#He cries before

[stanheightsimp]

Hi!! Can I request something?

Adam Stanheight x Male Reader nsfw headcanons or a nsfw fic (w an established relationship) where Adam survived the bathroom trap and comes home to the reader then they have soft slow sex with lots of tears and I love yous and stuff?

Thank you!!

This request is amazing, I feel so inspired omg ????? Hope you like it, anon!!!! It's been a long time since I wrote MxM, it was difficult (but fun). (It took longer than expected, I got sick!)

Bring Me To Life | Adam Stanheight x Male!Reader (NSFW) angst!!!

"Make me feel alive" - You find your own way to comfort Adam | 2478 words

My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold Until you find it there and lead it back home Wake me up inside (save me) Call my name and save me from the dark - Bring Me To Life, Evanescence

🪚 Content Warning : NSFW smut, unprotected sex, mention of past trauma (canon)

MINORS DNI

Adam, your boyfriend of 2 years, had been missing for seven days. Seven. Days.

On the first day, you thought he'd probably ended up in police custody without being able to warn you. With all his stalking, this was bound to happen! You didn't worry too much.

On the second day, you woke up to cold, empty sheets. You'd gone to bed the night before, hoping that when you woke up, Adam would be there. But he wasn't.

On the third day, you got really worried. You called Scott, but he told you he hadn't heard from Adam since the last concert. You even called his parents, with whom he'd been on bad terms since his coming-out. And you started making the rounds of Jersey's police stations and hospitals, looking for anywhere he might have been admitted. But nothing. So you filed a missing persons report for Adam.

The fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh days were hell. You were deeply convinced that something had happened to Adam.

On the night of the seventh to the eighth day, the emergency services called to let you know that Adam had been found. Alive. In a bathroom, tied by the ankle to a rusty pipe.

Adam spent three days in hospital, before they allowed him to leave.

And there you both were, back in your shithole apartment, walking out the door hand in hand. All the way home from the hospital, he hadn't uttered a single word. Adam didn't talk much anymore.

Are you all right? you asked Adam as he stepped through your doorway, a rhetorical question designed purely to break the silence.

No, replied Adam in a weak voice.

Of course he wasn't all right. He was even skinnier than he had been before his capture. His eyes were dead. This was no longer the Adam you'd known. A small, fragile figure standing in the doorway with a hesitant air, as if it wasn't in this house that the two of you had been living for several years now. You understood instantly. That's because it was in this apartment that Adam had been captured.

It's okay, Adam, you say, holding him gently against you. It's going to be all right. I'm right here. Nothing's gonna happen to you.

He let himself go gently against your body, nestling his face against your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. You felt him tremble slightly against you.

It's okay, you repeated, the palm of your hand rubbing his back in regular circles.

I thought… I'd never see you again, he confided. It was the thought that obsessed me most. There I was, sitting in the dark, and I… and I…

You could only imagine what it felt like to have been captured, to have woken up in a tub of ice water. To see a man cut off his own foot before shooting him in the shoulder. To be alone in the dark, with only a corpse for company, the corpse of someone he had killed with his own hands. To cling to that faint hope, Lawrence's "I won't lie to you".

I… he stammered, unable to speak further.

His voice derailed. Adam was crying. You'd rarely seen him cry. Adam didn't cry much, except when his barriers collapsed. Your grip around his body tightened.

It's over, Adam, you're through, we're together.

Kiss me, he replied, urgency in his voice. Kiss me, please.

Your lips captured his, cautiously, gently. He responded instantly, with an eagerness that surprised you. His mouth parted, his tongue met yours, and his body pressed against yours. He pressed you to the wall with a vigor you hadn't expected given his weakened state, and deepened the kiss, moaning against your lips. Adam wanted more than just a kiss, that was undeniable. You let your lips run down his neck, as your hands slid under his shirt, against his torso and sides.

His knee slipped between your legs and you felt him smile against your lips. Fuck, his sweet breath. You couldn't get enough of Adam's taste.

Oh, Y/N… Adam gasped.

You felt his breath quicken, his body pressing against yours with desperate urgency. A rush of guilt came over you. You put your hands on his shoulders, hesitating, preparing to gently push him away.

Make me feel alive, he breathed, almost pleading. Make me feel something other than… than this.

Under normal circumstances, you'd have granted his wish. You'd ravage him the way he loved. But not here. He was so fragile, so breakable, under your hands. Instead of giving in to these most primitive of impulses, you decided to slow down, taking the time to caress Adam's slender body with your fingertips with a form of reverence. It was like rediscovering every square inch of his skin. It was like tasting him for the first time.

If he needed more, you'd give him more.

That's when you realized how much you'd missed Adam. How much you'd missed his smell. How much you'd missed the warmth of his skin, how soft it was under your hands. How much you'd missed the way his hair went all over the place. How the taste of his lips was something you could never, ever do without. It was something you'd often thought about, in spite of yourself, when he'd disappeared. That if something had happened to him, you'd go the rest of your life without being able to taste him, touch him, smell him again. You'd thought that the last time you'd kissed him, you hadn't enjoyed it enough. You'd suddenly realized that Adam, his smell, his taste, the texture of his skin, his body, his laughter, his kindness, were things you'd taken for granted, to the point where you no longer savored every kiss, every caress, every sexual act. You hadn't been grateful enough to have him in your life.

I'm going to make you feel loved, you whispered. Let me take care of you.

With every caress, you felt his taut body melt beneath your hands. His eyes closed, and a moan escaped from his parted lips. You don't know whether he or you initiated the movement, but you found yourselves on the sofa, you on top of him, pressing against his little body.

I love you, Y/N, Adam murmured.

I love you too, Adam. Close your eyes.

He shook his head:

No, no… I want to see you, I want to…. he began to stammer, his voice racing.

Okay, okay, you said softly, putting a finger to his lips. Okay. Look at me.

Adam quivered under your touch, squirming pleasantly under the reassuring weight of your body, and his reddened eyes never left yours. Gently, very gently, you removed his flannel shirt, then his T-shirt, leaving him shirtless, with only a bandage on his right shoulder. You questioned him again with your eyes, checking if he was willing to continue. And he was. Fuck, yeah, he was, as evidenced by his growing erection in his pants.

I want you so much, you confided, nibbling indecently on his earlobe.

His cock almost quivered. Your kisses traveled down his neck, savoring every inch of skin beneath your lips. You could feel his pulse beating against your tongue, fast and feverish, like a caged bird. Then your lips slid down his collarbones, as Adam's hands caressed your back, urging you on. His erratic breath grazed your neck, burning. You felt yourself getting hard, very hard. Your cock pressed impatiently against your jeans. Desire surged through you, a delicious heat spreading throughout your being. You needed more, you needed him. You wanted to taste him, touch him, feel him inside you, merge with him.

Do what you want to me, you breathed against his lips, nibbling his bottom lip.

You felt Adam's fingers trembling with desire unzip your fly, freeing your throbbing cock from its denim prison.

I'm going to ravage you so, so much, said Adam in a hungry voice that sent a violent shiver down your spine.

I'd love nothing more, you replied.

His fingers wrapped around your length, and you closed your eyes, stifling a moan.

I want to hear you. Don't hold back, Adam said with a smile.

You whispered his name, and Adam's lips stretched into a satisfied smile.

Normally, he would have called you "good boy" or some other puppy name. But not here. He just started stroking you, his hand tight against your cock, going back and forth. Fuck. Fucking little bastard. He knew the perfect rhythm to make you go nuts. His thumb gently caressed your glans, spreading the precum there.

Feeling Adam jerk you off wasn't enough. You needed more. You gave desperate thrusts, and Adam smiled.

You want to ride me, don't you? he said, and fuck, that was exactly what you wanted.

In one movement, he pulled down your jeans and boxers, which ended up on the floor with his shirt. Then he got rid of his own pants, and finally took off your shirt. Your movements were messy, sloppy, and with every move you let out impatient moans. Your heart beat furiously with anticipation in your chest, your cock throbbing with impatience for Adam to touch it again.

Adam caressed your cheek, dipping his gaze into yours. His lashes were still slightly damp, his eyes still a little red. His gaze was deeply melancholy.

If you only knew how much I love you… he said.

Your fingers grazed his jaw line:

I love you too, Adam.

From your cheek, his hand slid up your neck, fingertips sliding down your spine to between your buttocks. He inserted a phalanx inside you, eliciting a pathetic, begging moan.

Second phalanx. Your cock was gorging itself with blood, you needed him so badly it was painful.

Third phalanx. He had inserted a whole finger inside you.

- Are you all right? he asked, pressed against your lips.

So thoughtful. So kind. You nodded feverishly, eager for more. He inserted another finger inside you.

So tight, he commented. So tight… you can tell I haven't taken care of you for seven days…

He paused, his breath catching, realizing what he'd just said. He bit his lip, almost ashamed:

Oh God, Y/N I'm sorry…

Fuck me, Adam, you replied. Fuck me as hard as you missed me.

He began a gentle, delicate but firm movement with his fingers, moving in and out of you, while your hand wrapped around his cock. He was harder than he'd ever been, and you could have sworn his cock was bigger than usual. You began to jerk him off, feeling him get even harder under your grip. His head tipped back and he moaned your name in such a slutty tone that my god, it's a wonder you didn't cum in the second. And his fingers, his fucking fingers, long, slender, nimble, kept pounding your ass….

Eagerly, he withdrew his fingers, aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance, pressing it gently, but with a dull impatience.

And it was you who impaled yourself on him, feeling his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs. You closed your eyes, getting used to his presence inside you, clinging to him as, inch by inch, you felt his cock filling you, stretching you.

Fuck, Y/N… he murmured with a hoarse sigh. So tight… So hot...

In that instant you were nothing but a puddle of pleasure, unable to utter a coherent sentence. You moved slowly, your muscles stretching and contracting around him, and your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders.

He put his hand on the back of your neck to draw your face to his. You felt his lips curve into a wry, greedy smirk.

Are you ready? he asked, a purely rhetorical question, because he knew you were more than ready.

He kissed you, his tongue caressing yours fervently. You responded eagerly, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. It was almost too exhilarating. His hands reached for your buttocks, and with his hips, he set a faster and faster rhythm, his eyes still in yours, his breathing quickening with his movements.

Faster, Adam, harder… you moaned, burying all restraint, all rationality.

Adam obeyed with undisguised joy. His hips slammed into your buttocks with violence as he pounded you with all-consuming passion, sending little electric jolts through your whole body. Your hands caressed his torso, moving up to his face, cupping his cheek. He tilted his head to one side and caught your thumb between his lips, sucking it with an innocent yet mischievous expression.

Do you like what you see? he asked, your thumb still in his mouth. You'd like something else in my mouth, wouldn't you?

His tongue swirled around your thumb and he smirked at you. You imagined him with your cock deep in his throat, your hands in his hair, guiding his rhythm. You pushed your thumb deeper into his mouth. Your imagination galloped as you straddled him.

His fingers tightened a little more on your buttocks, and he quickened the pace a little more, his backstrokes becoming messier, more desperate. You could feel the tension building inside you, each stroke bringing you a little closer to a precipice into which you were only waiting for one thing: to fall.

Adam… you moaned, and your body arched, sending him to the gates of his release.

He was the first to come, his cock throbbing inside you, spilling deep inside you. You came right after him, spraying a trickle of semen down his torso, all the way to his face.

Your body collapsed onto his like a house of cards, and almost instinctively he tightened his arms around you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Your fingers tangled in his hair.

I love you, Adam, you say. Thanks for…

I needed it, he said hoarsely. I wanted… I wanted…

His face buries itself in your neck.

It's okay, now. We're together, you say.

He nodded, and you felt a few tears mingle with his warm breath against your skin. You moved to find yourself lying next to him, withdrawing Adam from you and getting used to the sensation of now being empty.

You gently turned him on his side and he came to snuggle up to you, a sobbing little spoon who, until a few minutes ago, was fucking you as if his life depended on it. You scratched his head affectionately.

It'll be okay, Adam, you promise.

Oh, yes, there would be bad days. But you'd be there.

[rika-mortis]

Headcanon: Deep down they both want to be their fairy godparent/godkid again after losing them, but don't believe they deserve each other and feel like they aren't worthy to be their companion anymore

They both need counseling and therapy as a whole package

[gunstellations]

its sonics turn! 👅

[morganbritton132]

Dustin posts a Tiktok where it’s very clear that he was going to say something important but was instantly distracted by the snippet of conversation walking (unannounced) through his front door.

Eddie: …like when you’re a kid and you didn’t understand the concept of death so you kept putting bugs in your pockets and killing them on accident.

Steve: That’s not a universal experience, Eddie.

Eddie: Yes, it is. Everybody did that. You did that when you were a kid.

Steve: You think I was putting bugs in my clothes???

Eddie: Yes??? Just like everybody else. Back me up, Henderson

Dustin: I created habitats for bugs and kept them in my room.

Steve: That’s why your cat got eaten.

[atdawn]

MERLIN | 2.09 The Lady of the Lake

[cozylittleartblog]

400% sure he would love steven universe

[bruciemilf]

Okay, but give me a battinson who's utterly gone on Clark Kent, but for some unknown reason to anyone else, has a great distaste towards Superman.

And Clark KNOWS it isn't the all powerful alien thing. He's seen Bruce let J'onn ruffle his hair, pick him up randomly, and share wordless conversations telepathically.

It seems to be Superman specifically, and it confuses him big time (and maybe, perhaps, perchance, he IS a bit jealous)

So, when they have lunch as Clark and Bruce, Clark straight up asks,

" Why do you dislike Superman so much? You're avoiding and ignoring m- him all the time. He told me. He looked pretty dang sad about it."

And then, to his delighted surprised, Bruce blushes a brilliant red, looks away, scowl deeper than ever. He's lucky to have super hearing, or the next words would go unnoticed.

"...Handsome."

" What?"

"He's handsome. It's annoying."

[yuwuta]

yuuta is the boyfriend BAWLING when he has to drop you off at the airport. it doesn’t really matter how long you’ll be gone, he will be crying, and he’s gonna cry just as hard when he picks you up again too. but that’s not surprising, neither is saying that satoru smothers you in affection and soft gazes but waits until you’re gone and he’s back home to let the tears out. the real gag is that toji is also crying. it doesn’t happen when he drops you off, or when he gets home, and honestly he’s fine for the first few days—crabbier than usual, slower than usual, groggier than usual—but, fine. it’s somewhere around the third or fourth day of your absence that he finds himself crying, unintentionally. he feels the tears on his lips before he realizes they’re falling from his eyes, and there’s a moment of confusion and then a soft laughter of disbelief before he lets the rest of them fall. he doesn’t really know why he’s crying even while he’s crying. he doesn’t sob or make noise or smush his head into a pillow, but when he gets up to wipe his face, he’s confronted with his reflection in the mirror and that’s when it hits him: he’s sad. if you’d asked toji, he’d say he hasn’t experienced true sadness before that moment. despite all the shitty things in his life, he held a sort of neutral, it is what is attitude about it all—but that’s not the case with you. toji’s sad because he misses you and it’s probably the first time in his life he cries because he can Feel something is missing inside of him

[freakurodani]

bokuto is how akaashi fell in love with volleyball and volleyball is how bokuto fell in love with akaashi

[suntails]

do you deserve to be loved?

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[wtfforged]

doodle from september that i colored, you guessed it, during dnd. my sanji-is-just-a-bit-taller-than-zoro propaganda also. zoro my beautiful prizewinning tomato plucked fresh from garden

non-loser version bc i think he looks cuties on his own.

[kazanskyy]

the pause tom has to take before he tells ken and rome they're doing chest compressions...

[celendiar]

sometimes i think about the fact that charles rowland, the boy who stands up to bullies, who smiles when others don't have the strength, who gets mad for others but not for himself, who looked at edwin and all his hurt and went, "right, so, the world threw you away but i will spend the rest of my existence proving to you that you matter"

this same boy blinks back tears when faced with the fact the best person in the world, the person he loves most, is in love with him. this same boy says, with a heartbreaking sincerity, that he doesn't want to be the bad guy.

charles rowland is the kindest, sweetest, most caring soul there is, and he doesn't. believe himself. worthy. of being loved.

[spkyart]

Imiko

[hesztia16]

Promt:

Bruce kept trackers in the people he loved. Ever since Dick was a young boy prone to get kidnapped. Some with consent, some… not so much. But it was a crime he was willing to commit, if only for the way it calmed his nerves when he looked at the little dots on his screen.

Alfred, in the kitchen, working tirelessly on lunch.

Tim, in Drake Manor (much to his annoyance, but he was working on that one), probably enjoying the weekend before school.

Dick, in Bludhaven (again, much to his annoyance) spending his day off with some friends in a coffee shop.

Barbara, in the library, helping visitors.

And the one little dot that always pained him to look at, but couldn’t bring himself to disarm, right above-

Where is it?

There.

Why in all Hell’s name was his son’s body in the hospital instead of the cemetery?