds itself perched atop his chest. he cracks an eye open to look at you, “wriggly this morning, aren’t we?”

you make a point to squirm a little more, but your plans are soon foiled by an arm that wraps itself around your waist. “wouldn’t you be wriggly if you had the pent up energy of three whole months living inside of you?” you try to move but the grip only tightens. a displeased chuff crawls it’s way up your throat, but it does little more than make the man chuckle and tip his head back against the pillow once more.

“sleep a little more, my little pooh bear,” the nickname irritates you; that’s why he says it. san just adores hearing you grumble in complaint whilst being entirely too soft to act upon your non-verbal threats.

“i can’t sleep,” you reply, “so i’d appreciate it if you got up!”

“brat.”

“and who’s fault is that!” all your fight drains out of you when san still refuses to move. your shift your head to lay it flat against his chest, snorting out a sound of displeasure before puffing your cheeks up in a pout. san tells you you’re a good girl, but you don’t respond to him, simply too focussed on proving your displeasure. “you’re the one who pampered me all winter…”

and san supposed you’re right. he did spoil you a little more than he should so it’s no surprise that you’ve turned out to be such a little princess. he barely even blinks an eye when you command something of him, simply moving to comply to your demands straight away, and he hardly ever complains when you demand things; why would he when the you always seem so happy when he pampers you rotten? maybe his heart is too soft, or maybe you’ve just moulded it perfectly to fit right into your little mitts. san doesn’t doubt that you’re crafty enough to pull off some master manipulation scheme to make him your own personal butler, but somehow he can’t find it in him to care.

he sighs, “what do you even want to get up for? it’s cold outside and there aren’t even buds on the trees yet.”

san doesn’t even need to open the curtains to know that a thin layer of frost still carpets the grass outside; he can feel the chill infiltrating his bedroom, seeping through his skin and making his bones ache. a shiver runs through his body and to tugs you closer still.

“how do you know?” you argue.

“that it’s cold?” he replies incredulously, “because i can feel it, dummy.”

you roll your eyes, irritated at his answer.

“no,” someone’s grumpy, san thinks to himself. he’s sure he’ll have to work hard to make up for your bad mood later. whatever; he doesn’t have to pretend to be mad at it when he knows deep down that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you smiling. “how do you know there aren’t leaves on the trees yet? your curtains are closed and so are your eyes! how can you tell if you haven’t even looked.”

god, you’re a brat.

san pushes you off of him, gently rolling you to the side before twisting his own body to pin you to the mattress. again, your body moves like a worm as he settles atop you, but one soft kiss against your neck has you melting into him. soft little cub; you’re not the only one who knows how to get what you want.

“i can tell because there weren’t any yesterday,” his voice is hushed against your ear, his warm breath tickling your soft skin. you squeal and try and squirm free, but the way he’s holding you keeps you in place. there’s another kiss right below your earlobe and you go limp once more, “trees don’t go green over night, my sweet teddy. a little patience doesn’t go amiss, sometimes.”

and you can’t help but feel like he’s making a jab at you with that last comment. patience is never something you’ve had, but again, its san’s tendency to spoil you that’s to blame. you scoff, but don’t say a thing.

“now, cub,” san whispers, “take a little nap with me and we can enjoy spring a little later.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #san x reader #san fluff

283 notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 9 months ago

Text

Sukuna comforting you after a breakup

Pairing: Sukuna x reader

Word Count: 627

Notes: I don't know who needs to read this but somehow I needed to write it inspired by that edit I saw on Instagram a few days ago

Imagine Sukuna laying his eyes on your puny figure sitting on the completely destroyed sidewalk while you cry your heart out in the middle of Shibuya.

“Why the hell are you sitting there crying like a baby?”

“Leave me alone”, you mutter into your hands.

He furrows his eyebrows, body drawing closer to you. Did those words really leave your mouth? Nobody ever dares to talk to him like that. Especially not when you're all alone out here with Gojo being sealed.

“Don’t you know who I am, stupid girl?”

“I don’t give a damn about who you are. Just leave”, you bark at him.

Why? Why on earth did it end like this? You really thought you could make it, that your relationship can be saved if you put the work in it, that you’ll be able to change yourself. But then this call came in, only minutes before you arrived in Shibuya.

“It’s over, (y/n).”

It’s over. How is it supposed to be over when it didn’t even start yet? How is it supposed to be over when your heart still aches for the tender touch of your love, for the smile that haunts you in your dreams, for this one person alone? A new wave of tears swells up your puffy eyes and takes your sight, body still numb in agony. This can’t be true. It shouldn’t have ended like this.

Your heart sinks through your shaky fingertips onto the floor, bleeds out when reality hits you like a wall.

But it definitely is over.

“You’re lucky I’m having a good day.”

His voice is suddenly next to you, forces your eyes to dart up. This is Yuji. No…Just one look into his blank eyes is enough for you to realize that Sukuna himself is sitting next to you, nipping on a coke as if he isn’t the king of curses.

You should be scared. Fuck, you should scream in horror and try to run away. But instead, you just stare at him blankly. Does it even matter what happens to you anymore?

“What is it?”

“What is what?”, you try to avoid his question.

Oh god, as if it isn’t bad enough that you’re sitting here like an idiot while crying your heart out.

“What is all of this about?”

You swallow hard. There is no way out of this, no chance to escape the piercing gaze of his. You will have to tell him the truth.

“I’ve got dumped today”, you mutter.

“Dumped”, he repeats dryly.

“Dumped.”

“And that’s what you’re crying about? Some random guy?”

“It wasn’t just a random guy”, you bite back in a desperate attempt to defend yourself.

No, more like the one you imagined your future with, the one you wanted to adopt a dog or cat with, the one who was supposed to stay. But now all of this is gone in the wind. Your past, your present, your future. Everything went black.

“You know what makes me so damn strong?”

What? You blink away your tears, confusion written on your face. What on earth is he talking about?

“Because you killed countless people, are older than dinosaurs…-“

“Because I never let a love story distract me from my own strength.”

“What are you talking about?”, you huff in response, shaking your head in sheer disbelief.

What is that supposed to mean? You’re not Ryomen Sukuna, you aren’t a special grade sorcerer, you are…A no one, not even able to keep your relationship up. Fuck, you should have worked on yourself like you've promised over and over, shouldn't have started fights over things that wouldn't have changed anyway. You...You are the problem.

“Shouldn’t you be strong on your own as well?”

You have to blink a few times, mind trying to process the meaning of his words. Sukuna throws away the empty cup of coke and gets up, casually straightening his clothes before yanking your chin upwards, forcing you to stare straight into his red eyes.

“You don’t need anyone. Now get your puny self up and stop giving other people that power over you. If I see you crying over that relationship again, I’ll kill you right on the spot. Got it?”

Your heart flutters uncontrollably in your chest, hands shaking by the sheer force of his words. Why does he have to be so damn right? Why…why do you suddenly feel better?

“Got it”, you breathe out, clenching your trembling fingers into a tight fist.

Yeah, you got it.

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazini @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr@kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299@busyreader17 @4pgletter @okay-it-is-ivy @iluvtoru

611 notes · View notes

batmanisagatewaydrug · 1 month ago

Note

I don't know anything about Batman comics but I am very curious, who is this Jean Paul Valley fellow?

(I could google it but I feel like your answer is going to be a lot more enlightening)

okay so imagine you're a grad student just trying to get your degree in computer science. your mom is dead, you've never been close to your dad. you've made the best of it. one night your dad shows up on your doorstep in weird armor, terribly injured, and he dies in your arms telling you that you have to take up his mantle now. what the fuck does that mean? what mantle? oh, okay, turns out he was a warrior for a secret religious order. okay, it turns out all the men in your family have been for generations. alrighty, this is accomplished via childhood programming that creates a secondary warrior personality that lives in your head and comes out when you need to hurt people. maybe even kill them. you don't really want to do that but it also seems like you don't have a choice. sometimes you just kill people with a sword now, I guess. but Batman's here, Batman is going to help. he promised. he takes you under his wing, says he'll teach you how to manage this. you can't stop fighting but you can fight for good, maybe. Batman will show you how. except things are going wrong in the city, and Batman is running himself ragged trying to fix it. he's busy, too busy for you. Robin is trying to help you as best he can, but Robin's just a boy. and things are getting worse, Batman is fading. but you're also getting worse, there are voices in your head. and then Batman nearly dies. he certainly won't be able to walk again, not any time soon. so you're Batman now, I guess. you have barely even know how to be yourself anymore and now you also have to be Batman, and the man who was Batman has disappeared. out of the country to solve another mystery, left the city to you. you don't know what to do. you don't know what to do and people are dying and this city is hell on earth and why? why did he let it get this bad? what the fuck was the old Batman doing? you have to be a better Batman. you have to do whatever it takes to fix this place. maybe the old Batman wasn't hitting hard enough. maybe his enemies should have been more scared of him. maybe he shouldn't have let them get away in the first place. you're so alone. Robin is gone. Batman is gone. the only advice is coming from the voices in your head. you help people, sometimes, but you also feel increasingly disconnected from them. you're not really yourself anymore, are you? you're the voices in your head, your programming. you're Batman. you barely sleep and when you do it's on the floor of a cave, in your armor. and you keep this up until the old Batman comes back. he's walking again; it's a long story. and he wants his name back. he brought the other sidekicks and all three of them hate you, and when they come for you they don't stop until you're stripped of the armor, the mantle, and the name. they kick you out of the cave. you spend months living on the streets of this awful city you couldn't fix, hallucinating and trying to figure out who you are. they leave you like this until Batman comes to find you. you still work for him. he has a job for you. he doesn't like you, isn't even sure he trusts you, but he has a job that needs doing and you're a warm body. you're grateful. what else do you have?

that's Jean Paul Valley.

#jean paul valley

180 notes · View notes

miley1442111 · 5 months ago

Note

hi!!!!! I love your writing so much, and I loved insomniac, and i was wondering if we could get some more aaron and insomniac reader? I just thought it was so cute!!

thank you ml!

---------------------

treatment plan (part 1)- a.hotchner

---------------------

a/n: thank you so much for requesting, I love this series (as a fellow insomnia girly)

summary: aaron oversteps and it starts a fight.

pairing: aaron hotchner x insomnia! reader

warnings: angst, discussions of insomnia and feeling 'different' because of it, mental health, crying, no happy ending, aaron is an asshole, fighting

part of this au:

insomniac

---------------------

Aaron didn’t always know what to do in these situations. He’d never had trouble sleeping, he was lucky like that. He realised very early into your relationship that he was lucky. He didn’t stay up for the simple fact of not being able to sleep often, he wasn’t worrying constantly about whether or not he’d get enough sleep to function the next day, he wasn’t brought to doctor after doctor only to be told the same thing time and again. “Sorry, we can’t help you,” or “No one here specialises in that,” or, his personal least favourite; “You can’t be helped, sorry.”

He knew he was lucky he didn’t have to go through the things you did. He didn’t have to worry about what insomnia would mean for his future health, what not sleeping would do to his body.

You weren’t lucky.

Every night was a battle, ever since you were a kid. You’d kick and scream, and even now, often you’d end up in tears. It was awful, and incurable somehow, at least in your case.

Yet, Aaron didn’t want to stop looking for a solution, and that’s how you ended up sleeping at Penelope’s place, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and a dumb rom-com on the TV.

Fuck him.

---------------------

4 hours earlier.

Aaron walked into your shared home with his briefcase in his hand. You’d gotten off work an hour ago and come home to cook dinner. You were in the kitchen.

“Hey baby,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he walked in. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, then smiled down at you.

“How are you?” he asked, but everytime he asked, there was another question underneath it, one he’d stopped asking because it would always end in a fight. ‘Did you sleep?’

Aaron had left early that morning, and he felt good when he saw you asleep in your bed, and he was as silent as humanly possible while getting ready, so he’d hoped he hadn’t woken you.

“Fine,” you nodded, going back to your cooking. “Work was boring, but Lucy’s leaving so we have to go to her farewell party on Friday- if you’re around-”

“You have the sleep test on Friday night honey, we can’t go, remember?”

You sighed. “I cancelled it. I can always do it another time.”

Aaron was in shock. You’d cancelled the appointment? The appointment that was there to help you, to help you feel better. “Why would you do that Bug?”

“Because Lucy is one of my best friends, plus it’s not like the sleep test is going to work, so it doesn’t matter,” you shrugged and Aaron felt his blood boil.

In recent months, you’d become what he would call ‘complacent’ with your condition. You saw it as accepting it. After years of being told you were incurable, why should you search for a cure? They were the professionals, and you’d seen more than 60 doctors about this, in your entire lifetime. That didn’t bode well with Aaron. He would fight to the ends of the Earth for you, and he planned on trying to fight this for as long as it took, but that would only work if you were fighting too, which you weren’t.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. “We were on that waitlist for a year Y/n.”

“I was on that waitlist for a year, and I decided I don’t want to do it anymore, it’s my health,” you shrugged and served him up his plate. “Now tell me about your day.”

“We still need to talk about this,” he scolded, sitting across from you at your kitchen table. “You just decided to stop treatment?” His eyes were darker than usual, his signature 'negotiating stare’ trying to make you feel small. Not that Aaron himself was trying to make you small, just that you always felt… different when he looked at you like that. Strange.

“I don’t know why you can’t grasp that I’ve accepted my condition?” You scoffed. “You don’t need to worry anymore, maybe this will be good for me! I’m always so worried, and so are you, even Jack notices it for fuck’s sake! My insomnia has controlled my entire fucking life, and I’m sick of it, so yes Aaron, I decided to stop treatment,” you weren’t exactly shouting, but you weren’t calm and collected. You were at your wits end, completely. You hadn’t slept in two days, you were bordering on exhausted, and you planned to take one of the sleeping pills you had, (even though you’re slightly allergic), an allergy medication, and sleep for 15 hours straight. You were very happy Jack wasn’t meant to be back from his cousin’s house until at least after 4pm tomorrow.

“That sleep study is the closest we’ve ever been! Why would you cancel it? I understand you’re frustrated-” he started, but you cut him off.

“You don’t understand Aaron. You don’t understand. How could you? When you go to sleep, it’s simply that, sleep. To me it’s so much more, so much anxiety, so many negative thoughts, so much awful shit, so many shitty sleeples nights since I was a fucking kid! And you don’t understand that, and I'm not asking you to, but I’m asking you to accept my decision over my body Aaron. I can’t deal with this anxiety anymore around something as simple as sleeping. I feel like I have no control anymore, so this is me taking back control Aaron-” You felt yourself welling up with tears. His face was set in stone, silently judging you.

“There’s better ways to take back control of your life Y/n-”

“Tell me!” you shouted. He stayed silent. “Exactly.”

“This isn’t healthy, you’re going to hurt yourself more Y/n,” he cautioned and you scoffed, a sick smile on your face, bred from your frustration and desperation.

“Aaron, what more damage can I do to myself?-”

“I don’t want to wake up someday and have you not remember me!” He shouted. That was low. You were terrified of memory loss diseases like Alzheimer’s and Dementia.

You stared at him for a minute, small tears pushing past your ‘emotionless’ exterior. “That was low Aaron.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No it’s not, it’s your truth. Don’t mix that up,” you cautioned.

“Am I not allowed to be worried about my fiance?” he asked, but in that stupid condescending voice that made you want to smack him.

“Aaron please just stop,” you groaned, looking down into your food. This was going to turn into a lecture. This was going to break you. You were right on the edge, hanging on by a thread. And Aaron cut it clean with his next words.

“You’re being selfish.”

You blocked the rest of his speech out. Selfish. You were selfish. Selfish was silently crying so he could sleep. Selfish was indulging every single one of his stupid sleep tests and doctors even if you were in pain and exhausted. Selfish was being poked and prodded by doctor after doctor that he brought you to, in hopes of finding a cure. Selfish was hiding your condition’s worst parts (migraines, mood swings, anxiety, memory loss,and everything else) so he wouldn’t worry.

Right, you were selfish.

You got up and grabbed your jacket, keys, and phone, and you left the house. You ran into your car, Aaron hot on your heels with his booming voice screaming over you, pushing you further. Your car was cold, thus the pleasures of Washington. You shrugged it off and started driving, Aaron was trying to stop you, you didn’t let him.

Fuck him, he was the selfish one.

You drove to Penelope’s without another thought, just letting yourself cry. You couldn’t let this condition define you anymore, and you won’t let it define your relationship either. If Aaron didn’t understand that, maybe he wasn’t the right one.

---------------------

With the shitty rom-com over and Penelope heading for bed, you made your makeshift bed on the couch, and tried as hard as you could to sleep, but you ended up just thinking about it all, all night long.

What a great Friday night.

---------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

criminal minds taglist :) (message me or comment to be added :))

@princess76179

@khxna

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff #thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

298 notes · View notes

sovasleepy · 4 months ago

Text

some things never change

[ iso x gn!reader ] - when iso sees the omega version of you, he lets himself take pity on you. his soft spot for you ends up being his downfall, leaving you to pick up the pieces for him.

tags: hurt/comfort, descriptions of blood and wounds, iso gets hurt, fluffy tho i promise, mild swearing, mentions of pain meds

notes: requested by anon i’m so sorry this took so long, but i hope you enjoy! it was super fun to write

lurking with a sniper wasn’t something iso was about to pride himself on, but he was doing it anyway.

the omega-earth agents knew he had a sniper, knew he would be perched in some high-up place, knew he would be watching an angle. so that’s why he wasn’t. he had wandered away from any obvious post he should be watching, opting instead to watch some ridiculous corner. it would catch them off-guard, he hoped.

“dammit— careful in kitchen, iso. lit up your twin good but he didn’t fall. last seen headed towards you.” brimstone’s voice came over the intercom.

“got it.” iso spoke back into his ear piece, voice a whisper.

the area they landed was code named icebox — the name was fit for the cold, snow-ridden biome. however, iso wasn’t outside right now. no, he was tucked into a corner down a hallway, scope of his sniper trained inside of a room that looked like it once served as a kitchen.

true to brim’s word, iso watched as his omega version stumbled in from the outside. limping, he held a hand over his side, blood coating the white material of his jacket. his finger was deadly close to squeezing the trigger when he heard your voice. almost your voice, anyway.

the voice sounded so dangerously close to your own, but it was foreign enough for him to know better. your omega version stumbled in behind him, his name falling off your tongue in a stage whisper.

maybe it was the cold environment. maybe it was the cold biting through his clothes, gnawing at him from the outside, the biting wind that had chapped his skin earlier, that was making it so damn hard for him to pull the trigger right now.

it had to be. it had to be, because if not, it was the way you held him. it was that desperate, shaking need in your voice as you begged omega-earth iso to stay with you. it was that pained look on your face as you held your hand to the wound on omega-iso’s side. it was the blood dripping over the ring on your hand, coloring the metal crimson.

the ring looked scarily accurate to his own.

he had gotten you matching rings for an anniversary a while back. it got in the way of working some times, but he would never admit that to you. you always looked so damn happy when he wore it, and he liked the feeling of having some part of you with him, so he wasn’t about to take it off.

he took a deep breath. he had to pull that trigger. he had to — it wasn’t his you. he knows how he would feel if the tables were turned, but he can’t help it, it’s his job.

before he can pull the trigger, a different loud crack echos through his ears. it takes him a few moments to register the burning hot pain throughout his body, but he’s passed out as soon as he does anyway.

he’s not quite sure how long it’s been when he wakes up again. to him, it felt almost as fast as blinking. he was there, and then everything was black. the first thing he can consciously recognize is your voice, shaky and cracking and clearly distressed, but it sounds almost like an echo, as though it was far away or he was underwater.

the next thing he can recognize is the feeling in his body. scratchy… sheets, maybe? he isn’t entirely sure. he’s trying to open his eyes, but it’s not quite working. the feeling has returned to his body, but the ability to control it hasn’t.

finally, the panic courses through him, and everything comes back all at once.

his eyes snap open and his hands move to the sides of the bed, sitting up. it’s in vain, apparently, as another jolt of pain shoots through his shoulder. he seethes and falls back against the bed.

his eyes snap open again though. almost on instinct, his gaze falls to your face. you look so worried, so concerned. your hands have blood on them and the once flawless ring has the crimson liquid now dried to it. still, you smile softly at him.

“hey…” your voice is quiet and still shaky, but there’s a level of comfort to it that iso can’t quite place. “you’re doing alright. do you remember what happened?”

iso swallows thickly before before giving a shaky almost-laugh. “i imagine i got hit.”

“yeah, that’s pretty accurate.” you reply. worry and sympathy is written clear across your expression. “uhm… look, you’re gonna be fine, but you’ve gotta be on bed rest for a little while.”

iso nods. “yeah… yeah i figured.”

there’s a short period of silence before you finally move. you turn toward the nightstand, where a bottle of water and a small container of pain pills sit. you open the pain pills first, dumping a few of them into your palm and holding your hand out. iso takes them from you.

you uncap the water bottle next. you wait as iso puts the pills in his mouth before you hold the water bottle up to his lips, letting him wash the medication down. you pull the bottle away, capping it again and setting it on the nightstand.

he clears his throat. “i could’ve- i could’ve done that myself, y’know.”

you smile softly at him as he speaks. he could’ve, you know he could’ve. “but you didn’t.”

a small smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. he doesn’t protest anymore, though, and lays his head back down against the pillow. his eyes slip closed for a moment, sleep already calling him again, but he forces himself awake. his body is tired, so so tired.

“you need to rest.” your voice cuts through the painful throb in the back of his head.

his eyes flick over to you. that worried look in your eyes is so, so close to the one that your omega version was giving the omega version of himself. he supposes it makes sense, the scenarios aren’t all that different.

“i know,” he finally responds. he’s uniquely aware of the scratch in his voice. “just… don’t want to quite yet.”

you hum thoughtfully as you move around the room. he’s not sure what you’re doing, but he couldn’t be bothered to sit up and check. a few moments later, you pad back over to his bedside.

“ok, well i need to change your bandages anyway,” your voice is soft still, but he doesn’t miss the worry in it.

“yeah, yeah…” he winces again as he moves to sit up. the pain is still in his shoulder, though he guesses he shouldn’t have assumed the pain meds would work so fast.

you take a deep breath before you move to unwrap the bandages against his shoulder. he doesn’t look down at it quite yet, but he can tell by the way your brows pin that he doesn’t look too good. his muscles are tense and he’s gripping the bed sheet a lot tighter than he’s even consciously aware of.

his breath hitches in his throat as you work, resisting the urge to pull away or tell you to stop. he knows that’s not really an option. he swallow thickly and takes a few more shaking breaths, before you smooth down the last of the bandages. you press a gentle kiss to the top of them when you’re done.

“how’s it look?” he asks as he lays down into the bed again.

you move to comb your hand through his hair almost subconsciously. “looks like a bullet wound.”

he gives you a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “i figured that much, smartass.” he replies, but his tone is playful.

“it looks fine. not great, obviously, but you’ll be fine.”

he nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer this time. he lays his head back against the pillow, and finally lets his eyes slipped closed again. you didn’t seem as distressed anymore, and he could let himself sleep with that knowledge.

#iso x reader #valorant x reader #iso valorant #iso valorant x reader #iso x you #iso x y/n #valorant x you #valorant x y/n #valorant hurt/comfort #iso hurt/comfort #iso valorant x you #iso valorant x y/n #valorant iso x you #valorant iso x y/n #valorant iso x reader #valorant #iso

149 notes · View notes

tasteleeknow · 2 years ago

Text

pairing: minho x virgin!reader genre: smut, angst, fluff. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 6.3k requested by: anon

summary: you’re insecure, both about being inexperienced and about revealing your body to him fully. minho asks if he can show you how much he likes you. a sickly sweet, body worship, virgin!reader smut.

afab!reader. virgin!reader. profanity. protected intercourse [oral (f.rec), squirting, grinding, nipple licking]. body insecurity [no mention of body weight]. body worship. pet names.

“Would you like one?” you ask, offering Minho one of the red lollipops you kept stashed in your bag. It was a desperate attempt to distract from the lull in conversation. Not exactly an awkward silence, but enough to make you nervous. You’d spent so much time with him, you shouldn’t be this nervous. It was just that you liked him. A lot. You liked him so much you had struggled to sleep at all the night before, up late with a cocktail of nerves and butterflies swirling around your stomach.

He takes the lollipop from you, his fingers brushing against yours—one of the only times you’d touched him. Your chest tightens a little at the thought. You wanted to touch him more, very much. It was the idea of him touching you back that had your anxiety flaring up.

“Why do you always carry these around?” he asks before popping the candy in his mouth. You watch him swirl his tongue around, pushing the red lollipop in and out of his mouth a few times before he lets go of the little white stick—freeing you to answer his question.

“Oh, I—I don’t know. I just got in the habit at some point, I guess. I don’t eat them very often but…I think I just find it comforting to have them.” He pushes the candy into his cheek. “I know that’s silly,” you add.

“Nah,” he says, pulling the lollipop from his mouth and gesturing at your surroundings with it. “I think they’re the perfect complement to a scene like this.”

You look out over the ocean, the horizon a bright orange as the sun disappears over the curve of the earth. This was the third time you’d watched the sunset with him this week. You’d lost count of how many dates you’d been on total. Your best friend had assured you he was definitely into you. “How could you go on so many dates with someone and not be into them?” she’d said. You weren’t convinced. He hadn’t kissed you. He hadn’t even tried. You wondered if he just enjoyed your company, if he wasn’t attracted to you at all but was too kind to break it off.

You had no doubt he knew you were attracted to him. You were incapable of subtly, not when it came to him anyway. “Are you free tomorrow?” he asks, legs swinging over the ledge you both sit on.

“Mm, I think so.”

“So you can be out late?”

“Is there something else you wanted to do?”

“I made a pudding,” he says, looking a little nervous. You’d never seen him nervous before. Not visibly, anyway. “I thought maybe you’d like to come to mine and try it.”

You brain blanks. You’d never been to his place before, nor him yours. Words. Words are good. You definitely should say some words. “I—I mean—”

“It’s alright, no pressure,” he says, picking himself up—leaving you sitting on the ledge alone. You jump up, turning to grab his arm—wobbling a little as you lose your footing. He looks down at where your fingers grasp his forearm tightly. You drop it quickly, cheeks warming.

“I want to,” you blurt out. “I mean… I like pudding.”

One corner of his mouth curves up into a small smile, the lollipop pushed into his cheek. You want to poke the little bump. He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers. You hold your breath. “It’s vanilla. Come on then,” he says, pulling you towards where he’d parked his car.

You lean forward on the couch to accept the coffee mug Minho offers you. “I uh, didn’t really have anything else to put them in,” he says, placing his own mug of pudding on the coffee table in front of you. You inspect the pudding as he returns to the kitchen. It was nearly to the lip of the mug. “Here,” he says, having returned with two spoons.

He settles himself into the lounge beside you and then grabs the remote, pressing play on the movie you’d chosen. You take a small spoonful, checking Minho’s attention is on the screen before wrapping your lips around it. It’s smooth and sweet and better than any pudding you’ve had before.

“You made this?” you ask, pulling his attention from the opening credits.

“Mm, is it alright?”

“It’s amazing.”

He smiles, falling back into the cushions. “Good.”

“Do you think you could teach me? Or you could just give me the recipe? I mean—you don’t have to. I just—”

He rests his hand on your thigh, halting your verbal vomit. “Sure, I can teach you.”

“Thank you.” You dig out a much bigger spoonful, waiting for him to pull his hand away. He doesn’t, looking back to the movie—his pudding abandoned on the coffee table. When you’d first sat down on his couch, your summer shorts riding up your thighs had made you regret them instantly—grabbing a cushion to hold in your lap. Now? Now you didn’t regret them quite as much, enjoying his casual touch.

You get about half way through the mug before feeling like you’ve had as much as you can fit in, still full from dinner. You lean forward to place the mug gently on the table, his hand finally pulling away from your thigh at your movement. He grabs his own pudding, devouring it at an impressive rate.

You hadn’t really been paying attention to the movie at all, focused entirely on the man next to you. Everytime he readjusts himself, fidgets, drinks from his large water bottle, you’re hyper aware of it. When you tap on his arm lightly to ask where the bathroom is, he leans close—as if you aren’t the only two ppl in the room.

The mugs clink together behind you as you leave the room, Minho taking the chance to clean up while the movie is paused. His bathroom has a full length mirror, a little odd in such a small place. It catches you a little off guard. You usually avoided them. Your mascara is a little smudged. You sigh, turning to grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe under your eyes.

When you’ve cleaned it up as best as you can you suck in a deep breath, suddenly feeling like you want to run. Run to the front door and away from the man you’d developed overwhelming feelings for, feelings that frankly scared you.

He’d touched you more tonight than he had in the few months you’d known him. You’d met through a friend, seeing him occasionally at group gatherings. He made you feel seen, making an effort to ask you how you were every time you saw him. He even remembered the little things you mentioned about yourself. He heard you and he cared enough to remember. You weren’t aware you were going on dates until the fourth time you spent time alone.

You’d gone indoor rock-climbing and after managing only half the kids' wall he’d confessed it was a bad idea for a date. He’d heard you mention it was something you’d always wanted to try and decided to give it ago, despite his fear of heights. You’d been so distracted by the word ‘date’ you hadn’t noticed his ears turning a bright red. “I’m sorry,” he’d said, having ended the session early. “Do you want to come to the beach with me instead?” you’d replied, instigating your first ever sunset date.

You take a step back from the mirror, turning side to side to inspect your body. All his casual touches were leading up to something, and you wanted so badly to be the type of person who could lean into it—to show him how much you wanted him. You think about all the people you’d pushed away, unable to overcome your insecurities enough to be vulnerable with them in that way.

You didn’t know how to bring it up to him, that you hadn’t done this before. You were so amazed someone like him could be interested in you at all, revealing something like that could scare him off. You lift your shirt to touch your stomach. Even if he wasn’t scared off, you might make the experience so terrible he’d never try again. You had no idea what the fuck you were doing.

You lean over the sink, wetting your hands and pressing the cold water to your neck. The things you want in life could sometimes be found outside your comfort zone. Or something. Your best friend had given you a pep talk a few days ago when you’d been unable to keep in all your anxieties. You huff out a small laugh, amused one of her rambling inspirational speeches actually stuck in your mind a little.

When you reemerge the balcony door is wide open, Minho leans against the railing—looking out at the city lights. You take one final deep breath then follow him out, deciding to be brave and placing one of your hands gently over his. He looks down at your hands, then to you. When he pulls his hand away your heart drops. Then he turns to face you, placing his hand at your waist. All your concentration goes into keeping your breathing even. You imagine a little crew in your brain, panicking and sending all resources to maintain an outward appearance of calm. You hope it’s working.

He pulls you a little closer, his eyes dropping to your mouth before looking up again. “Did you really like my pudding or were you just being nice?”

Not what you were expecting. You blink a few times as you attempt to regather your thoughts. “I liked it, really. It was the nicest pudding I've ever had. I really would like you to teach me how you made it.”

“So sweet,” he mutters, mouth curving into one of his little half smiles. You drop your eyes to his chest, totally unprepared to deal with a comment like that. It doesn’t stop him from continuing. “Do you know how sweet you are? What it does to me? Drives me fucking crazy.”

You can’t help looking up at his eyes, a little shocked by his language. He was always so soft around you, including his language. “Like that,” he continues. “Your eyes right now, all wide and innocent. I’ve tried…to wait for you to show me you’re ready. That you want me. Then you showed up today in those little shorts, smiling at me like the fucking sun.” His hand at your waist moves up and down, a gentle caress. “Can I have you? Please? Tell me I can have you.”

You know you’ve failed at keeping a calm outward appearance, your chest rises and falls erratically. You lift your hands to your cheeks, they’re burning. He drops his hand from your waist, both his hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face gently.

“Please,” he breathes.

Good things are outside your comfort zone, you repeat in your head. If this worked out you were going to buy your friend a car full of her favourite snacks… and a puppy. A million puppies. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. He keeps his hold on your wrists, holding your arms up on each side of you. It isn’t until you pull away that he drops them, wrapping both arms around you to pull you tightly against him. He resumes the kiss you’d started. His lips are pillowy against yours. He tastes like the pudding he’d devoured. You wrap your arms around his neck and he turns you, pushing you back until you’re pressed into the wall.

By the time he pulls his lips from yours you’re practically panting, attempting to catch your breath. Each of his arms frame your head against the wall. “Was that a yes?” he says, breath equally uneven.

You’re confused for a second, completely lost. Yes?… oh. Can I have you? You drop your eyes to his chest again. Was this the right moment to tell him? You imagined him backing away, trying to find the words to tell you he wasn’t into you enough to deal with the baggage.

“I—It’s just…”

He drops his hands from the wall, taking a small step back. He looks vulnerable, but he’s quiet—waiting for you to finish.

“I’ve never really done this before. I don’t want you to sign up for this—for me—and then back out. I don’t think I can handle it,” you finish, sucking in a deep shaky breath.

“Why would I back out?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never been in a real relationship, I’ve never liked someone like this, I’ve never—” you pause, all the courage draining from your body. He takes a small step towards you again.

“Never…?”

“Slept with anyone.”

He presses one hand to the wall again, the other brushing your hair over your shoulder. “I’m not asking to fuck you, I’m asking you to be mine. You tell me if you ever want to give the rest a try, and I’m here.” His palm moves up to cup your cheek. “I’ve got you,” he whispers.

“But I do,” you whisper back. You’re not sure why you’re both being quiet. There’s no one to overhear. You’re grateful for it anyway, the words are easier to get out in hushed tones. “I do want to, I really, really want to.”

He smiles, then presses his lips to yours softly. “Really, really?,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice taking on a teasing tone you were very used to at this point.

“Are you sure you want me? In that way…”

“I really, really want you. I want you if you want to stay here with me tonight and let me show you how good I can make you feel…and I want you if you want to wait. I just want you, whichever way you’ll let me have you.”

“Why?”

“I spend any free day I have with you.” He takes one of your hands and presses it to his chest, over his heart. “You make me feel steady. You make my life feel bright, and warm…and hopeful…” He presses his forehead to yours. You close your eyes. “I want to make yours warm too. I want to give you what you give me. Let me,” he finishes.

His lips hover over yours, brushing them so lightly it tickles. You press forward suddenly, pushing into him hard. He stumbles back a step, huffing a laugh into your mouth and wrapping his arms around you.

You’d spent months with him, hearing all his worries and hopes and dreams. He made you nervous and giddy and now finally… hopeful. Hopeful that he might want you back the same way. His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, thumb brushing against your skin. You crash back down, remembering why you hadn’t had this before. How you’d looked in the mirror minutes before. You take a big step back, his arms dropping from you.

“S-Sorry,” you sputter out, stepping back again until your back hits the wall. “I don’t think I can do this.”

You watch his face fall, his sad eyes making you hate yourself more. Coward. “This?” he asks, gesturing between you. “As in right now? Or this as in us in general?”

“General. In general. I’m just not—I’m not right.”

He frowns, one foot stepping towards you and then he hesitates—keeping his distance. “Not right?” he asks, brows furrowed in confusion. You sigh, suddenly exhausted. He rocks forward a little, like he’s deciding whether to stay away, and then steps towards you slowly. “What do you mean ‘not right’?” he asks again.

Your eyes trail up his body as he steps closer. When he stops, directly in front of you again, you lift one finger to trace down his face. “Do you know how lovely you are? How beautiful? In every way,” you whisper.

He lifts his hand to take your wrist. “What do you mean by ‘not right’?” he repeats.

“For you.”

“Shouldn’t I decide that for myself? I choose you. I want you. You’re everything.”

“You haven’t seen me,” you blurt out, instantly regretting it. You drop your eyes to the ground.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Fully? Is that what you mean? Without clothes?”

You groan, more embarrassed than you’ve ever been in your life. He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Can you trust me enough to believe me when I say I think you’re perfect. I’m so—” he pauses, eyes flicking across your face. “I really, really like you,” he says, lips curving a little. “Let me show you how much? Just say stop whenever you need. I just want to show you how beautiful you are, hm?”

“You’re…you’re sure?”

“Really, really sure.” He offers you a small reassuring smile.

You’re quiet for a moment, considering if you really were brave enough for this. Then you look up at him, patiently waiting for you. You reach down to take his hand, pulling him with you as you re enter his apartment. You lead him past his bathroom, to the closed door you’d seen earlier. It had to be his bedroom. You stop with your hand on the door knob, looking up at him for permission. He presses his hand over yours, pressing the handle down and pushing the door open. Then he takes the lead, pulling you slowly into the room.

He lets go of your hand to walk around the bed and flick a small light on, filling the room with a soft light. You’re grateful he didn’t go for the ceiling light. He unbuttons the top of his shirt as he approaches you. “Will you do the rest for me?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, beginning with the button second from the top. You’re amazed at the steadiness of your hands, especially considering the rate at which your heart is beating in your chest. You keep your eyes directly ahead of you, on each new patch of his skin you reveal as you work your way down.

When the last button is freed, and each side of the shirt falls open to reveal his bare torso, you can’t help reaching up to press each of your palms on his chest. He’s so warm—and if you concentrate, you can feel his heart beating in his chest. You run your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, pushing the white button-down shirt off as you go. You come back to yourself as it hits the ground, pulling your hands from him quickly.

He wraps his fingers around your wrists, preventing you from retreating completely. You look up into his eyes as he places your hands on his chest again. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice taking on a gentle tone. Even gentler than usual. “You can touch me. Wherever you like.”

You smile, then push—hard enough for him to fall back onto the bed. A look of determination crosses his face and he reaches for you, pulling you back down with him. “Got you,” he mutters just before pressing his lips to yours. He rolls over you, pressing his body down into yours—not all his weight, just enough to feel comforting. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he says between kisses. You hum against his mouth and he pulls back just enough to speak. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer before pulling him back down again. You’re so consumed by him you forget all your worries for a few blissful minutes.

It isn’t until his hand slips under the hem of your shirt again you remember why you’d been so nervous. He must notice you tense up because he halts his movements. “Want me to stop?” he asks.

“No, just…nervous.”

“You’re okay.” He lifts the hem of your shirt slowly, keeping his eyes on your face. “I’ve got you.”

Your eyes flick to his pouty upper lip. You think about all the times you’d thought how much you loved it, how this small feature on his face was a part of him you adored so much. Surely, others must have those thoughts about you. It wasn’t impossible, anyway. You wonder if Minho did.

He pulls your shirt over your head and you squeeze your eyes shut. It didn’t make sense. Closing your eyes didn’t stop him seeing you. You supposed it did stop you seeing his reaction. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath tickling your lips. “Look at me,” he encourages.

You peek one eye open. He looks down at you, eyes a little hooded. “Good girl,” he says, kissing you softly. He presses small kisses across your cheek, down to your neck. He speaks in between. “Remember what I said earlier? How sweet you are?”

You breath hitches as he sucks gently on a sensitive patch of skin just above your clavicles. You picture his pillowy lips on your skin, the pouty upper lip you love so much.

“You’re sweet inside and out, aren’t you honey? Hm? So fucking sweet,” He keeps muttering as his kisses move down to your breasts, his soft lips pressing to the skin peaking out from your bra. An embarrassing noise escapes your throat. He looks up at you. “What was that? Did you make a sweet little noise for me?”

“Min?”

“Hm?”

“Should I take this off?” you ask, fiddling with the bra strap over your shoulder.

“Whatever you want. Do you want it off?”

“I—I think so.”

He lifts himself off you and you sit up to watch him move up the bed to adjust himself against his pillows, patting his lap. “Come here, I'll help you.”

You crawl up the bed, feeling a little awkward as you climb into his lap. You wrap your arms around your stomach. He presses his face to your neck, humming against your skin. Knowing he couldn’t see you, you relax a little—moving your arms from your waist to wrap around his neck. His fingers fiddle with the clasp at your back, not rushing to remove it once he’d succeeded in undoing each one. He lets go, letting the bra fall apart—the straps falling down your shoulders a little. He keeps his face buried in your shoulder, running his hands up and down your back gently.

“Doing so well,” he murmurs into your skin. A little shiver runs up your spine.

You pull back, attaching your mouth to his quickly—distracting him with your lips as you slip the bra down your arms and drop it onto the bed next to you. He pulls you against him. A few hours ago a brush of his fingers was enough to make your chest tighten, and now you’re half naked—bare chests pressed tightly together, his soft lips attached to yours. A short wave of dizziness passes over you at the realisation, pulling away from him slightly.

“Will you lie down for me?” Minho says, his voice a little breathy.

You nod, climbing off him so you can lay back against the pillows next to him. You hold your breath, scrutinising his face for any flicker of disappointment as his eyes scan over your bare chest for the first time. He climbs over you and falls forward, attaching his lips to the skin between your breasts—offering you no warning. You grip the sheets next to you, overwhelmed as he begins kissing a trail towards your nipple.

You can’t help gasping as he sucks it into his mouth, wet tongue playing with you much like he had your red lollipop. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you—too overwhelmed to feel shy about it. He groans, the vibrations against your wet nipple triggering a whine to slip from your throat.

By the time he’s given the same treatment to the other, you’re not even trying to hold back the small sounds you’re making—whining and moaning his name. Your eyes are hardly open when he moves up to kiss you, his lips wet against yours. You hardly move, letting him press sloppy kisses over your mouth. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs between kisses, drawing a whimper out. “Gonna make you feel good.”

“Min—Minho…”

“Mm? What is it, sweetheart?”

“You really—You really think so?”

He presses one last kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Think what?” he whispers, pulling back so he can see your face—a knowing smirk on his lips.

“What you said.”

“What did I say?”

“That I'm…” you trail off, unable to get the word out.

“Say it,” he encourages, brushing his thumb over your lips. Your eyes drop to his lips, wet and swollen.

“Perfect,” you whisper, barely audible.

“So fucking sweet,” he groans, trailing kissing from your lips down to your stomach. When he reaches the hem of your shorts he looks back up at you. “Okay?” he asks, fingers playing with the zip.

“Yeah,” you breathe, throwing your head back as he slowly pulls the small zipper down and works them gradually down your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut as he pulls them off your legs and settles himself between your thighs, pushing them apart gently.

“Open your eyes, hm?” he says, the tone of his voice increasingly sweet the more clothes he removes from your body. “It’s okay,” he soothes, his palms massaging over your thighs. “So soft… perfect. You’re fucking perfect, yeah?”

You suck in a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the feeling of his warm hands so close to your centre. “Yeah?” he repeats, clearly seeking a response.

“Yeah,” you whimper, fingers tangling in the sheets at your side. When his finger brushes lightly over your cunt—cotton underwear the only barrier between you—your back arches off the bed.

“So sensitive for me…gonna get so you fucking needy, mm?” he mutters, still in his sickly sweet tone—fingers brushing your skin at the edges of your underwear. You fail at keeping your eyes open, squeezing them shut as you twitch and squirm at his teasing touches. He continues muttering small praises, dragging it out until you’re desperate for him to touch you properly.

Your two minds battle, one desperately wanting to feel his fingers on you, the other embarrassed by the idea of him seeing you like that—seeing that part of you. You take in the situation you're in, how far you’ve come. You’re nearly entirely bare, laid back on his bed—nipples wet from his kisses. You suck in a deep breath. “Min?”

He huffs out a small laugh. “Mm, baby?”

“Can you…take them off, please?”

He crawls up your body, his face hovering over you—forcing you to look into his eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening as he sucks in a breath, then closing again. Whatever it is, he decides against it—pressing a kiss to your lips so gentle a shiver ripples down your body.

He shuffles back down. You hold your breath, expecting him to pull your underwear down with the same slow patience he did with your shorts. He doesn’t. He hooks his fingers over the hem, pulling them down quickly—without any hesitation at all. You have no time to feel shy, brain blanking as he attaches his mouth directly to your cunt. He hums against you, muttering something you can’t make out.

“Feel—”

He lifts his head, looking up at you—his hair flops into his eyes. “Mm?”

“Feels nice,” you whine. “Thank—Thank you.”

He licks his lips, then smiles. “You’re thanking me for licking your sweet little cunt?” he asks sweetly.

You cover your face with your hands, unable to look him in the eyes. Then his mouth is on you again, catching you off guard. Your hips rise up involuntarily off the bed, grinding up into his face. “Knew you would be the sweetest fucking thing, hm? Thanking me for tasting you…” He presses your hips into the bed, holding you down so he can keep his mouth on you—wet, messy noises filling the room again.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, overwhelmed by the filthiness of it all. A few hours ago you’d been fixated on his tongue circling a lollipop, and now he was pressing the same tongue into your throbbing cunt. The thought of it pushes you over the edge, Minho’s hands pushing you harder into the mattress as you squirm—riding out your high. You whimper when it’s too much, Minho pulling his head from between your legs when you fall limp against his sheets.

You’re vaguely aware of wet kisses trailing up your body, staring at the ceiling as you wait for your mind to return from wherever it just flew off to. Then Minho’s messy face appears above you, his lips drenched from completing his mission successfully. “You want more or have you had enough?” he asks, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“More?”

He smiles. “Mm, you’ve tried my mouth. Do you want to try my cock?”

You blink, shocked at his language—still totally unused to hearing him speak this way. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Say stop whenever,” he reminds you, climbing off the bed and wandering off somewhere. You’re too fucked out to care, sucking in a deep breath and turning to look out his open window. The sky is clear, offering you a perfect view of the moon. It looks like it might be a full moon. You’d watched the sun disappear at the start of the night, and now the moon watched you.

Minho returns, resuming his position between your legs. “Would you like to help me?” he asks, offering you a small square of foil. You lift yourself to your elbows and then Minho leans forward to wrap his arms around you to help you sit up fully. You take the small square from him carefully.

“I don’t… know how.”

“Would you like me to help you or do you just wanna watch?”

“Watch,” you answer, holding the wrapped condom back out to him. “Hold it for me for a sec?” he says, climbing off the end of the bed. He stands then turns and beckons you forward. “Come here,” he says, patting the end of the mattress.

You crawl towards him, tucking your legs under you to sit at the edge. You keep your eyes on his fingers as he undoes the buckle on his belt, then pulls it through his belt loops in one smooth movement. “Do you want to take them off for me?” he asks, gently taking the condom from your fingers.

You nod, reaching forward to zip his fly down—still avoiding looking at his face. You pause when it’s down fully, unsure if you should just tug them down. His hands cover yours, guiding you up to his waistband. “You can take both off at once,” he says, leaving you a little confused before you realise he means his underwear. Oh god. You can do this. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his underwear at each hip, your fingers brushing his skin.

You tug, dealing with a little resistance until they're over the curve of his ass. You suck in a little breath as his cock is freed, directly in front of your face. It curves up towards his stomach and you absentmindedly let go of his pants, distracted. It bounces a little as he steps out of his clothes and then his hand wraps around it. You look up. His eyes are fixed on your face, eyes hooded.

“Watch,” he breathes. Your eyes drop down again, watching as he rolls the condom down his length. Your eyes flick between his twitching cock and the prominent veins in his hand. You're still throbbing between your legs. You can’t tell if it’s residual from your high, or you’ve just never come down—building back up to another.

“All good, sweetheart?” he asks, gripping himself at his base. You pull your eyes back up to his face again.

“Good,” you whisper.

He walks around the bed, your eyes track him as he moves. When he’s laying on his side against the pillows he pats the bed. You crawl up to him, unsure where he wants you. “Face the window,” he says.

You lie down against the pillow, his back to you. The moon still watches. His arm wraps around you and then you feel his breath on your neck. “Got your sweet cunt all wet…” he breathes into our skin. “Now gotta do the same for my cock.” His lips are pressed to your skin as his fingers begin caressing your thigh.

“How?” you whisper.

He pressed his back firmly against yours. “Like this,” he says just as his cock spreads through your folds. You gasp, hand reaching back to grasp his arm. He pauses, cock resting up against you.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what feels good,” he says, pressing another kiss to the skin behind your ear.

“Ev—everything.”

He rolls his hips. “This?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Talk to me,” he encourages.

“Feel good… your…. you feel good against me.”

“Against you where?” he says sweetly, continuing his grinding.

“Min,” you gasp.

“Where, sweetheart?”

“Pussy. My pussy.”

One of his hands comes around you to grasp one of your breasts, his movements against you a little harder. He groans, muttering into your ear with each thrust. “So sweet…wet…mine…” His cock brushes your clit with each roll of his hips, working in combination with the words he pants in your ear to wipe your mind clear. His words and his body against yours. That’s it. Your entire world.

You feel it building again. You’ve never come twice this close together before. You feel like you never came down properly, now just building on top of your last. Your hips stutter, pushing back against him hard—a flood of wetness coats your thighs. You gasp, the first feeling that filters back into your head is confusion, then embarrassment.

“Oh, god. God. Sorry—I’m—I’m sorry. I’m—”

“Shh, baby. You’re perfect,” he groans, hips still grinding into you. “A fucking dream,” he groans and then he’s over you, pressing his lips against yours hard. “You squirted, sweetheart.” His voice is the sweetest you’ve heard all night, heard ever. It seemed like the dirtier the words that left his swollen lips, the sweeter the tone that accompanied them. “All over my fucking cock, mm?”

He looks at you like you’d just offered him his favourite dessert. “You—are you going to…do it now?” you ask, looking down between your bodies.

“Do what? Fill you?” he says, his pretty lips curved into a smirk. You nod. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” you say, proud of how confident your voice sounds this time. You wanted him to know. How much you really did want him. How much you’d dreamt of him like this. “Please,” you add.

“Please?” he repeats back to you. “You can have anything. You know that? Anything I can give you,” he threads his fingers in your hair at the back of your head, holding you firmly so you can't look away. “You have no idea…” he mutters under his breath, lips ghosting over yours.

You feel him, nudging at your entrance. You hold your breath.

“Breathe,” he says, hot breath against your lips. “Breathe, sweetheart. Just relax, I’ve got you.” He keeps his eyes fixed on yours as he presses in slowly, then out again. You’d expected him to push in all the way, like ripping off a bandaid. You lift your head slightly to connect your lips as the tip of his cock works you open, teasing your throbbing entrance.

“More,” you mutter into his mouth. He obeys, pressing a little further inside. A small sound escapes your throat, signalling a little twinge of discomfort. He pulls back, stilling for a moment until you nod then begins working into you gradually again. He distracts you with his lips, with his hands on your tits, with sweet words against your lips. Then you’re full. He’s still as you adjust to the feeling of it. He was… inside you.

You’d been so convinced for months that someone like him could never want you in this way, and now he was inside you. “Min?” you whisper against his lips.

“Mm?”

“I like you a lot.”

You can feel his mouth curve against yours. “Very, very much?”

Warmth fills your chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Very, very, very much.”

“I like you more,” he says, hips grinding against you a little.

You're lost in his kisses as he works himself up, increasing his pace a little as you adjust to the feeling of him filling you. Then he starts moaning. The small sounds that slip from his lips into your mouth make you wish you’d been brave earlier—that you could get back all the time you’d wasted being afraid. He was worth being brave.

“You’re so good to me,” you whisper against his lips, drawing another pretty moan out of him. “I’ve always thought you were so lovely, ever since we first met. You were so kind and thoughtful…and beautiful.”

“Sweetest…” he mutters between moans, “...the fucking sweetest.”

“Will you come for me, Min? Please?”

He drops his head to your neck, hips stuttering into you. You wrap your arms around him, stroking his back in gentle circles as he moves against you a little more. Then he stills completely. His weight against your body reminds you of the weighted blanket you used to soothe your anxiety at night. You turn your head as he pants in your neck, the moon still bright and clear in the sky.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

↳ masterlist

3K notes · View notes

thiccpersonality · 6 months ago

Text

The Realization

It's hard being the only human in a team full of meta-humans, aliens or straight up gods, but Bruce manages to get by...even if internally he's overly critical of the work he does, always comparing himself to others and telling himself to do better. But, he secretly counts his blessings one-by-one at how he has friends colleagues that reassure him everyday that he does so much-yes, even when he doesn't ask for it...Clark always tells him it's in his eyes, that's how he knows Bruce wants it.

Bruce finds that stupid though, the only thing in his eyes is exhaustion, and if not exhaustion, then anger; and if not anger, then it's probably a cocktail of self-loathing, self-hate and self-deprecation sprinkled with a healthy dose of "I wish I was dead."

Anyhow, Bruce counts his blessings secretly, even if it doesn't seem like he's doing so. And while it's hard being one of the only humans without a power in a group full of meta-humans or fully fledged super powered beings, he is grateful for the other aspects of power he has: his name, his face, his money, influence-and one of his actual favorites...when he's in a good mood-his body. Bruce isn't an idiot (Jason: "Not all the time anyway!"), he sees the way people eye him up and down, both men and women alike, he knows their thoughts towards him...or well, his body at least.

He has seen the way women eye his arms and pecs (Wally: "You mean, Batboobs®!? And doesn't everyone eye those?"), watches the way mens eyes glaze over when staring at his mile long legs.

Which brings us to how Bruce never truly feels small, not anymore at least. Even if he was of smaller height for a man (or in general) his position in life and as a hero/vigilante would make him feel and appear big to people. So, Bruce hasn't felt small in a very long time, he tends to not pay attention to things like height much-to reiterate: he never feels small because 1. He isn't and 2. Even if he was, who would be brave enough to tell one of the richest men on earth-let alone THE Batman that he's short?

The answer: no one.

So while Bruce has never had anyone say to his face that he's short, he's the World's Greatest Detective™ (Jason and Stephanie: "Ehhhh...occasionally.) and can see for himself the difference of him compared to everyone else.

Who is everyone else you ask? Well, it's the people he works with and-and Jason. It's kind of hard for Bruce to truly pay attention to height when he never pays attention to it in the first place or when he's usually in life-threatening situations to really care, in fact, he doesn't know why he is even obsessing over such a thing-'but you do know'-his mind replies. The thing Bruce hates most is that he does-he does know what kick-started this whole height thing, and it was his son; Jason.

XXX

It was any other normal day at Wayne Manor...if you count your son entering your top-secret cave injured as normal. Bruce had his mask off, his icy blue eyes analyzing the information on his computer unblinkingly, there's been an issue with abductions recently and he doesn't want to waste any time on finding out who is up to it, so Bruce has been working overtime (Alfred in a tired tone: "As usual...") trying to find out who it is.

Just as his brain is stringing something together, he hears the sound of a motorcycle outside the Cave, Bruce's brain immediately switches to finding out who it could be. He takes into account every person already inside the house, outside of it, what said people outside said they were doing until his brain very obviously deduces that it must be Jason. Hm? Should he heat some leftovers up for Jason? What is the other here for? Why is he even overthinking it? Jason is free to come over anytime he wants...

....

.....

......

But what if the reason is bad? Is Jason mad at him again? Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose from the sudden headache he gets from his mind panicking, the man just groans softly and turns around just in time to see Jason riding into the Cave, his eyebrow raising suspiciously at the lack of fancy tricks his son bothered not doing.

Bruce silently analyzes his son's body for any signs of distress, starting from his head, he immediately noticed the crack in the helmet and can feel his muscles tighten in worry before remembering he's trained his kids to fight and be able to receive hits as well. The thing that causes him to stand up though is the fact that Jason hasn't noticed him yet, and the way the young man is holding his side isn't helping to ease Bruce's racing mind.

"Jason, is everything alright?"

Hm? Was that too forward of him? Bruce knows his children, but he especially knows Jason and Damian hate being asked for signs of-what they deem as-weakness and injury (Damian sipping his tea: "Wonder where we learned that from, father?)

Jason finally looks up at Bruce, his tone sounding a bit slurred as he speaks, "Jus' fine, B. A little-" he grunts as he stumbles off his bike-"scratch never...hurt me." Okay, so it's more than a little scratch, Bruce catches Jason and can't control the immediate frown he makes when the boy doesn't bother fighting his hold. "What actually happened? It's not just a little scratch...you are clutching your side like you've been sh-" his breathing hitches at the words he almost uttered, w-was Jason actually-

"What? S-Shot? Why's it matter if-" Jason quiets down when Bruce's words finally process, his baby blue's widening under his mask at the small ways his dad is starting to panic from the thought-"No! I was jus' stabbed is all...no shots."

Bruce will get on himself later about how his body relaxed a bit more when finding out his child wasn't shot, I mean, what kind of father feels relieved that their kid was just stabbed? He knows-deep down-that it's his...ahem..."trauma response" to guns, but it sucks for him to realize he finds himself more at ease when people he knows are hurt in different ways that aren't a gun...he feels like a horrible person when it happens.

For now though, his main priority is his son who is losing blood, blood that Bruce is finally noticing on Jason's hand.

Bruce grunts as he brings his son closer to his body, feeling momentarily surprised when he lets out the sound from moving the younger. Since when did he ever grunt when moving his children? Another thing is, when did Jason get so heavy in the first place? When did his once small boy pack on so much muscle and-oh, God...please...when did Jason ever have to bend his knees when Bruce held him?

His body is on autopilot and he can feel himself moving to the medical table, but his eyes are busy staring at Jason's bent knees, his mind screaming at him that this must be a prank his son is pulling-oh! Or maybe Bruce is actually in an alternate universe where his child is bigger than him.

Bruce sucks in a deep breath when arriving at the table, gently lying his son down so he can get to work on stitching his boy up while also giving a (most likely) hypocritical lecture on how Jason should stay safe.

XXX

It was ever since that day that Bruce has been hyper fixated on his own height, along with the height of others. He hates how he's been sneaking in tests and making things awkward with his family because he chooses not to answer and instead rushes off to panic when realizing Jason is bigger than him.

It all happened as soon as Jason was patched up too, his mind recalls every stupid miniscule little detail, from Jason's clothes to the way his hair was messy from sleep and-the worst part-how he had to look up at the nineteen-year-old when the young man got close enough to him. Barefoot and all. The worst part is how Jason didn't even seem to notice it, and Bruce is NOT risking letting his son know, because then he will be picked on for being smaller than him and then his Bluejay will no doubt drag his siblings into this.

Not to mention how Bruce doesn't want to deal with a furious Damian who will demand that they, in his words, "stop disrespecting father before he slits their throats."

It has been a miserable couple months for him-and don't you judge him for keeping this obsession up for months! How is anyone-let alone a parent-supposed to process that they are shorter than their kid? Bruce holds back his frustrated tears at realizing his children are grown and growing, for goodness sakes, he had a meltdown just yesterday when it caught up to him that Richard is a fully grown man...he will never let anyone know about how he clutched onto old pictures of his eldest while crying.

And everyday Bruce is hoping and praying against Damian's growth...of course he doesn't want his son to be stunted in his puberty process...but if he decides to stay little forever then that is perfectly okay with him.

Besides panicking over his family's growth, which, yay for them...really, Bruce has been noticing-and I mean, TRULY noticing, his friends colleagues heights. There are certain people where it's just so noticeable, like J'onn for example, that guy is so huge that you are stupid if you don't notice it. Another hero is Big Barda, I mean, she's a seven foot tall woman...you would obviously notice that.

But there are just some people he noticed it with but it didn't bother him before (thank you Jason for kick-starting this!) And now Bruce is constantly comparing himself to the most closest of colleagues to one's he barely speaks to, it's insane how many files he's gone through just to look at heights. His two closest friends colleagues Diana and Clark are two people he didn't bother with height wise. It didn't matter since they made him feel small in different ways...I mean, you have the Amazonian princess with strength and skills that would put any living creature to shame and a Kryptonian that is more human than most humans, who truly has a heart of gold despite any negative views towards him.

And then there is Bruce: cold, stoic, a touch too sarcastic, jaded, cynical, a negative Nancy, a party pooper (Jason says that), no fun, emotionally stunted, anxious, depressed, stressed, old, washed up, unfunny-and the worst of all; short.

Bruce holds back his distressed noise as Wally West, AKA: Richard's best friend who has been over a million times, stands next to him with that ever bright smile of his and is animatedly talking, effectively ruining his depressing train of thought. When did he get so big? So...grown? He takes in the maturity of his once soft face, the man is still cute no doubt, but he isn't that same round faced boy who bothered him about Alfred's cookies. Okay, okay, maybe he still is that same kid...just older looking and taller now.

"-and that's why I'll need that penthouse full of Agent A's cookies."

Bruce blinks away the sudden wetness in his eyes and looks down (ha!) at The Flash confused, though to the normal eye he looks the same old disinterested as usual. "You need a penthouse? What happened to that modest apartment you got?" Wally blinks in shock behind his mask before giving a toothy smile, "Is that what your mind got from that? I was joking about the penthouse...though Agent A's cookies would still be much appreciated."

The ginger shifts in place nervously at the way Batman is staring at him, did he do something wrong? The only thing that somewhat assures Wally that things are okay is the fact that Bruce gives a grunt of agreement before walking off.

He can't take this anymore! If Bruce stays around Wally any longer he's afraid he'll start crying in front of the kid. Instead, he'll just head to the cafeteria and drown his sorrows in today's dessert. Bruce walks in and sees that Diana is already in line, holding back his grumble as he stands next to the woman and internally mourns the fact his head only reaches her shoulder. "Good morning, my friend! It's a lovely day in space is it not?"

Bruce grunts and doesn't bother looking up at Diana, "It's the same view we see everyday we come up to the Watchtower."

The Amazonian just smiles brighter, warmth radiating from her mood. "Though we see it everyday it doesn't make it any less gorgeous up here." Bitterness. Bruce's heart is filled with bitterness at the words "up" and "here" , is-is Diana teasing him? Did she somehow find out about his fixation and is now subtly letting him know that she knows?

The feeling of warmth, like that from the sun, at his right side causes Bruce to automatically look up at the person standing so close to him. His icy blue eyes only widen under his mask at fully tilting his head back to look up at Clark, he feels like sobbing when realizing his head only comes to Clark's chest, why is the man even taller than Diana!?

"Good morning Bruce, Diana. Lovely morning up here, is it not?"

There's that stupid word again! And is it really a good morning when he's been suffering for so long? Bruce frowns at the gentle nudge at his side and Diana's jovial tone, "Told you the view is still beautiful." At Clark's questioning look Diana just smiles more, "Our friend here just is being a sourpuss today. He's grumpy about how I said the view is nice, he just replied about how we see it everyday."

Clark just smiles and looks down at Bruce, his smile turning amused when his friend doesn't move up the line. "Are you just going to stare at me all morning or will you move down the line?"

A scoff is all Bruce can give, not noticing the concerned looks shared over his head as he focuses on piling his food tray with dessert. The concern isn't necessarily from Bruce eating sweets, Diana and Clark both know how much their friend actually has a sweet tooth, the issue is coming from the fact he is willingly eating sweets in front of others on top of the amount it is. Clark just frowns worriedly and sits actual food on his plate while mouthing to Diana about what's wrong with Bruce.

In return, the princess just shakes her head and looks back down at Bruce, choosing to speak up. "You know, it's been awhile since we've eaten alone, just the three of us. Why don't we head to one of our rooms or something?" What she actually means by that is: "let's get Bruce alone so we can figure out what's wrong with him."

The two super powered heroes find themselves even more putoff at Bruce's distracted grunt...it is rare he pulls that one out, usually his grunts have some level of awareness to them, but this one is telling them that he's not actually paying attention. Which is cause for alarm in and of itself. Plus, Clark and Diana have been getting calls from Bruce's family, they are worried about how he's been acting as of late. They report Bruce is running off on them whenever they ask him what's wrong...which actually isn't out of character for Bruce, but if the Batfamily are saying it's different than usual, then it's different than usual.

The two taller heroes lead the shorter to his room, punching his code in before the door opens and they watch as Bruce automatically walks over to his bed and sits on it, shoving a cookie in his mouth and causing Clark to signal to Diana in confirmation that something is wrong.

They use their friend's distracted state to quietly talk about it while joining him in the room, "What's going on with him?" Diana raises her brow as she asks, tilting her head up and to the side so Clark can whisper in her ear. "I don't know for sure...but his lip is jutting out into a micro-pout. I quickly scanned him to see if he was hiding injuries, and while he's not, his muscles are tense as if he's holding back something."

Diana softly ah's and sets her tray down on Bruce's desk, the noise causing the man to look up at them finally. His eyebrows raising when noticing he's in his room, "Why didn't we just eat in the cafeteria?" Bruce holds back his fidgeting at the look the taller two heroes share.

Clark clears his throat, "We were going to originally...but we noticed you were acting off and suggested eating in one of our rooms as a test-"

Diana, being one to never hold back, gets to the point. "A test you failed, Bruce. To be honest, you've been acting off enough to worry your family into calling us to step in. So, can you please tell us what's going on?" Bruce feels genuine embarrassment that this is where his fixation has gotten him, he's too flustered to admit that his issue is the fact he's begun to notice people are bigger than him, I mean, what kind of issue is that?

At Bruce's silence Clark steps forward slightly, his voice patient and gentle when he speaks.

"We are your friends, B. Heck, you even feel like family. And family is there for each other just like me and Di are here for you. Jason has been feeling particularly bad lately...he says he didn't know what he did this time to make you so upset with him, you keep staring him down angrily only to storm off when he looks back at you."

Bruce feels angry with himself for letting such a stupid non-issue get this far. His looks of "anger" weren't anger towards Jason at all, he knows when he thinks hard about stuff he can sometimes look mean apparently, but he was never upset with his Jaylad...the distress was just showing on his face and Bruce most likely masked it with the first emotion that came to mind, one that's easiest for him to express or replicate; anger or irritation.

Bruce hates the involuntary distressed sound that escapes his crumb covered lips, however, for the sake of his family and ending this stupid misunderstanding, he chooses to be...honest (Batfamily: *collectively gasping*)

"Jason...he's bigger than me-" Bruce keeps the Batman mask on so he won't be too vulnerable, his hands tightening on the metal tray from the thought-"For months I have been noticing the sudden growth of my children and I...I didn't know what to do with that information. Did you know that Jason has to crouch when I hold him now? Since when did he need to do that?" At this point of his ranting, Bruce is out of bed and pacing across the room while his friends patiently listen.

"And then it hit me one day that Richard is truly a man now. Maybe that's why we got into so many fights before? I never truly realized that he didn't need my help like before-" Bruce pauses in the middle of the room and clenches his cape in his fists-"He is so much taller now and shining brighter than the little boy I picked up. Timmy is even starting to grow a bit more...which, I don't know if I should be upset or pleased that he's finally growing, that boy scares me sometimes with how small he was."

Bruce's hands instinctively reach up to run his fingers through his hair and he huffs at the mask being in the way, choosing to hide his hands underneath his cape instead.

"Wally is even so big now, did you know that? I remember the young boy with that fat freckled face pestering me about Alfred's cookies...and now that boy has the audacity to get big on me, I think I hate realizing that Dickie-bird is actually taller than his friend now, it's only by one or two inches-but still!" Bruce starts pacing again, his nerves building up once more and telling him to move.

"And don't get me started on Damian. I feel I constantly am trying to sabotage his growth...I never got to see him as a baby and so I hope he stays that small, chubby faced little boy I've come to know. I feel horrible for wishing against his growth, but I want to make his childhood as enjoyable as possible, did you know he didn't even know what movies were when he came here? He was deprived of fun and he can't grow too quickly now or fun childhood memories can't be made."

Bruce stops to finally stare at Diana and Clark, pointing accusingly at them.

"And then you two! I noticed it before, but it was never something of interest to me. I didn't need to pay attention to your heights when I feel small in other ways with you two...you-" Bruce grunts at Clark gently slamming into him and hugging him, the man sounding a mix of fond, touched, baffled and sad. "You don't need to feel small with us. I for one think you are bigger than any of us in many different ways...I mean, you just admitted to having a crisis at realizing your family grew."

Diana joins in on the hug with a soft chuckle, "I'm just surprised you didn't notice our height difference sooner. Clark and I always talked about how cute it is to pick you up, your our tiny human."

The woman just smiles more when Clark nudges her side in warning for her playful words, "But in all seriousness. This has to be the cutest moment we've seen from you ever, instead of a midlife crisis you are having a parental crisis-" Diana cackles again when Clark pokes her side again-"What? I am being serious. But also, this just shows how much you care...and I think it's only normal to feel this way when you never expected to have a family of your own in the first place."

Bruce's breath hitches at the gentleness in which Diana speaks the last part, his eyes prickling with tears at realizing deep down she's right. Ever since he took in Richard he was always amazed and scared at having a family, and no matter how much he's tried to deny it in his worst moments, that's what Richard became ever since he thought of taking him in. Bruce never expected a family, which is why he tries so hard to deny it...and I guess after years of taking care of children it's finally caught up to him that his family-more specifically, his children (because that's who they are) have grown into functioning adults.

He never thought he would want a family after losing his in that alleyway, but if anyone were to take down his defenses...of course it'd be a child.

Clark gently reaches up to tug Bruce's mask off and finds himself wanting to cry at seeing the fat droplets-hanging on for dear life-onto Bruce's eyes, even now his friend doesn't want to seem weak. He can't help but chuckle at the incredulous look Bruce gives him for wanting to cry as well.

"You can cry, Bruce. What are friends for?"

Bruce feels his face grow red, his body loosening in Clark and Diana's hold as months of tension leaves his being through his tears, choosing to hide his face in his friends strong bodies. He hates crying and how good it makes him feel afterwards, he doesn't think he deserves that feeling most days, but for now, it's okay. Bruce also can't help the eye roll at hearing Clark sniffle as well, he's such a crybaby. Diana just smirks at her two boys, carding her long, elegant fingers through Bruce's hair, the two taller heroes paying close attention to Bruce as he shifts in their hold and speaks up. Voice slightly muffled.

"Never speak about this to anyone."

Diana and Clark share a look before silently coming into agreement and lifting Bruce off his feet, reveling in his annoyed protests with laughter.

"We wouldn't dare."

("1. He isn't and 2. Even if he was, who would be brave enough to tell one of the richest men on earth-let alone THE Batman that he's short?" Does the second option imply or mean Bruce is short or is it just a scenario? You decide! I constantly switch between Bruce being a genuine short king and him just being around people that make him feel freaking short 😂.

"Clark gently reaches up to tug Bruce's mask off and finds himself wanting to cry at seeing the fat droplets-hanging on for dear life-onto Bruce's eyes, even now his friend doesn't want to seem weak." <-(Damian and Jason sipping on their tea: "Seems we found that answer to who we learned that from. 😌")

Also, I am so sorry this story got so long! I didn't mean to 😭. This idea has been in my head, and I usually forget my ideas...but this time I actually wanted to remember lol. This is also kind of based off of the one day I was hugging my baby brother and realized I actually had to look up at him...he's only 14 (while writing this I also just remembered he's 14 😭😭😭), I went back into my room and literally just sat there reminiscing on my bed about when he was brought home from the hospital to all the good times we had together and even things I wish I did different with him growing up 😂.

Also, also, I apologize for the constant whiplash from some semblance of humor (or something), to slightly crack-ish (I think so at least) writing to things getting deep and emotional. I was feeling fickle with the vibe of this story I guess, so I said: "why not everything?" 😂😂😂

This is getting even longer cause I like talking too much in notes lol, so I'm going to leave with a thank you! Anyone and everyone who bothers to read this long mess is very much appreciated!

Please remember to stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. 💛)

278 notes · View notes

sincerlycas · 2 years ago

Text

What you heard.

inspired a bit by the song “what you heard” by sonder/brent faiyaz.

warning: spanking, rough sex, degrading, fluff, a bit toxic, eren yeager (yes this man is a warning), etc.

wrd count: 2k./ don’t forget to dm me for commissions <3

part 2.

“y/n baby what is your issue?” eren currently had your arm in his clutch stopping you from walking away from him any further. the lines on his forehead, and frown on his face showed he was really not trying to deal with this at the moment. “what’s my issue? really? so you’re going to tell me you walk around them campus halls not knowing what people say about you- about me- actually about you and other people ?” the reason you were mad was due to the fact a little birdie came up to you saying a girl named historia was going around saying eren gave her some, and knowing eren’s past with her, of course you had your doubts but still had a sense of worry.

you being the classy (aka petty) girlfriend you were, went to look for this historia girl for answers to which she gave you a high pitched laugh voicing “oh! I forgot he was dating.. you, it sure didn’t seem like it the way he was fucking me last Saturday .” off the rip you wanted to slap that bitch, but you knew better to make a scene for something that quite possibly might be a lie. “you know historia it’s quite ironic you said that because if I remember clearly eren said and I quote ‘I would never go back to that roast beef pussy looking hoe’ but maybe I didn’t hear right”

you mimicked the high pitched laugh she did earlier right after saying that walking past her with a bumb to the shoulder and a mumble near her ear saying “sour pussy ass hoe”.

but if you already handle the issue why are you still mad? It’s because even though you didn’t want to believe her, the timing made sense. see, last Saturday you weren’t with eren. he said he had to run a errand for the whole day so you were just hanging with your besties. that would be enough time for eren to be with her. still you didn’t want to believe it. so the day after the confrontation you went to campus looking fine as usual with your grey shorts body suits with a boob cut and some cool grey and thick glasses.

till you were stopped multiple times that day from people asking ‘are you okay’ ‘did historia really fuck eren’ ‘you should holla at me since old boy ain’t doing his job’. this what caused your mood to be sour the whole day.

finishing all your classes getting ready to head home you’re met with a smiling, handsome, fine like wine ass man in your face. that man being your boyfriend eren, he has finally showed his face on earth after all these rumors. “hey sweet mama, I was wondering if you could come by my hou-“ cutting him off by walking straight pass him, Ignoring him as if he was a rando. “baby! where you goin’” he jogged up next to you grabbing your arm stopping you near a secluded area. “y/n baby what is your issue?” leading up to the current moment so forth.

“what are you talking about? y/n you’re really going to stress me the fuck out.” he said while letting out a sigh and rolling his eyes. pushing him on his chest making him let go of your arm and pushing you jet black lace off your shoulder. pointing your long acrylic nail at his face you said “bitch don’t play dumb, there’s no way in hell the whole campus knows but you don’t when you’re literally the main topic” your crossed your arms staring at him as if was delusional. “y/n l/n when I say I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about, I mean that now stop fucking around and tell me what you heard.”

rolling your eyes you finally answered what he has been desperately waiting to know “why tf people especially historia, are coming up to me saying you fucked her.” and to that he laughed, he laughed in your face! “you really believe that shit, baby you know good and that girl is crazy.” shaking your head and staring up at him you asked “then where were you on Saturday” “I told you, I went to run errands.” “what kind?” he stared at you as if he was thinking of an excuse.

“you know what, save it tell me when you done with all this bullshit and call me till then dont call my mf phone.” leaving at that and hopping into your Mercedes and reaching your apartment.

laying down on your bed in your baby pink shorts and white cropped tank top you decided you would find answers yourself. you scrolled through your contacts and called connie a mutual friend of yours and erens. “yooooooo” automatically answering the phone with his forehead all up on the screen. “boy backup I got a question.” “what do you neeedddd” dragging his words annoyingly and setting his phone up. “eren said he was with you on Saturday what did y’all do?” lying through your teeth just see if it’ll work. “Oh- uh yeah we were on the game all day.” he nervously smiled and rubbed his neck. staring at him with a mean mug.

“yeah you a damn lie I can fucking tell cuz your nose is red bitch learn how to stop that.” hanging up on him you decided to try again and called jean. “hey y/n what you need” answering after a while and nicely. “I was wondering what you and eren were doing on Saturday he said he was with you.” “ohhh yeah me and him were at the park all day placing basketball.” hanging up on him right after that and sitting up crossing your arms.

automatically you thought he probably did fuck her if not why would they both lie? your train of thought was interrupted with a knock to your door. getting up to go get it you’re brought with presence of eren letting himself into your apartment. “bro ion got time for you right now get out.” automatically dismissing him staying by the door.

“baby just listen, you gotta believe me when I say I didn’t fuck her she’s just lying.” of course you wanted to believe him, but at the same time why should you if he won’t tell you where he was that day. “then where were you on Saturday?” and yet again you are met with hesitation. “see what we’re not finna do is keeping back in forth with this shit, if you cheated just say that you bottom feeding ass nigga instead of making me look stupid in front of everyone”

slapping both your hands on his chest and pushing him away, to which he grabbed you with not much strength needed, and pinned you against the door instead. “y/n don’t fucking play with me, cuz now you got me pissed off. since really wanna know, on Saturday I was being the best boyfriend I am and was getting reservations and decorations and all shits like that ready for your birthday this week which was supposed to be a surprise.”

holding both your arms in his hands and keeping you from moving. and to prove his point even more he pulled out his phone showing him in a grocery store buying birthday decorations saying “my baby birthday in a couple days and you knowwww I have to treat her right and give her everything she deserves all that luxuries and shit, baby if you see this, happy early birthday and I love youu give daddy a kiss when you see this.” ending the video with a wink and putting his phone down.

“yeah you look stupid don’t you, not believing in your man but believing some dumb hoe I told you countless times about.” looking at anything but him trying not to tear up from the embarrassment you felt right now for being angry and lashing at him for no reason when you should have just trusted him.

“o-okay eren I get it I’m sorry, I should have trusted you” looking up at him teary eyed while biting your lip. letting go of your arms and rubbing away the fallen tears from under your eyes and kissing your nose. “it’s okay baby, but you know I’m not gone accept that sorry ass apology so go lay that ass on that bed for me” he stated and simply tapping your ass and looking down at you. shocked by what he said and looking up at him pleadingly to have mercy on you. “eren I said I was sorry just let it go this once.” you knew you were about to get punished the most pleasurable way possible but you were still sore from last time and fat ma needed a break! “y/n don’t make me say it twice.”

“OH.MY.G-G-GODDDD!!” screaming on top of your lungs with every word being punctuated by the harsh backshots eren was giving you. clawing at your sheets using it as a way to get away from those relentless thrusts. “nahhhh bring that pussy rightt back!” eren used his free hand to ball up your tank top in his hand pulling on it towards him to bring you right back onto that dick. “don’t run from it mama, what did you say I was? a bottom feeder?” right after asking that question a harsh slap came down to your ask making you let out another scream.

bringing your right hand behind you to claw and push at his abs. “d-daddy I’m sorryyy~ i promise I’ll never question you again- AH FUCKKK~!! baby pleaseee” begging him to give you a break and making promises he knew you wouldn’t keep, that was just how you were, a back talking ass woman who stood her ground but it always ended up with you here. bringing his hand down between your legs to furiously rub at you clit causing your legs to spasm and your hand to grip his wrist. “youre sorry? you really believed her- you better arch that shit right back up- you believed that bitch and doubted me?

crying hysterically and cumming for the third time, babbling ‘sorries’ and ‘daddy please’s’ to which he ignored. instead he lifted one leg on the bed slamming balls deep into you causing you to let out a silent scream and violently shaking your legs. “now tell me who this dick belong to mama.” flipping you onto your back to see your face while staying inside and keeping his leg up. “I-I-I-it’s m-mineee~” you shakingly breathing heavily trying to stop your cries. “then start fucking act like it’s yours and yours only.” slapping your clit repeatedly then raising his hand to leave another slap but is stopped by your hands covering it and shaking your head repeatedly no crying even louder. eren being the tease that he is starts shaking his head yes at you and forcefully moves your hand away. “don’t try cover and take away while I rightfully own.” “you see this pussy, that clit, this ass, everything on you is mine just as much as mine is yours, so next time you try that shit again you’re gonna get something coming for you.”

rubbing your clit as quick as he can and hitting your g-spot repeatedly you grabbed onto his back leaving down scratch marks every time he hit those bundle of nerves. not a moment later you felt like you needed to pee. “d-daddy stop- I’m gonna make messss~” and already understanding what you meant he started jackhammering into your cunt till he felt you spraying up on his abs, your stomach and legs, and some even reaching his lips to which he greedily licked away. slowing his thrusts down after cumming inside you soon after you and holding you tightly rubbing your legs to soothe you. “you okay mama? I’m sorry I did so much but I had to teach you a lesson” kissing your cheek lovingly and accidentally brushing past your clit with his pelvis causing to squirt yet again! “o-o-o-oh f-f-fuck dadddy it’s hurtssss, it won’t stoppp~” automatically going down eren went to lick up at your pussy catching every bit of your juice he can to relieve your pleasurable pain.

finishing up and running a bath and taking care of you, slipping on a oversized t-shirt on you (his shirt you stole) and a pink thong, slipping your thick black glasses back onto your eyes and laying you next to him kissing on your shoulders. “you feel better baby?” he asked while rubbing your thighs to which you nodded your headed and slept soundly.

eren took that time to grab his phone and post a video of you in your current attire with you legs still slightly shaking and a hand print on your ass captioning “fuck all them rumors I’m reserved for one person and one person only, she know that too.” along side the the song “what you heard- Sonder/Brent faiyaz”

3K notes · View notes

kelppsstuff · 8 months ago

Note

Can you perhaps write an Adam x reader where the reader is extremely insecure about their looks and thinks they'll never be truly attractive and he comforts them after catching them in the middle of a breakdown ....... Thank you so much I love your work ♥️♥️

Divine

Summary: when your insecurities get the best of you Adam is there

F!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: depression, depressive thoughts, making love, panic attack

Taglist: @fandomsbookclub @adamsfavoritesinner @leathesimp @mmichelleszn @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @sirenetheblogger @jawline-of-steel

You always were one to never feel confident in your own body. Even when you were alive. You were beyond surprised when the first man told you he wanted you, and even more surprised when you started dating.

You were a relatively high ranking angel, most people respected you. You were kind, compassionate, caring, and most of all, you were down to earth, or well heaven.

However even in your after life those thoughts followed you. Making you question everything about yourself.

The questions started small.

Were you too tall? Were you too short? Should you have long or short hair?

Then they began to form into something more.

Were you eat too much? Too less? Were your boobs big enough? Was your ass too big? What made you deserve Adam? Why are you even here?

You never told anyone about said thoughts. Heaven wasn’t a place of insecurity. Everyone was “hot” as saint peter like to put it, so no one really talked about their problems.

You tired hard to appear perfect. Always going the extra mile for something, for someone.

—

You walked around your home, glass of wine in your hand. You made a sudden stop however as you caught a glimpse of your reflection in one of the mirrors in your home.

You took another sip to try and stop the incoming thoughts, however it did no good.

Do you really think Adam wants you? It’s all a joke to him. You don’t deserve him, look at you.

Tears started to form in your eyes, tears of sadness filling eyes of rage.

You screamed out in frustration and threw the wine glass to the mirror. The glass shattered and red stained your white walls.

The thoughts stopped, finally a moment of peace, but it did not last. The came back stronger than before.

You grabbed one of your fire pokers and started to hit your glass cabinets. Throwing every thing you could find against the walls.

You didn’t find clarity though.

You slid down the walls while the tears slid down your face. “Just leave me alone!” You cried out to the empty room.

Now you’re throwing a fit? Get over yourself, god you’re pathetic.

You didn’t hear the door open, you couldn’t get out of your head. You didn’t hear footsteps crunching on the glass around you, it was blocked out by your crying.

You only focused back when Adam placed his arms around you and slightly shook the two of you.

“What’s the matter baby?” His voice was unusually soft, and it was delicate.

“I want the mirrors gone.” You begged to him. He pulled your head away from his chest and made you look up at him. “Then how would you see your beautiful face?”

You scoff out, “what a funny joke.” Your voice was bitter, and your throat was raw. The tears had finally stopped, but they still stained your face and your lashes were soaking.

“Funny of you to think I’m joking. Talk to me baby.” He noticed your insecurities to an extent. Adam wasn’t one to be too aware of mental struggles — even if he has some of his own — but he noticed things about you.

He would notice how you would always try and hide your stomach. How you would sometimes get lost in though while grabbing your thighs. He would notice how you never wanted him to go down on you even though you would blow him off. He would notice your long looks in the mirror and the distance face you had.

He would try and help. Telling how how hot he found you every time he saw you. He would always praise you. It wasn’t enough, he knew that but he wanted you to come to him about this first.

He didn’t want to upset you more with confrontation.

“I’m so ugly! I don’t know why you’re still with me! I’m an embarrassment for you. You’re too good for me.”

Adam brushed away your tears with his lips. Silently listening. This was your moment to get everything off your chest.

“I’m not smart, I’m not even that pretty.” You scoffed and looked away from Adam, “Lute would be a better partner than me.”

Adam pulled your face back to him. “You have no idea just how wrong you are. You are heaven itself. This place was hell until you.”

“You’re not an embarrassment, I’m so proud to have you on my arm. You’re so intelligent that you make god look stupid. Don’t even get me started on your beauty.”

“I love every part of you. I love every inch of skin you have. You’re so pretty baby and I love you so much it hurts that I can’t express how much I truly do. And I cannot wait until the day that I see you walking down that isle in white.”

You smiled at Adam, it would take time to fully believe him, but right now he made you happy. It had been a long time since the thoughts were gone and it was just the two of you.

“Thank you, Adam.”

Adam placed a kiss your lips and reluctantly backed away. “Don’t thank me baby. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go out have a spa day, go shopping, get all dolled up and when you get back I’ll have a surprise for you.”

You nodded your head and Adam kissed you all over your face leaving giggles to flea from your mouth. God you drive him crazy, in the best way.

—

You got your nails done, even gotten your hair styled, and you went to the mall to get new jewelry and a dress.

By the time you got home and walked brought the door all the glass and everything was cleaned up.

Another thing you noticed was the rose petals making a path to your room while music played out. The closer your got to the room the louder you heard the song.

You opened the door and there Adam stood. In a suit, maskless, while holding up a rose to you.

Adam could feel his heart stop. He looked you up and down and he knew that he would love you for the rest of his immortal life.

“You look…” and felt like he couldn’t breathe, you were simply, “divine.”

Red rushed to your cheeks as you walked closer to him, taking the rose. You wrapped your arms around his neck and looked around.

Candles were lit all over the room and you noticed he put a table in here that had your favorite food and wine. You looked to the left and noticed the bed was filled with rose petals just like the table.

The candles reflected against your skin and Adam knew that this was the moment, he couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Marry me.”

You snapped your head up to him, “what?”

Adam dropped your arms to his hands and he started to get onto hid knee. “I’ve lived in Heaven longer than I can remember, but it wasn’t Heaven until you. I have had two wives and yet it was you who taught me how to love.”

Adam pulled out a ring box from his jacket and opened revealing your dream ring. It was breathtaking.

“I was trapped in a marriage twice, and I don’t want you to think of this as a trap. When I ask you to marry me I’m asking for you to let me worship you. Let me wake up beside you every single day. Let me try and show just how deep my love for you goes, even though it’s impossible because I simply have too much of it to show. So I ask you. Will you marry me?”

A smile broke on your face and you dropped to you knees bringing him to a kiss. You put your hand to his cheek while he wrapped his arms around you.

You kissed all over his face saying yes a million times. Adam face was full of love and happiness as he placed the ring onto your finger.

You looked at him and placed your forehead against his, “never let me go.” You whispered.

“Never.” He promised.

He picked you up and carried you to the bed, kissing you along the way.

When he dropped you to the edge of the bed you immediately went to his belt but he pushed your hands away.

He dropped to his knees and pushed your back to the bed. “This night is all about you, honey.”

You were nervous yet excited.

He undid your heels, slightly rubbing your sore feet before his hands trailed up your thighs. “Lift your hips baby.”

You flushed pink, Adam said Vulgar things all the time but that would play a repeat in your head for days, hell eternity to come.

You did as he said and he pushed your dress up while pulling down your panties, stuffing them in his pockets.

He brought his lips to your own, and gave your heat a little kiss. Your little moan let him knew just how eager you truly are, along with the slickness along your folds.

He grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulder, slightly angling your hips upwards.

He gave you a long lick, loving the taste of you. He wanted more, no needed more, he needed to taste you more.

He gave you more licks and suck before rubbing your clit while putting his tongue to use but pushing it past your folds and into your walls.

You could feel pressure in your stomach begging to be release, you were quite familiar of this feeling.

“Adam, I’m oh god, I’m going to cum.”

Adam paced quicken, desperate to have you gush on his tongue and gush you did. You poured onto him, crying out in pleasure. Adam didn’t let a single drop past him.

When you finally were finished riding out your high Adam climbed over you. A sight it was.

He ran a hand down his hair, his tie loose, your fluids over his face and a hungry look in his eyes. You made sure to engrave that memory in your head. You pushed off his suit jacket while he worked on his belt and shoes.

Adam ripped open your dress causing you to whine, “that was expensive!”

Adam started to kiss up your neck and to your ear, his low raspy voice right over it. “I’ll buy you ten more.” His breath blew over the curvature of your ear making your yearn for him.

You ripped open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as you gave him begging eyes with a sweet voice to accompany it. “Please my love.”

“How can I refuse someone as pretty as you.”

You believe him, you felt pretty, you felt loved, you felt worshipped, you felt enough.

Adam pushed down his pants and lined himself up to your entrance. He slowly started to push into your slick walls, leaning down over you breathing heavy, matching yours.

When he finally bottomed out he had to take a moment to stop. You were so tight and you were squeezing him so nice.

In the very low of your stomach you could feel a tiny bulge.

He took you hand hand placed it over your lower stomach. “You feel me baby? You feel what you do to me? Only you could make me like this.”

“I love you Adam.” He placed a soft kiss on your soft lips, “not as much as I love you.”

Before you could deny it he thrusted up into you. Suddenly your ‘impossible’ turned into “don’t stop.”

“I won’t baby.”

He kept his word. He kept it slow and you didn’t ask for him to go faster. His thrust was hard and it his the exactly spot that he knew would make you tick.

He started to rub your clit, whispering praises in your ear and then suddenly you could feel yourself pulsing around him.

With you tightening Adam’s own release pushed deep into. Painting your walls white.

When you both came down from your highs he pulled out and made you two a bath.

While the two of you soak and nipped your ear and joke, “looks like I skipped dinner and went straight to dessert.” You giggled and splashed him.

The two of you went silent for a moment, just admiring the other. “I love you.” You both said.

Adam was truly happy.

You were truly happy.

Any problems that would happen you two would face them, together.

AHHHHH

Okay so let’s talk!

I’m so happy I wrote this! You have no idea, while writing this it felt like a piece of me healing.

If anyone is struggling I want you to know you’re not alone! There are others out there and I don’t mean that as a way to down play you, I mean that in a way they people understand and people will listen.

Don’t struggle alone there is always a door open and each and every person alive is beautiful and truly amazing and there is always someone something that loves you!

#hazbin hotel #masterlist #hazbin #x reader #adam hazbin hotel #adam is actually hilarious #adam x reader #mdni #tw depressing thoughts

204 notes · View notes