#and when i click it on desktop it does nothing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starryhologram · 2 months

Text

CCCC Band AU Master Post

AKA I made a crack AU where Heart, Mind, and Soul become famous. But now, it’s a more serious and loved AU.

Disclaimer: Like the SCP AU, the HMS in this AU exist in the “real world” as opposed to a psyche/headspace. When the Whole splits, the three replace him. Also, warnings of canon typical v10l3nc3. These versions of Heart, Mind and Soul have been caricaturized, and are fun house mirror versions of their album/canon counterparts. Hope you like if you read!

Heart takes his g. un, the same one he missed Mind with, and he places it to the back of Soul’s head.

“Soul.” Heart bites the other’s name hard. Spits it out with disgust. Soul feels the cold metal press against his skull. They were truly going to usurp him. He didn’t think it would end like this.

“Heart. Please. Put the gu. n down.” He begs, eyes sliding over to where Mind watches from a distance. His face unreadable, Soul wishes he would help.

“Shut the fuck up.” Heart jams the barrel against Soul, knocking him slightly forward.

Should he fight? Continue to beg?

“You can threaten to kill us all but I can’t return the sentiment?!” Heart shouts.

Should he let it happen?

His blood goes cold as he hears the trigger shake in Heart’s grip.

BANG.

Soul falls to the ground.

Heart steps back, dropping the g. un.

Mind walks over to Soul and puts his hand against his neck. “He’s still alive.” He comments.

“That’s fine, I wasn’t trying to kill him, anyways.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

Heart doesn’t say anything in return.

Mind sighs, shaking his head. Best to let Soul recover, then. He wasn’t going to be the one to put him out of his misery, and he had a feeling Heart wouldn’t either.

Mind picks up Soul’s limp body gingerly, his head dripping blood onto his hands. Seeing his face, the skin had torn around where the bullet had exited. Soul’s eye was completely gone.

It was morbid, but Mind continued to carry the other to his room, laying him down on the bed. A few moments later, Heart shuffled in, shoving first aid supplies into Mind’s hands.

“Like this will help.” Mind says sarcastically. Regardless, he begins bandaging up the side of Soul’s face.

The computer in the corner of the room dings with a notification.

“Ugh. I thought we turned those off.” Heart frowned.

“We did, but I kept them on for emails. Stand with him, I’ll see if it’s important.” Mind moves to the desktop, jiggling the mouse to turn it on.

“No way this is real.” He scoffs after a few moments.

“What? What does it say?” Heart demands impatiently.

Mind reads out the contents of the email for the other.

“You’re kidding. Do some background research! Look it up!” Heart raised his voice frantically.

After a few more moments of key strokes mouse clicking, Mind turns back to Heart. “It’s real. What do we say? Should we decline? Accept? This is a very big decision.” He glances at Soul once again. “And honestly, he should decide too.”

“We could let Whole decide.” Heart offers meekly.

“You shot Soul, Whole is probably out of commission as well. We will have to wait. I will let them know to give us time to make the decision.”

Over the course of the next few days, Soul floated in and out of consciousness, the pain in his head ebbing and flowing. He wished he could have had nice dreams, but it was dark and hazy. Something haunted him about how he had gotten hurt. Mind and Heart refused to tell him, and Soul couldn’t bring himself to remember.

The bright side of his dull situation, however, was that Mind and Heart were being so nice to him. They gave him warm food in bed as he recovered, and even spared him from sarcastic quips. He wishes it could always be like this, getting along.

Eventually, Soul was able to remain conscious for a longer amount of time. And Mind and Heart finally decided to tell him once he proved cognizant enough.

“Soul.” Mind announced as he entered the other’s room, Heart trailing in his shadow.

Soul smiled at the other two. “Good morning.” He said softly, his voice had been nothing but kind to them in return these past few days.

“We have to tell you something. And we need… you to help us decide.” Heart stammers, “On what to do about it.” He walked over to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” Soul asks.

“While you were… recovering. We received an email.” Mind began, sitting at the desktop once more to pull up the page.

“It reads as follows.

‘Dear Tridential Sovereignty, us at Galaxy Star Records have recently found your music and think you have just the talent we’ve been looking for.

We are pleased to offer to sign you as one of our many talented artists. We would be honored to represent you, and help you reach your full star potential.

Kindly, Galaxy Star Records. LA, California.’ “

Mind turns to look at Soul once more. His mouth is agape in shock. “We’ve been offered a record deal?” He asks in disbelief.

“It would seem so.” Mind replies.

“Of course we should go for it!” He exclaims. Mind and Heart almost seem surprised by his answer.

“Uhm.. are you sure? This is crazy.” Heart digs his toe into the carpet absentmindedly.

“I mean, this can only be good right? As long as its reputable! What could go wrong?” Soul looks like he got everything he could have ever wanted for Christmas.

~~~

A man tears himself apart in the dead of night

Grasping at lyrics that aren't quite right

But you’ve head this before

And I’ll never again

Because the spotlight is blinding

And the audience is screaming my name

Please don’t let me lose myself in the fame

~~~

Private Emails are uploaded. Subject: Sign On Offer From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Thank you so much for accepting our proposal! We can’t wait to start working with you!

First order of business we do need to get settled is the contract. You can access it here, and we will need all of your E-signatures.

Next you can also take a look at a list of preordained names that you can choose to go by as per our guidelines. Your band will still be called Tridential Sovereignty under us, but your individual names will be pseudonyms (No real popstar doesn’t have a stage name!).

You can view our list below.

Luna

Callisto

Oberon

Nova

Kepler

Aristarchus

Metius

Tycho

Voib

Pulsar

Orion

Asteroid

Comet

Thebit

Nebula

Rigel

Quasar

Antimar (antimatter)

[File attachment contract.pdf]

~~~

Private Emails are uploaded. Subject: RE: Sign On Offer From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Apologies, there was a misspelling in the list of names.

Voib is meant to be Void.

Thank you.

~~~

BREAKING NEWS! Introducing TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGNTY! VIX NEWS keeps you updated with up and coming artists that you should be aware of!

Your favorite niche internet micro-celebrities become famous! Who would have thought their covers of cult classic Tally Hall songs would have skyrocketed their stardom?

Meet Comet, Nova, and Pulsar! The ‘Heart, Mind, and Soul’- they call themselves- of Tridential Sovereignty. Sweeping the globe with their new music to rock your socks off!

Recently signed on by Galaxy Star Records, after an interested team heard their individual covers of “The Mind Electric” by ミラクルミュージカル (also known as Miracle Musical). These young artists are rising through the charts, and concerts are selling out fast internationally!

We here at VIX NEWS are excited to see where they go from here! Follow us for more updates on Tridential Sovereignty!

~~~

A video titled ‘Late Nite Show Interview with TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGHNTY’ is uploaded.

The video opens with a studio audience cheering as the host waves at them thankfully, smiling warmly.

“Good evening ladies, gentlemen and other lovely people! We have a special guest for you tonight- at their first television appearance- Tidential Sovereignty!”

The host gestures to curtains that three figures emerge from, the one in a red jacket is waving and smiling just as much as the host was. The two following him are much less enthused.

The crowd cheers as they walk across the stage to sit at a long couch adjacent to the seat the host had taken.

“Thank you so much for joining us this evening!” The hosts says, “Yeah! Thank you for having us!” The one in red responds.

“Now, you guys have been taking the scene by absolute storm- ahaha, pun not intended.” The hosts pauses for the audience to laugh. “But, I’d love to get to know you guys a bit more. You guys all look very similar, is that intentional? Or are you guys triplets?” He asks.

“Triplets is the closest word.” The one in blue states plainly. “Ah yeah! We’re all kind of like brothers, sure.” The one in red adds.

“What interesting responses!” The host laughs. “Now, Pulsar,” he gestures to the one in red, “You call yourself the Soul? What does that mean?”

Pulsar’s smile doesnt faze, but his eyes scan to his other two counterparts nervously. “Yeah, I’m like the Soul… its just… a way of referring to myself, like Nova is the Mind- eh the brains of it all. And Comet is the Heart, you get it? It’s just… the way we make up the Whole… band. Tridential Sovereignty.” He stammers out quickly.

Comet shoves him.

The host is laughing again. “Well that’s certainly a way of thinking about it!” He says, and it eases Pulsar’s nerves. “You guys were pretty popular on the internet at first, right? How’s the transition from the screen to the stage been?”

“It’s been fine, we still do all the main stuff behind the scenes; the music writing and stuff. But seeing fans in real life? Cheering for us on stage? I… don’t think any of us could have imagined it. We assumed we would be stuck in our mom’s basement doing this for a niche audience for our whole career, honestly.” Comet replies.

“It’s crazy how quick things can change!” The host quips, “Hey! Would you guys like to play a song for us?” He asks, the crowd cheers in enthusiasm.

The three nod in agreement, stand up and make their way over to instruments set up for them. Pulsar stands at the middle mic, holding an electric guitar. Nova stands at an electronic keyboard. A blue bass is propped up next to him. Comet sits down at a drum set.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, this is Tridential Sovereignty!” The host announces as the three begin to play.

Pictured: (left) Pulsar with no make up, wig or mask, in casual clothes. (Right) Pulsar within the first few months of rising to stardom, before his outfits became more pink.

~~~

A video titled ‘VIX NEWS: Exclusive interview with TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGNTY FT. Your questions!’

The video opens with Pulsar, red wig, feathered boa and pink dress in all, sitting on a stool in a white room. He smiles, introducing himself, “Hi, babes! I’m Pulsar, but you know that!” He laughs

The camera cuts to Nova, sitting in the same room, but clearly shot at a different time than Pulsar’s takes. He sits square and upright and says, “Hello. I’m Nova, of Tridential Sovereignty.”

The video cuts again to Comet, slouching on the stool. He waves meekly to the camera. “Hey, I’m Comet.” He says flatly.

A voice from behind the camera calls out, “So, we sent out a form for fans of your’s to ask! And here are the ones we thought would be best to ask you guys!”

“How exciting!” Pulsar claps his hands together. “What’s the first question?”

“Your-claimed- ‘Number one fan’, Pulsar, asks: what is your favorite song?” The voice off screen laughs aloud as she reads it.

“Oh, I have so many favorites, you know! But I think a special one in my heart will always be The Bidding.” He says.

“Nova, an unnamed fan asks ‘if you could go solo, would you?”

“Hm. I do shows on my own often enough. If you mean officially leave Tridential Sovereignty one day? That is yet to be determined.” Nova’s face shows no change in expression as he answers.

“Comet, Rio asks ‘if you could change anything about your life now, what would it be?”

Comet barks out a laugh and then frowns as he collects himself. “Right. Yeah. I mean, is anyone really happy with where they are? I messed up a lot in the past but I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. Dunno. I don’t think I care anymore anyways.”

“Pulsar, Twine- of course-?” The announcer sounds confused as she says the name. “Do you have a PR team yet?”

“What? Twine? How did… how did you get that question?” Pulsar’s brow furrows in shock and confusion, “That’s a joke… right? I think. Ah, yeah. A joke.” He laughs unconvincingly.

“Nova, what do you do when you encounter writer’s block? From Hayley.”

“I simply don’t. If I don’t feel like writing, I don’t write. Let it come to me. I know what I write is good.”

“Comet, Jedas asks ‘what is your favorite show you’ve performed at?”

“The VMAs were cool. Or the Bubble Dome. I dunno, as long as the crowds are big they’re always great.” He grins.

“Pulsar, Ciddle asks ‘care to show us what’s behind the mask?”

Pulsar puts a hand up to his mask, holding it down to his cheek. “Yeah, no. Not right now. I wear it for a reason.” He looks away.

“Nova, do you guys plan on doing another make-up collaboration? Asks Lori.”

“I think we’ve got some eyeshadow coming out soon. This is better a question for Pulsar.” Nova sighs.

“Pulsar, Faust asks, if you were a cat, what kind would you be?”

“Orange. Definitely.” Pulsar laughs.

“Nova, ‘Bold move straightening your hair, any reason?”

“It’s a wig. And it differentiates me from the other two.”

“Pulsar- or as ‘Smouul’ calls you ‘Pulss,- insert joy emote- te- tec-ah? Muciss? Teach music? Is that what this says?” The announcer struggles through the question.

“Smoul? I know him… too, like Twine. Ah Smoul! I could teach you music! All you gotta do is ask! But I also offer courses on music too! They should be linked in my Instagram bio!”

“And finally, one more for you Pulsar, from another unnamed fan, ‘Are you going to answer for your growing list of controversies?”

Pulsar frowns. “Hey, I apologized for those. And I promised to do better. That’s all I can do.” He huffs. “Are we done now?”

“Yes, I suppose we are! Thanks for joining us-.” The announcer is cut off as Pulsar gets up and walks off screen.

“Cool, thanks bye!”

The video ends.

~~~

List of things Pulsar has done

Been paid to support NFTS {a lot of other celebrities were doing it at the time! It was a cute picture of a chicken! I didnt know it was evil!}

signed a merch deal with a company that runs a sweatshop to produce the merch {Look- I’ve been over this- I even uploaded an apology video! I didnt do my research and I promise to do better!}

uploaded an apology video {Hey! My fans know that it was an honest mistake! Plus I followed the guide on how to make a good apology video! I even made one of my own guides!}

made a guide on how to make apology videos {Only 50$!}

Doesn’t have a PR Team {My PR team is my best friend, Twine, he’s a Soul like me!}

got scammed by someone in another universe than him {Alice is my friend! And he said he needed the money!}

Almost was convinced to join the Church of Scientology {I was not almost convinced it was for the celebrity gossip! But Paladin said I shouldn’t do it}

is there anything else you’ve done? {not yet- I mean, No!}

~~~

Pictured: (Fake) Tweets talking about the perceived decline of Tridential Sovereignty or #TriSov, and how their original fans dislike the way their music sounds nowadays.

~~~

Pictured: The updated outfits of Comet, Pulsar, and Nova! At this point in their career, the three dont perform together as much as they used to. Before this change, Nova would often pick up DJing Gigs around the world. But, now he performs solo songs that sound like theyre meant for Old Navy Advertisements… theres no Heart and Soul to his music, just the melody and baseline lyrics that will appeal to the widest audience.

~~~

Pictured: Nebula, the Whole. He acts as the manager and agent of Tridential Sovereignty. He isn’t seen much nowadays, some say it’s because he can’t handle what they’ve created. They took over his life. This isn’t what he wanted. This isn’t what we wanted to become. But, it’s much too late now.

~~~

OOC STUFF

ive reached the ten photo limit on mobile and ive got so much written that my tumblr is lagging. Theres still some more long written posts ill add in reblogs and such. Characters mentioned such as Twine, Smoul, Alice and Paladin belong to @disruptivevoib @shxwrunner @socialc1imb @calamarispider @b0vidine

Feel free to send asks about these guys! Or even my scp au!

All art in this post is mine

#chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny jash #cccc #cj soul #cj heart #cj mind #cccc band au #cccc au #cjverse chatroom #starryart #art #drawing #writing #cj whole #band au #trisov #LONG POST

161 notes · View notes

jamesdeniscouldnever · 9 months

Text

Them pt. 2

Come children, Mama made you your favorite

Summary: it's been a bit over 2 weeks since Tav had saved Rolen from the shadow curse. They'd been gone when he'd woken the next morning, and he'd not questioned it if not been disappointed by it. Now, under the crush of a new form of pain and danger, where are they to save him again? Where is his hero?

Rolan clicked his tongue in distaste and irritation as he looked at the unmatching numbers on the sales records was filing. Either Tolna had fucked up her gold count or he head. Either way, he would pay for it.

When Rolan had the blissful ignorance of Lorroakin's true character, he'd been so excited to begin his apprenticeship, so excited to become something greater than himself, to make Lia and Cal proud!

He knew better now.

Lorroakin was a bastard and a half. A self-obssesed, hubris, horror of a man. It took Rolan only 3 days to know he'd made a mistake. It only took 4 to know it was one he couldn't fix. At first, he'd thought Lorroakin's strange nonsense questions had been a test of some sort, the corporal punishment he'd doled out afterward the same. But as the days dragged on and 3 days turned to a week and then a week turned into two, he had come to understand that this was his life now. It had to be. He couldn't leave, not after he'd bragged and lorded his position over the heads of his siblings. Not after he had come so far to be here. Not after they had all risked their lives - risked Tav's life - to make it.

No. He would put up with it and cultivate his magic as he planned. He would ignore the black eyes and throbbing ribs. Ignore Lia and Cal's questions. He'd been through worse than a few punches and kicks here and there, much worse. He would be just fine.

With that thought, he got back to work at the front desk of his master's shop. Perhaps he could make up for the small mistake by working harder. Or maybe he and Tolna could go over the discrepancy in the days earnings before Lorroakin saw. Or maybe his math had just been wrong and he-

"Rolan!"

The familiar voice brought him out of his own head and back to reality. Walking through the doors of Sorcerers Sundries came Tav, a big smile across their face and looking cleaner and healthier than he'd ever seen them. At least Baulder was treating one of them well. He can't stop the smile that lights his face and the excitement in his voice.

"It's you. What are you doing here?!"

Tav smiles for a moment, their eyes roaming his face before it slowly fades and their eyebrows knit together in concern. Rolan silently curses himself for not ducking behind the desk to hide as soon as they walked in. Tav would have questions, and when they had questions, they wanted answers. And they wouldn't react kindly to the answers this time.

"Rolan, what's happened to you? Your face looks like it's met the blunt end of a goblins club! Is that...?" They reach over the counter before be can argue and brush their hand quickly over his bottom lip. He's so taken aback that for a moment, he doesn't even realize why they've done it. Their eyes set on him, cold as stone, "blood."

Rolan forces a tight smile and shakes his head. "Its nothing! I promise." There's a catch in his throat that he tries to swallow. His shoulders set rigidly. Why does he have such a hard time lying to them anymore?

As if his own body is answering him, he feels a small burning spot upon his forehead. It's all in his mind. He knows that, and he's glad for it. He would truly die of embarrassment if Tav could see the very place they'd placed a kiss upon his head glowing with the memory of it.

Tav narrows their eyes, still unconvinced. They look as if they're about to argue, but instead, they just sigh and drop the topic. Instead, they lean forward, their elbows on the desktop and their face closer to his than he was used to. It wasn't their intention to flustered him, he was certain. But once more, he silently thanked the gods, and perhaps Asmodeus himself, for his red skin.

Now that they're closer, he can see dark circles under their eyes and a tired set to their shoulders. Their eyes flit in a way that suggests they have much going on in their head. Perhaps Baulder hadn't been as kind as he had thought. He gives a small nod to himself and takes this as further validation for why he shouldn't bother them with Lorroakin. They were busy, and he was strong. They ask him a few questions about the nightsong, lorroakin, and the tome-seller before, with another glance at his bruised face, they thank him and head up the stairs to see his master.

He let's out a breath and allows his shoulders to slump a bit as he hears the sound of them solving his master's portal puzzle. They would do as they needed and leave, continue being a hero elsewhere. If they come in from the shop from time to time, he could put on a brave face as he had just now. He could do this.

The sound of the portal being crossed through some length of time later alerts him to their departure. They stomped down the steps, seeming irritated, and made a swift turn for the door. They spare him a glance over their shoulder and give a small smile and wave before stalking out the door. He frowned. It would seem Master Lorroakin was good at making even the kindest souls angry.

Day bleeds into night, the shop closes, Rolan reluctantly reports for his nightly "lecture", if one could call it that, and his subsequent beating. It passes in a blur, the whole affair. Rolan spends the majority of it with his eyes closed and thinking of anything to keep his mind off of the blows. One of Cal's awful jokes. Lia's excited ramblings about her dreams and plans. Tav's smile. Tav.

He finds himself sinking into the feeling of safety they bring him even as he braces for the next slap. Even as he trudges home in darkened streets. Even as the occasional person spits the phrases "foulblood" and "hellspawn" at him as he passes. Even when he tiredly bypasses his siblings and their nightly worried questions about his appearance. All until he falls into a deep sleep, wrapped in the safety of his hero.

As the morning comes, the day begins, and Rolan gets back to work. He's looking at his feet when he hears an approach to his desk again. Without looking up he gives a hollow "How can I help you?"

"Rolan? I need to buy a few things." It them. He hadn't even realized until he heard their voice. Theyre surrounded by a few of their friends. He smiles, already happier for their presence.

"That, at least, I can help you with."

The exchange goes quickly, and Tav asks if he'll come up to Lorroakins office with him. Rolan winces at the thought, but he can not tell them no, not even if he wanted to. So, all of them ascend and step through the portal. When they step into Lorroakins office and are met with the sight of Lorroakin having a rather heated conversation with a large, armored woman, rolan looks to the others in shock. None of them seem very surprised, Tav stepping forward and joining the argument. As he listens he realizes with dawning horror that the nightsong is a person. She was a person the whole time and Lorroakin knew that. Lorroakin raises his hand to Rolan, commanding something of him, but Rolan doesn't listen. He gives a firm "no".

He's still terrified of Lorroakin, no doubt, but he can not stand by idly while his master threatens his friends, his hero. Not while he's attempting to keep an actual person as a slave to gain immortality. No, it's his time to he brave. To do what's right. Hopefully, he can repay Tav's kindness in the process.

Of course, he was expecting a fight, just perhaps not such a...destructive one. The room scorched and wet at the same time from the elementals, blood spatter everywhere, far too much of it his beloved Tav's for his liking.

His own thoughts freeze him. "Beloved" indeed. When had that happened? How had that happened? He shakes his head clear and ignores it for the moment. Tav has finished making the corpse of Lorroakin answer some questions and Rolan is set on repaying their kindness from the shadows.

He makes his way to them, placing a hand on their shoulder. They turn to him and smile, a trail of blood dripping from their nose. He gives a somewhat sad smile and reaches out to wipe it away. They keep each others gaze for a moment before an uncomfortable cough interrupts them both. They look away from one another.

The large armored woman breaks the silence. "My friends! Valiant as we have fought, easily shall so we rest! I must return to my darling's embrace at once, the same as our fearsome friend here longs to. Away! Leave the lovers be."

Rolan may have melted into the floor if it weren't for the amusment he found in how red Tav's face had become. He felt his own ears twitch a bit, hot and uncomfortable, but not as aflame as theirs. He noted that as he had not corrected the woman, neither had they.

The other companions all cough and chuckle, shuffling towards the door and hiding snickers. The pale, white haired on makes some comment about "enjoy your embrace," and Tav smacks him on the arm as he passes. Rolan gives a soft laugh.

"So...if it's agreeable to you, that is, I can bring you to my home? I'm sure Lia would be incredibly offended if I didn't let her know you were around. She adores you, you know. She and Cal both. Cal is a wonderful cook and, frankly, it's time I offered explanations to all of you for why I let this happen." Rolan speaks with more confidence than he's feeling, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"I think that sounds wonderful. I'd love to see them both again as well. This city can survive without me for an evening, I'm sure." They reply, a much brighter and more beautiful smile stretching across their face.

Rolan nods, and despite his shaking hands, offers them his arm. They smile and link their arm with his, and the two set off at a stroll through the portal, through the store, and out the front. If anyone inside knew of the violence that had taken place, they gave no indication.

It feels foreign to Rolan. Walking calming down a city street, knowing he's safe, and that someone beside his siblings is at his side. He finds himself laughing, truly laughing, as they go and chat about nothing. The sound of them joining him is the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, he decides.

The stroll goes quickly and they arrive at the small home of the 3 siblings. He's grateful for it. The only reason they weren't turned away at the gate, the same as so many others, was because of his connection to Lorroakin. They certainly couldn't punish him if it was found that his master had gone "missing" from his shop.

Rolan sighs and shakes his head, dispelling the thoughts. What comes next can wait for tomorrow.

They enter the house, still arm in arm, and the delighted squeal that emits from his firey little sister upon seeing Tav is enough to make him laugh again. She tackles the hero in a hug and Cal follows in due turn. They jabber questions until Rolan gently swats them away. Tav complies with their wishes and let's themselves be dragged to the table.

Lia props herself on the chair across from them, and Cal puts food on the stove. Rolan sits beside Tav and tries his luck, wrapping an arm around their shoulders. Tav relaxes back into it, and he feels a swell of pride. The evening is full of revelry, laughter, joy, and delicious food. Rolan ashamedly admits his complacency with Lorroakin and his injuries and despite Lia's enraged outcry no one fussed at Rolan too much for it. Gentle assurances and comforting hugs are passed around instead.

Sleepy goodnights are made by the younger two and Rolan guides Tav to his own room. The two simply sit on the bed for a moment, Tav taking both his hands in their own. They stroke his knuckles, roughened from his time in Avernus and on the run. He gazes at their conjoined hands for a moment before looking up and meeting their gaze.

He's not sure who initiates it. Kisses, some rough, some soft, some slow, some quick as pecks come one after the other. Tav hisses a bit as he accidently knicks their lip with his sharp teeth, he responds by kissing it again, carefully this time. Arms hold him close, his own running through their hair and over their let. He let's his tail curl up and around their waist. They break away for a moment for air and Tav speaks.

"Wait! Wait, just a moment." They gasp, hands moving to rest against his chest, not pushing him away but putting a bit of space between them. Rolan immediately recoils, pulling his tail away and stuttering apologies.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I-I got carried away I didn't think...I assumed...I shouldn't have..."

Tav smiles and holds his face in their hands. "No, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong! I just...what is this? To you, I mean? I just...I really like you."

The words send Rolan's heart hammering against his chest. He speaks too quickly, embarrassingly quickly.

"I love you! I," he takes a deep breath, "I just...I. gods dammit, it's the truth. I love you. I'm sorry if it's too soon, but I can't pretend otherwise. I didn't always, mind you. There was a time when I wished nothing but for you to fuck off and leave my family alone. But the way you've protected us, helped us... the way Lia and Cal look up to you. I'm the oldest, for the longest time I've guided those two as best I could... we aren't even actually related, you know? But we're still a family, and I've always been so focused on becoming something great, for them. To protect them. And I hated it when you succeeded where I couldn't. But now? I've gotten used to having someone to protect me. You're my hero, and as every damsel in distress must, I've fallen for you." The words fly from his mouth in a blur, no planning or reserved smarm. Just plain, raw truth. At first, his eyes flit away, nervous for rejection upon such a forceful confession. But a forehead pressing against his own brings his gaze back.

"Perfect. That's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard... I love you too, Rolan. Unlike you, I fell hard and fast. Maybe not quite the first day we met, but definitely by the time I rescued you near Last Light. I love your care for Lia and Cal, your desire to improve, that stupid little smirk you get. I love you."

A flurry of emotion, soft beds, and gasping breaths. Ridged skin and sharp teeth. Sighs and moans and breathless "I love you"s. Rolan isn't sure how long it lasts, only that it's not enough, and it will never be enough. But for now, resting against each other, relaxed and pleased in an indescribable way, he savors the peace. He chuckles as he places sleepy kisses against their neck and then lay back and pull his head to their chest. In this moment, Tav is not the savior, the hero. Not the goblin-slayer or the victorious against Markyul. Right now, falling asleep against him and breathing deeply, it's just Rolan and Tav. Just them.

@illidariiii @potato-dragons @tieflingteatime

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 rolan #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #rolan #rolan x tav #rolan/tav #rolan x reader

271 notes · View notes

fandomaya · 10 months

Text

lunch hour moments

Pairing: Tetsurō Kuroo x fem!reader

CW: FLUFF!!! Food as a love language, established relationship, reader has hair long enough to use a scrunchie, reader can cook here, reader wears a dress, Kuroo is a lovable boyfriend (duh!), tad bit suggestive, reader is a university student, NOT PROOFREAD, unreliable writing

WC: 2.5K+ (I don't know how this happened)

If you had the slightest common sense then you should know that you shouldn’t hold the lunch bag too tightly because on close inspection it does seem your nails are about to break into the skin of your palms. But the remnant anxious thoughts at the back of your head are making you feel otherwise.

This also makes you wish the elevator was a little slow today. It's not because you are going to meet someone whom you don't like. On the contrary, it's someone that you really like. Well, it's actually your boyfriend, Tetsurō Kuroo. Well, recalling the name of your boyfriend always makes you realize the weight of his influence and presence in his workplace. Very few people can channel their passion for something in a stable direction, and well he has had his share of criticisms and obstacles. But he is still climbing the ladders of his professional journey in JVA.

One of the hardest things in the world is to not like Tetsurō, and sometimes you still cannot believe that you are dating a wonderful man like him. It's been less than a year since you have been an official couple, but it feels like a lifetime of knowing each other, given how you two just click like two magnets.

But leaving all that aside, there's a slightly anxious feeling bubbling in your chest because today happens to be the first time you are entering his workplace and also the first time you made a bento for him, and also the first time you are thinking of having lunch with him. A day of many firsts. But it's normal, right? You are the girlfriend you can definitely meet him at his work during lunch and can also make him a nutritious meal after all it's not like you make something inedible. He's still thriving after eating whatever you make.

Okay, maybe you can cook, but the anxious feelings are more so because you are 15 minutes early, and you don't know how you will be received if he knows you came. You try to think positively and at that time the elevator pings to make you aware that you have reached the destination floor. In a second, you focus on your look in the reflective doors, and you hope your floral dress with puffed sleeves, paired with kitten heels, isn’t too unsuitable. Well, you know Tetsurō likes the way you dress up, so that should calm you down a little.

Walking out of the elevator, you walk straight toward the secretary’s desk. Just by her side are the opaque doors that lead to your boyfriend’s workspace. Reaching her desk, she looks up and smiles at you, which you return with relief.

“Hello y/n. It has been so long since we last met in the company dinner. It is nice seeing you here. What’s the special occasion?”

“Um nothing much, I just thought of having lunch with Tetsurō since my classes got cancelled in the last moment so…”

“That’s really wonderful of you y/n. I am sure Mr. Kuroo would appreciate your efforts. But…” She peers into her desktop to check the agenda for today, making your face drop slightly, “... he is in a meeting right now. He will return soon since lunch hour is nearby. So you need to wait a little. You can take a seat at the couch, okay?”

Thanking her, you take a seat on the couch placed opposite her desk. Keeping the lunch bag beside you, you slide down your tote bag and start to distract yourself by scrolling on your phone so that these few minutes do not feel like hours. After some mindless scrolling, you check the time to be 10 minutes past the lunch hour started. Just when you were thinking that Tetsurō must have gone to eat lunch, and maybe it was all futile to come all the way and surprise him, then the elevator opens and Tetsurō walks out of it, carrying a folder with him.

Your eyes meet his, and he is visibly surprised for a fraction of a second that turns into the warmest of smiles, the genuineness of it all that makes you fall in love with him a little more.

“Darling, what are you doing here, and when did you come? Did I keep you waiting for a long time?”

Getting up and smoothening the creases of your dress, getting your tote bag, and picking up the lunch bag you wave it at him slightly, “Just thought of making some lunch and eating with you. Did I bother you much?”, you replied with an innocently teasing voice.

Kuroo simply chuckles and guides you to his work chamber by smoothly placing his hand on your lower back. These little gestures of Kuroo make you feel belonged in Kuroo’s life, and there is something so comforting when he mindlessly rubs little faint circles on your clothed skin with his fingers.

You observe his space is pretty grand and that gives you an idea of how much of a high position Kuroo holds in the JVA. Being the leading executive of the sports promotion division is worth applauding. Your gaze is fixed on the huge windows of this high rise that gives a picturesque view behind your boyfriend’s work throne.

He keeps the folder on the table, takes off his navy blue jacket, and walks across to hang it on the coat hanger. You love to see the way his slate gray shirt fits him so well that the muscles moving underneath the fabric are mesmerizing in their own accord, and his rolling up the sleeves up to his forearms is just a cherry on top. He swiftly moves back to his desk, sits down, and starts clearing the desk as much as he can. Like always, you are in a trance to see such little everyday actions of your boyfriend.

You take a seat across from him, take off your tote bag, and place the packed lunch on the desk. You start unpacking it while Kuroo is watching you now, the way your hands made lunch for him and the same hands are now unpacking it, to share a meal with him. Today definitely has to be one of the best working days in his life.

When you are done, you look at Kuroo leaning on his fist and being so intensely focused on his feline gaze on you that it almost makes you a bit nervous in case you messed up anything.

“Anything wrong Tetsu?”

“No, I was just wondering that you are a little too far away from me”

That made you chuckle because Tetsu did tend to think too seriously about some really casual stuff.

“I am in the same room as you Tetsu, how much closer do you want me?”

“They didn’t call me scheming captain for no reason. How about you come over and sit here?”, he swivels his chair a little and pats his thighs, inviting you on his lap, your personal throne.

“We are in your office! What if someone walks in?” you said with an obvious embarrassment that creeps up your neck. You know how straightforward your boyfriend is at times with the way he shows you love, including the different ways he teases you, which is by the way purely for him to watch your endearing reactions.

“Listen babe, no one will walk in before getting the permission from me, so you don’t worry your little head, alright?”

Begrudgingly, you push your chair backward to get up, shift the open boxes towards his side, then plop on his lap, crossing your arms and not looking at him.

Tetsurō just wraps his arms around your waist, to pull you closer and nuzzle his nose between the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You smell so sweet, so hypnotic, that it melts away all the knots in his overworked nerves.

“Aren’t we going to eat?”, you slightly turn around and tilt your head a bit, and Kuroo swears time stops when he looks into your mesmerizing eyes.

“Why don’t you feed me yourself, y/n ?” he says while perching his head on your shoulders

“What if someone walks in? That will be so embarrassing for you”

“What is embarrassing? My sweet girlfriend feeding me food made by her? Please y/n this is a pleasure, I would rather show off and feed off their awe and jealousy”

“Gosh, you are so evil, Tetsu!”

“Come on! I am just a man with the prettiest girl on my lap. I cannot help myself but feel a little giddy.”

You were just rolling your eyes, given how Kuroo sometimes really tries to flatter you with all the buttering. Separating the set of disposable chopsticks, you start picking up the food and feeding it to the man-child of a boyfriend. He savors the morsels contentedly, thinking of how considerate you are to prepare his favorite fish delicacy for lunch.

In between the bites, both of you take, there is a mundane conversation of how boring his meetings were, how your class got canceled suddenly, how a cute cat was napping on the pavement whose picture you took that brightened up Tetsurō’s mood at a boring meeting with the sponsors and even after the meal was over, you were still sitting on his lap, exchanging simple words with him almost quietly so that only you two can hear them as if such peaceful moments should be only unique between you and your lover.

In a moment of true quietness, you caress his hands, tracing the veins that outline his wrists and forearms. You don’t know what comes over you when you just take off the scrunchie on your hair. Kuroo is ever observant to see your little actions, the way the hair is set free, that frames your soft face, and the strands ever so gently land on the nape of your neck. You take the scrunchie and slide it across his wrist. You love how it looks on him, makes you feel he is yours.

Furthermore, you smile to yourself, while rubbing your fingers over the scrunchie wrapped around his wrist and say, “I have seen some guys wearing the scrunchies of their girlfriends on campus. I thought it was cute, so I thought of trying it on you.” You pick up his hand to gently rub your cheeks on his palm. Kuroo just looks at you fondly at how these little things make you happy and makes him appreciate these little moments too.

Shaking your head and thinking how stupid it all is, you proceed to take off the scrunchie from his wrist. That’s when he retreats his hand, and whispers in your ear, “why are you taking it off? Don’t you like it on me?” Getting all flustered, you just shake your head and quietly mumble, “I loved the way it was on your wrist, but you are in your office, and it doesn’t look professional I guess…”

Kuroo listens to you intently, which makes him rub those same comforting circles on your back, with his other hand, the one that has the scrunchie on, he gently shifts your face towards him, tilts it a bit to make you look at him. He is so gentle with the way he looks at you, the way he caresses you, the way he rubs his knuckles on the apples of your cheek and gives you the reassurance on how you don’t need to think about professional stuff because that’s his job. He also reassures you that being your boyfriend, you have all the right to be openly affectionate in your own ways and not need to overthink so much.

You are not unfamiliar with such reassurances, but sometimes you are intimidated by how powerfully determined Kuroo is in this relationship. You are grateful to have a serious boyfriend who is perfect in ways more than a person could imagine, but it takes time to impression these ideals on yourself. Likewise, you just end up shifting your focus from his caresses to laying your head on his shoulder, while he holds you.

“I think I should leave now…” you say while rubbing mindless patterns on his linen shirt.

“Yeah, I will leave with you as well”

Your head shoots up instantly while grabbing his shoulders, “Wait, really? Don’t you have work to do? Or wait, I think you are thinking of just dropping me to the train station, right? I am so sorry for misunderstanding…”

Kuroo clicks his tongue in faux disappointment, “Kitten, it has been a really hectic week, plus it’s Friday! So I think as the head of my department, I can grant myself an early break this once, don’t you think so?”

“This looks more like abuse of power to me…” you teasingly remarked while raising an eyebrow at him.

“Ah, anyway, I think I can twist a few commands in my favor so that I can spend a relaxing weekend with my girlfriend”

That makes a different kind of warmth bloom in your chest because doing nothing with Kuroo is way better than doing something all alone. Well, the smile that crawls up your face reflects him, and you caress his face for a while, before planting a quick kiss on the corner of his lips.

Hopping off his lap, you start packing up the empty boxes, and wrapping them in the lunch bag, while he gets some documents in his bag and unplugs his phone from the charger on the desk. You fix your hair a bit on the reflective windows, and focussing a bit, you like the light from the afternoon sun, that is soft today just like the moments shared between you and your lover.

The said lover, comes behind you, to wrap his arms around your shoulder, “come on, let’s leave. I bet the view in our bedroom is way better”, he whispered. Lightly slapping his arms, you scoff at his suggestive remarks. He simply smirks and places a kiss on your hairline. Slinging your respective bags on the opposite shoulders, so that you can hold his outstretched hand, the same hand that has your scrunchie on. You love the little gesture of him having his blazer on his arms, that is, he chose not to wear it to flaunt your scrunchie on his wrist.

Tetsurō loves how his hand fits perfectly in your hands. He loves this subtle sense of possession that he is yours, just like you are his. Holding your hands is akin to holding onto everything that keeps him together. Yes, everyone is looking at both of you holding hands and swinging the interlocked fingers slightly as if you two were teenage sweethearts. Well, maybe not teenage, but Tetsurō definitely knows you two are sweethearts for sure. Maybe a little too quick to admit openly, but Tetsurō subconsciously feels you are his soulmate too. Well, he can delve into that later. But right now, his focus is on the connected hands, your scrunchie on his wrist, the way sunlight makes your skin glow and the breeze plays with your hair, and lastly, most importantly, the way your happiness is overflowing, which makes you look at him with those mirroring happy eyes that crinkle at the corners.

A/N: If you reached this far, then phew, congratulations on managing to read this headache-inducing self-indulgent piece. Kuroo is always my #1, but it is surprising how I never wrote anything for him on this blog. Anyway, thank you for reading! Feedbacks and reblogs are much appreciated :) <3

#kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #one shot #fluff #anime imagines #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro imagine

218 notes · View notes

blamemma · 1 year

Note

candid 😊

cw: somnophilia, non-con/dub-con :)

Max pads down the hallway, socked feet hitting the cool wood, heading towards Daniel's office.

"Daniel, do you maybe know which suitcase I packed my toothbrush charger in?" Max asks, entering Daniel's small office space. It's a dark room, Corey apparently told Daniel that would be good for when he was editing his photos. A few of Daniel's less important trophies adorn the walls, photo albums are stacked onto shelves that Max takes down regularly to fawn through, rolls of film and cameras that Max isn't allowed to touch are off to the side, resting on a chest of drawers.

Daniel leaps forward in his chair as Max enters, the desktop screen in front of him going black, before turning sheepishly around to look at Max, eyes wide.

"What were you doing?" Max laughs, walking closer to Daniel.

"Nothing- just catching up on emails." Daniel fumbles out, avoiding eye contact, choosing instead to pick up Max's hand from where he's stood in front of him, and playing with the ring on his finger.

"That is a lie," Max chides. "If you were watching porn you do not have to be ashamed." Max chooses to sometimes, the ring on his finger proof that Daniel would never get bored of him, but they both like to try new things, and Max likes to do the research. He lets himself get all worked up, doesn't touch himself, just waits, achingly hard, until Daniel comes home and falls to his knees in front of him. Takes care of him.

"No--" Daniel rebuts quickly. "Just e-mails. Photos. Ya' know. After holiday stuff."

"You were looking through the holiday photos?" Max asks. He immediately sits himself down in Daniel's lap, swinging them back around towards the computer. "We can look through them together. Then choose the best ones of course for your instagram." Daniel's hand comes around Max's waist, pulling him tight to Daniel's chest and Max can feel the beat of his heart, fast--erratic.

Max pushes the small button on the side of the computer and the screen lights up again--it's him. Asleep. In the hammock tied under a palm tree. Sun falling over his face, his hair a golden blonde in this lighting, his mouth slightly wide. Max shuffles in Daniel's lap, getting more comfortable. He surprisingly doesn't hate the photo, more surprised that Daniel would hide it from him. He pulls the mouse towards him, and clicks onto the next one.

It's him, again. On the queen sized bed. Asleep on his front. His knee bent upwards, a thin sheet draped across his lower half, leaving Max with only a tiny bit of decency. It must of been a late afternoon nap, as the room is lit up in warm amber hues. Max can feel himself going red all over, can feel Daniel barely breathing below him. Seeing himself so at peace, rested, he looks calm, serene. He's never seen himself like this.

He reaches forward for the mouse again, grasping it, but Daniel's hand rests on his, forceful.

"Don't," Daniel whines, resting his forehead onto Max's shoulder at the same time. Max doesn't listen, Daniel's begging only making him want to see more.

The next photo--Max takes a sharp inhale. Daniel grips him tighter to him, fingers pressing into Max's waist.

Max is in the same position as before, but this time, the white sheet has been removed. The photos in portrait, and at the bottom, the head of Daniel's dick is in view, cum pooling at the tip. Max's mouth waters. Daniel's other hand, the one not holding the camera, the one with the rose tattoo Max loves to bite down on when they have to be quiet, is cupping Max's ass, holding it. Max's back and hole is covered in cum--Daniel's cum-- white streaks intermixed with the freckles littering Max's back. It's quiet between them, the only sound filling the office being them both breathing heavily.

"Daniel--" Max whispers.

"I'm so sorry baby," Daniel timidly says, kissing Max's neck. "You're such a deep sleeper. You look so relaxed, calm, rested. It just does something to me. You looking so looked after. I can't help myself sometimes. Sorry. I'll stop. Sorry."

Max twists in Daniel's lap, turns away from the photo he can't stop looking at, blinks finally, holds Daniel's cheek in his hand, rubs his thumb in circles across it, through the days old stubble he loves to feel against him.

"You have done this before?" He asks. Daniel blinks slowly, looks down, and then back up, locking eyes with Max, smiling slightly.

"Got a whole album baby." Daniel says, his tone sounding a mix of jokey and nervous. Max can feel his shorts getting tighter, the idea that Daniel jerks off over him whilst he's sleeping, that he can't wait for Max to wake up, that there are tens of, hundreds maybe, photos of him covered in Daniel's cum that he's unaware of.

"Show me," Max demands, and it clicks for Daniel then. Max isn't disgusted by this. Max is just as turned on as he gets. "Although I do not think we can approve these for your Instagram." Max adds.

Daniel takes the mouse from under Max's hand, his other hand now moving away from his waist, travelling lower to cup him, and navigates to a folder multiple clicks away, types in the password one-handed, rubbing Max through the thin material of his shorts.

#lolllllllll im gunna log off for 3-5 business days sorry #doesn't actually include the word but u get the idea probably #also this is way longer than 10 sentences sorry #dr #mv #fic rec #<- i need to find a new tag for this i am not reccing my own fic its just my overall fic tag #max/daniel #i cant put this in the m*xiel tag #also unedited idc if i read this through im going to delete it

150 notes · View notes

bookofbonbon · 1 month

Text

Just a quick PSA - please share (and maybe save an account that's been wrongly/mistakenly terminated!)

For those that don't know my main account (@blogofbonbon) was abruptly terminated yesterday which had also resulted in all of my sideblogs (including this one) being terminated along with it!

I was lucky enough to have my main account along with all of my sideblogs reinstated within a short 24 hours without any issues however, I found from other people's experience that it took some of them days, weeks even months before their accounts were reinstated.

I still don't actually have an answer as to why this has happened but, the general consensus from those who have experienced it is that it's a mistake/glitch.

Anyways, I thought I'd just make a quick post about what to do if you find yourself in this position!

What does it look like when it happens?

Everything on my dashboard disappeared and nothing would load.

The tumblr app kept sending me notice over and over again that I was unauthorised to access/the connection had been dropped/I need to log in (despite not having logged out).

I didn't receive any notice or email from tumblr explaining or giving a reason as to why my account had been suddenly terminated.

When I attempted to login on desktop, it would just redirect me back to the login page.

When I attempted to go directly onto any of my blogs via their url, it would say that my blogs didn't exist - they were all just gone.

Your existing posts will not come up as 'deactivated00000000' next to your username in the same way that it does on a post from an account that has actually been deactivated - it displays your username as normal with the anonymous tumblr icon and nil option to click on your username.

What to do if this happens?

This post on reddit details in depth what to do but, I will summarise below.

There are three ways to go about it - only do ONE. If you do multiple it just backs up the system and takes longer for them to work through/process requests.

Reach out via Tumblr Support (this is the 'official' way to go about it). https://www.tumblr.com/support -> select terminated account and provide details of what happened, your username and URL.

If you have twitter - send a tweet to @/tumblr or @/tumblrsupport (preferably tumblr support) with what happened, your username and URL.

Make a post on the linked subreddit above or DM u/tumblr_acct_help your username and URL.

I personally chose to go through Tumblr Support.

PLEASE NOTE:

If you go through twitter/reddit but, have genuinely violated Tumblr TOS - they will tell you they cannot assist you via twitter/reddit.

If you go through Tumblr Support - @goldensmilingbird found that apparently support tickets with emails attached to terminated accounts don't go through!

I can't speak to whether this is the case or not (using the email attached to the terminated account) as I had initially sent a support ticket through my (at the time) terminated accounts email but, I heeded the warning anyway and had sent a support ticket through a backup account of mine under a different email.

When sending a support ticket via a different email:

Provide details of what happened and again, provide your username, URL and the email attached to the terminated account!

What to do after?

Unfortunately once you have done those things, you just have to wait!

As I stated above, don't send multiple tickets/tweets/dm's/posts on multiple platforms as all it does is slow the process down and backs the system up.

If the termination of your account was a genuine mistake/glitch, your account should be reinstated without any issues HOWEVER, when it is reinstated it will likely happen without any notice or email from tumblr so, you just have to keep an eye on your blogs! Check your URL's every now and then throughout the day.

If you have genuinely violated the Tumblr TOS' then whether the issue is resolved and your account reinstated will be up to the discretion of Tumblr.

Hopefully this is helpful to anyone who needs it or to anyone who knows someone who may need it!

#please be aware #ESPECIALLY IF YOURE A CREATOR ON HERE #make sure your original content is backed up elsewhere #this can quite literally happen out of nowhere #tumblr #tumblr support #tumblr terminated #tumblr psa #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #content creators #tumblr stuff #tumblr things #important psa #public service announcement

29 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

mean dom Sirius making you ride his thigh while he's working 😩

hi someone else asked for mean sirius with aftercare so i smushed them together and it got a bit long my bad <3 18+ please smut warning (mean!sirius thigh riding)

"You wanna play?" you ask.

Sirius is sitting in the office behind his desk, eyes on the computer screen. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't look up at your question.

"What kind of play?" he asks, distracted.

You step from foot to foot. "Kind where you're mean."

He looks up, gives you a soft look, edged in excitement but apology. "I'm a little busy."

"Please?"

He hums and the light coming from his desktop dims. "You know your alerts?" You reel off your safe words and instructions and he nods. "Good job. Come sit here, then."

You round the desk and he tucks you over his thigh. Just one. Your arms settle over his shoulders and you lean your face into his chest. He's surprisingly nice, his hand behind your back as he clicks the mouse. You sit there for a little while, waiting for him to do something or say something, shifting to get comfy over his thigh.

"Stop wiggling."

"Thought we were gonna play," you murmur.

"We are," he says softly, cupping the back of your head. "Now shut up, doll. I'm working."

His change in demeanour is quick. It makes your tummy burn. He goes back to his computer. You hold your breath for a little while, and then decide it will be worth it either way to pester him.

"Sirius, I want-"

"What did I just say?" he asks, pushing you away from his chest cruelly. His fingers dig into your shoulder. "You want? Since when do I care what you want?" He doesn't sound entirely mean, the hint of a joking undertone to his words.

"You do care."

"Uh tu tu. Shut up, I'm serious."

"I know-" you do, you would've said, but he squeezes your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp.

"They couldn't fill a bottle cap with what you know, pretty girl. Last warning."

You hide your smile with a pout and stare at his impassive face. He goes back to his screen like nothing has happened and you fiddle with the end of his shirt, pulling it up to show a small slice of his tanned skin. You scratch at it with your fingernail lightly, waiting for him to wrap up whatever it is he's doing that's so important.

You sit on his leg, growing more and more wound up, knowing there'll be evidence of your arousal if he goes looking and that he's going to take the piss out of you when he does.

The hand on your back moves slowly over to your hip. You feel every millimetre of his hand as it slides and are acutely attuned to the minimal pressure he applies, sliding forward obligingly, as close as you can get. The friction isn't quite enough.

You frown. Sirius smirks. His changed expression is enough to realise what kind of game you're playing. His grip on your waist is tight.

"Can I take my clothes off?" you ask.

Sirius ignores you, closing out of his computer. Your heart ticks up your ears as he does, wanting his attention badly.

"If you'd been quiet like I asked you to, I might've let you." He leans back in his chair. "Obviously you don't care to do what I've asked you to do, so I don't think I'm feeling very helpful either. Your clothes stay on.

"But…" Sirius lifts his head, looking down at you with little emotion. "I'm not unreasonable. You can get yourself off, if you like."

You know your eyebrows have pinched up sulkily, know he's waiting for you to move. You lean back in the cage of his arm and bring a trembling hand to the apex of your thighs.

Sirius drops his arms and puts them behind his head, biting back a smile. "Put your hands on my shoulders."

"How can I-"

"I'm starting to get really annoyed with you, sweetheart."

You put your hands on his shoulders, waiting for another instruction. He rolls his eyes and jogs his leg expectantly. "Go on, then."

His watching makes you nervous. He seems bored. You roll your hips over his leg, clumsily at first and then with a better rhythm. To feel any pleasure you have to exert yourself, and soon you're panting as quietly as you can, the rough material of his trousers brushing against your leggings and silky underwear, sparks shooting from your cunt into your stomach.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he lets you, clinging to him for dear life as you grind against him. You start to say something and promptly stop yourself, lips opening and closing over his skin.

He must feel sorry for you, his arm coming down against your back, holding you in place. Your legs are aching and your neediness grows. You whimper your frustration.

"You want my help?" he asks.

You don't think there's a right answer to his question.

"You don't?"

"Please."

He seems pleased, hands coming to your hips, face hooked under your jaw. He pulls you in quick and pushes you away quicker, faster and firmer than you'd been.

"You're pathetic," he murmurs gently, the words like a lash against your neck. He kisses you slowly, lips light and sweet over your skin, and in between kind kisses, "S'fucking pathetic," hot on your skin, "silly girl can't listen," a hint of teeth, "not a lick of fucking patience," a soothing brush of his damp lips, "and can't get herself off.

"What use do you have, baby?" he asks, seeming genuinely interested in the answer as he pulls away. He strokes your hair out of your face roughly.

You struggle to speak at first, chasing pleasure, distracted by the bruising grip of his fingers.

"Well?"

You don't know what to say, stammering, "I'm- I can listen. I listen."

"Do you? If I told you to make yourself cum in my lap, could you?"

You nod though you're not confident. You watch a flicker of conflict disappear from his features as he takes your face into his hand, dragging your cunt slowly down into his leg, which has begun to bounce beneath you.

"No, you couldn't," he says smugly, pinching your cheek until tears well up. "You need me." You're nodding before he even asks, "Don't you? Oh, you do, huh? Maybe you're not as stupid as I thought. Here, let's get these bottoms off of you."

You stand up quickly and he undresses you with little fanfare and no praise, sitting you down again on his leg. He flicks at your soft breasts until they're aching, sliding a hard nipple between his fingers and pinching until you're miserable, eyes down, taking shallow breaths.

Sirius slaps your face gently. A pat more than anything but you jump, eyes quick to his.

His own narrow. "Tears?"

You sniffle. "No."

He takes your chin into his hand, cheeks barely squeezed by his thumb and index finger, holding you in place. "You're mine to mess with, you know that?"

"Yes."

"Poor girl," he says.

His sympathy gives you chills, the hairs on your arms standing up. He sits up properly and you wrap yourself around his neck, face pressed into his collarbone for affection you haven't been given permission for.

His hand pushes between your bodies to find your clit, thumb brushing over the skin in straight lines, up and up and up. You shudder at the feeling, the contact enough that your high finally builds. He notices your thighs as they tighten around his, pushing into your clit properly until you're biting your hand where it's slung over his neck to stop from mewling.

His nose in your hair, he says, "You wanna cum?"

"Yes," you say, then quickly, "please! Please."

He makes you cum without saying much else, steadying you when you squirm away from his touch, abruptly overstimulated as you reach your high.

"Thank you," you say wetly, bent over on his leg, the top of your head touching his ribs and your hands tensed at his shoulders.

"You're welcome." There's a very small silence. "That's blue for me, sweet girl. Okay?"

You look up at him. Blue means that everything is okay but he wants to stop for the time being.

You nod quickly. "Of course," you say hoarsely. You're feeling pretty blue yourself.

"Don't get me wrong, I love to tease you but you looked so sad," he chuckles lightly, kicking his leg to pull you in closer. He helps you slide your leg over his other thigh so you can take the strain off and sit in his lap. "I just wanted to give you a kiss."

"You still want one?" you ask hopefully, wiping your tears away quickly with the back of your hand.

He grins, the tip of his pert nose bumping into yours as he ducks in for a small peck that slowly blossoms into a gentle, open-mouthed affair that turns you to jelly in his arms, hands flat against his tummy.

He rubs his thumb over your cheek lovingly and pulls away, looking over you assessingly. "You had fun?"

"I did."

"Didn't go too far?"

"No, sir. Did you have fun?" you ask, head pressed to his shoulder to gaze up at him adoringly.

He rubs your shoulder blade. It's soothing. "I had too much fun. You're not the only one who made a mess."

You beam at him. "Really?"

"I couldn't fucking speak."

The idea that he came in his pants from your ridiculous antics makes you want to bathe him in love and affection and so you do, hand cupping his cheek, scraping over scratchy stubble. You're careful not to brush against his cock as you cuddle in, knowing he's likely very sensitive right now.

"That's so cute. I'm in love with you," you say lightly.

He snorts, head falling against his shoulder. "I should hope so, sweetness. I feel the same way."

You hum and stroke his face. He hugs you. It's a messy, sweaty bliss.

"You're brilliant," he says, clipping under your chin with his finger quickly. "Smart, patient. Not useless at all, don't listen to that prick."

"I never do," you say easily.

#sirius x you #sirius orion black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble

750 notes · View notes

intimidating-fettuccine · 10 months

Note

Can I request this question with Hobo heart please??

https://www.tumblr.com/intimidating-fettuccine/689134446849490944/this-may-be-a-sad-request-but-im-curious-to?source=share

I was so panicked because Tumblr was not showing this ask in my inbox on my desktop and I had to completely close out and log back in to see it again. Happened with multiple requests. I do not know why.

Click here for the link, another one in the Slender removing the creep from Y/N's body after they died in front of them series

He had been so calm. While you were dying, he had been so calm, so collected, because he didn't want your final moments to be filled with stress. Now, however, that your body has run colder and your breath is no longer coming out, he cries. He doesn't yell, he doesn't scream, he just holds you to him, his wings wrapped around you as he lays his head on your chest and cries harder than he ever had before. With you, his loneliness had slipped away, he had grown happy, grown content, he had finally had joy and comfort in his life, he had finally known what it was like to not feel alone anymore.

But now- now that you're gone, it's like he's suddenly been dunked in cold water. The loneliness is crawling back all at once, digging into him, stinging him. He's never felt more alone than he does at this moment, and he blames himself for it. If he had been faster, if he had saved you, even been able to just push you slightly out of the way, you'd still be here right now. But he didn't. He was too slow, and he wasn't able to save you, he wasn't able to keep you safe like he always promised and swore to both you and himself that he would. It's not until he feels Slender timidly approaching that he finally wails out in despair, the reality of the situation fully hit him. You won't be returning home alive. You won't get to have Tim's post-mission snacks, you won't get to enjoy your normal warm shower, and the two of you won't get to curl up in bed together, peaceful and happy after a hard day's work. He completely shatters at that point, and Slender joins him on the ground, gently stroking Hobo's back and his wings to comfort him. They sit there like that for a while, as Slender lets him get everything out of his system, and then Slender brings the two of you back home.

Hobo is tired, cold, and depressed, and all but soaked in your blood, but he follows Slender around, hovering by your side as Slender cleans you up and prepares your body to be embalmed. Before Slender begins, I think Hobo would make a decision. A decision to replace the current heart he'd been using with yours. I think Slender would agree, would allow it, and so, the two work together, as Hobo places your heart within his chest, your heart taking well, resuming beating and functioning inside him. It makes him cry again, as he clutches his already healing chest, to be part of you again, to have you continue to be part of him. When your heart can no longer function inside him, when he needs to replace it again, he won't dispose of it. Instead, he'll save it, and he'll consult with Slender, and he'll return it to your body, where it belongs, so the heart that has been a part of both of you can be shared with you once more. So Hobo can have a place to rest inside you, for the rest of your afterlife. The thought makes him happy, as he clutches his hand to his chest. He'll protect your heart, and keep it safe, love it, and cherish it just as he did you. As he watches Slender finish cleaning and storing your body for now, he feels a small weight lifted from the warmth of your heart, although he knows it's only temporary, for nothing could be a substitute or a fix for no longer having you in his arms. Hobo follows Slender upstairs as Slender guides him to some much needed rest, and settles himself into your shared bed, the pain resuming all over again.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #hobo heart #hobo heart headcanon #hobo heart headcanons #hobo heart x reader #slenderman #slenderman headcanon #slenderman headcanons #slenderman x reader

59 notes · View notes

holycryptid · 1 year

Text

Nightcrawler

Bruce Wayne/Batman x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: descriptions of blood/injury, angst, allusions to sex, groping/touching, descriptions of medical treatment (suturing), fingering/pussy play, explicit language, unrequited feelings (let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: Bruce confronts his feelings after you put him back together. Again.

Notes: wrote this all the way back in 2020 right after the first trailer came out…found it sitting in my computer files and figured i shouldn’t let it go to waste! since it was written before the movie came out, please excuse/forgive any inaccuracies regarding the batsuit, terminology, setting, and characterization (and the painfully amateur writing) 😣

The cave is always a little too frigid for your liking.

Especially when it’s already well into the late hours of the night—a time you definitely shouldn’t be awake. The long fluorescents buzz and highlight the metallic sheen of everything, while still piercing through any inch of unguarded darkness in the gloomy room.

A light breeze swirls around your huddled figure every so often, and the rhythmic sound of water continuously dripping onto floor somewhere echoes throughout the quiet, isolated space. There’s still some changes and additions that need to be made to the current set-up he has, but it does the job for now. You don’t bother taking note of what needs to get done—you’ll probably forget it all an hour from now anyway.

You let your head roll back onto the chairs headrest, and your eyes skim over the time at the bottom of one of the monitors screens.

3:43am. It’s been almost four hours—you always wait.

You wait even though he tells you not to, and even though you know you maybe shouldn’t sometimes. But you can’t help it. It’s habit at this point. You’re down here at 10pm on the dot. Daily.

You don’t need to be, but you are; it’s tradition for you to be part of his prep and routine before the nightly endeavour out into Gotham, even if you just sit and watch as he slowly works his way into the suit piece-by-piece, fiddling with various tech accessories that you don’t even know the names of yet.

You try to pass the time by organizing and sorting his skewed files, papers, and small pieces of armour that have been damaged beyond repair—meticulously placing them in their rightful spots on the seemingly never-ending line of desktops, shelves, and hidden drawers.

But mindlessly arranging anything and everything only lasts for so long before there’s nothing left to do but sit. And think. And then sit some more.

Not knowing how long you’ll be rolling around in one of the padded office chairs for is one of the prices you have to pay for caring too much, and he reprimands you for it, even as you furiously dump an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol onto his body, and he never shows that it affects him in the least.

He’s stubborn. He’s stupid.

Your eyes wander along the blank stone walls as you slouch further into the chair, stopping when you see the time again: 3:47am.

You let out a heavy breath through your nose as you repeatedly click the tip of a pen in and out. You push yourself around in slow circles with the toe of your foot, letting the spinning room distract you for just a few moments just to pass another minute at least.

This isn’t necessarily part of your job. He knows that, and you definitely know that. A lot of things have changed with your workplace duties, clearly, as you notice some earlier pieces of his armour piled in one corner of the room.

Unsurprisingly, things have…happened here and there. It’s becoming a more common occurrence, but it feels circumstantial and…convenient. Maybe it’s all meant to happen at this point. You think about it often enough—too often. Enough to make things awkward for yourself sometimes.

Another anxious glance at the leering clock: 3:51am. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you reason with yourself, getting up from the chair and tossing the pen on the desk.

You resort to pacing around the grand floor space, now closely watching the entrance and exit as you circle by. All you can do is wait—

And just as you turn your back to the computer displays and monitors, the clocks turn to 3:59am.

You cut back sharply to begin another circle, and there he is. Four hours later. Alive.

The broad shadow makes your heart stop for a split second, but the only physical reaction you have is your knees locking, keeping you in place and giving you no choice but to stare at the familiar, broad outline of him.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Bruce.” It slips out, a little rushed and aggressive, but you mean it. He knows you well enough to not take any literal offence from it.

Your harsh acknowledgement prompts him to walk in further.

“Yeah, you said that last time,” he points out casually, sauntering into the blinding lights with calm steps, coming around to the front of the desks.

You observe his gait with a hard stare—you take notice of how he hesitantly bends and twists at the hip when he leans back to rest against the edge of the metal desk, rolling his head back until his neck pops with a relieved grunt.

He’s already got the cowl, cape, and gloves off, so whatever the problem is, it must be worse than what he’s playing off, as usual.

And then you see the issue. “Do you need help with that?” You point at his stomach and drop back into the chair, deflating with concern.

Your alert eyes study the suit, looking at the damage.

“With what?” he counters, seeming unaware—avoiding; yet his dark eyes confidently meet yours as he rests back on his hands, trying to find some comfort and seem unbothered by whatever desperately needs your attention underneath the sturdy armour.

A very thin layer of blood has seeped through a small displacement in the suits plating, soaking into the tri-weave fibers that cover the titanium. You roll your eyes and scoot back to a shelf where a med-kit sits, one that you put together specifically for nights like these, which is every night.

Positioning yourself back in front of him, the chair brings you to the perfect height to get a good look at the impairment. You can already tell it’s a knife wound just by the location. It’s at the perfect height. It cut perfectly in-between the overlapped layers of plating, perhaps the biggest flaw the suit has. You’re sure he’s aware of that now.

You inspect it briefly, tugging up on the bent piece slightly to see the amount of blood beneath. He takes a deep breath as the dense pressure is relieved from the tender area.

“Shit—” he breathes in relief. You’ve only heard that clipped tone slip out of his mouth on very few occasions, one of which was barely a week ago, yet you still tense at the vivid memory that you never really want to let go of.

He’s not one for reminiscing, but unfortunately, you are.

“It’ll only be a few stitches,” you say gently, letting the plate mold back into place softly. You tap the hard armour pointedly. “Take it off.”

You flick your eyes up to his—the black paint has smeared around just a bit more compared to when he smudged it on with no real technique earlier.

You’ll help him get it off later.

He brings a quick hand through his damp hair and starts unclipping the few clasps hidden on his shoulders and chest. One by one, the durable pieces are detached, and you carefully place them off to your right as he hands them over.

“Can you get the one in the back?” He motions over his shoulder. You nod and mumble a thoughtful ‘mhm’ as you both push yourself onto your feet again.

He turns his back to you, leaning forward on his palms and presenting the last clasp that sits in the middle of his spine. You know he can reach it, you’ve seen him do it before. You flick the clip, carefully pulling away the last plate. He physically relaxes his already tense muscles as soon as the extra weight is removed.

“I don’t know why you do this every night. It’s not worth it,” you confess while rummaging through the med-kit for a needle, surgical thread, topical antiseptic, a gauze pad, and a self-adherent bandage wrap to hopefully hold it all together.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as you carefully lay out the supplies next to him on the desk.

“I have to…” he whispers, trailing off, but you catch it, shaking your head as you thread and ready the needle with severe concentration.

“Turn around, please.” He shifts back to where he originally was without a word, leaning back against the cool steel with hesitation once again.

You grab the bottle of antiseptic and apply a generous amount onto the pad, delicately holding it as you take a seat in front of him once again.

“Are you sure you wanna stand for this?” you grimace. The hot sting of a sterile compress isn’t the most enjoyable sensation to experience, especially while bearing weight.

He looks down at you, looking rather uninvolved with the priority. Dazed and distracted; something that could be mistaken for the potential amount blood loss, but the gash isn’t big enough for that possibility.

This is something you’ve seen more often than you’d like to.

“Just get it done,” he starts, “You know I can handle it.” He dismisses the option, letting his head roll back with a deep inhale as he waits for you to start.

You say nothing in return. Carefully balancing the compress in one hand, your other cautiously pinches the soft, spandex material of his base-layer shirt. It fits comfortably, hugging tightly around the curvature and muscle of his body, improving his movement in the suit.

The shirt is slowly pulled away from his stomach. The thick blood sticks around the tear in the fabric, making it peel away instead. You drag it halfway over the rest of his lower abdomen, pulling and letting it bunch up tightly, staying isolated from the torn skin below.

You stare at the ugly cut for barely a second before you quickly dab the antiseptic around, patting it into the irritated, puffy flesh and watching it fizzle with each pull back.

Sometimes, you feel like he likes the pain. Like he purposefully seeks out the discomfort of an incapacitating injury in hopes of suppressing the turmoil of concern…worry…love…

It gives him something else to focus on instead of the sorrowful emotions that avoiding you doesn’t seem to fix. It’s only been making it worse, and things are beyond saving now.

Your free hand gently rests against the burning skin of his waist, and his head drops forward at the surprising contact.

“Calm down. It keeps me steady,” you chuckle, shaking your head lightly.

He hums thoughtlessly in response, unconvinced with your excuse, maybe.

There’s that sudden anxious tension in the room from nothing but a fleeting graze of fingertips. The uncertainty of who’s going to make the first move this time.

You do one more press and then pull the soaked pad away, examining your progress before discarding the bloody material.

“It might only be four sutures or so,” you determine while gently squeezing the inflamed edges closer together to try and gauge the amount of work needed.

He inhales sharply, tightly gripping the rim of the desktop. “Well, the faster you stitch it, the faster I’ll be able to—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You cut him off with a harsh but accidental hard squeeze of the torn flesh, making his words die in his throat with a groan.

That wasn’t something you really needed to hear right now, let alone think about as if he wasn’t just bleeding out in front of you only minutes ago.

You know how that sentence ends; you’ve heard him say it more times than you’d like to admit, but you can’t let him have his way tonight.

You glare at each other for a moment. Your eyes hold a tired frustration behind them, but his hold a different kind…something that is able to get you to do whatever he says, something that makes you giddy with anticipation, and something that makes you feel just a little more alienated afterwards.

“You can’t lie to yourself anymore,” he says instead.

You laugh coldly. “Well, neither can you. I’ve stopped doing that a long time ago. You should try it sometime,” you counter, snatching the threaded needle with anger while maintaining your unimpressed gaze.

He sighs, messing with his drying hair again as you begin suturing quickly—not so you can get to what he was alluding to, but the opposite.

For once, you don’t want that, and you don’t want the burden of sadness that comes with it.

But it’s so…tempting.

He gave himself away. You haven’t. And of course he’s leaning against the very spot you were pinned down against a week ago, feeling the contrast to the emotions you’re feeling now: excitement, passion, comfort, love—

It puts you into a conscious daydream for a moment. But you’re awoken from it when you feel his body jolt suddenly. You see the needle poking into the tough muscle of his side instead of the spongey cut.

“Shit— sorry,” you mumble, shifting your focus back to the final suture and looping it through itself securely in a rush.

Seven stitches in total, you notice. You were close.

You grab the bandage wrap and press it firmly over the closed wound before snaking it around his back. You’re able to get two layers from it; the pressure should stop any possible bleeding, but he always manages to tear it open anyway. Sometimes you think he does it on purpose just so he has a good excuse to see you.

“Done,” you sigh, packing up the med-kit and rolling back to its shelf.

You stand from the chair and go to make your way to the exit without another word, not interested in any other interaction tonight. Well, that’s what you hope for, but you’ve learned that he will never let you go peacefully.

You go to pass by him mindlessly as he’s carefully pulling his shirt back down, but he manages to grab ahold of your sleeve quickly when he sees your destination. The effortless pull makes you skid to a stop, twisting back towards him with your inverted momentum, almost smashing your face in his chest, but you stop yourself with your forearm.

He holds onto you tightly, with a purpose, as you share a moment of mutual hurt and resentment. His dark eyes, the opaque paint making them look just as black in the hazy lighting, search your conflicted ones desperately.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” he asks quietly. There’s no demand behind it, seemingly afraid it’ll scare you away.

His face softens, perhaps relief from asking. He’s never had to before.

You furrow your brows together in shock, dumbfounded at his apparent stupidity in this continuous situation. You scoff lightly at his rather domestic request. “Why? So we can just dance around the truth like always?” Your voice never raises in volume, but your tone gets harsher as you continue.

“So I can hope that maybe you’ll come to your senses and fucking realize that I lo—”

The hand he had wrapped around your arm moves to the back of your neck before you can even say the word or finish your passionate rant. He promptly pulls you right to him, his deft lips quickly doing the much-needed apologizing in that moment.

It’s feverish and assertive, seeming out of place in the cloud of desolation and melancholia…yet you don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

He knows you’ve needed this. Not the rushed, messy, convoluted kisses that come from your desperate fucking after a hard night or a close call, the ones that seem to happen almost by accident, by pure circumstance. There’s just always something missing…

Fervour. That’s what you feel now—that’s what you’ve wanted from him every single time he took control of you with ease for the night. You’re never able to make it back up to the manor either.

You shudder slightly when his hand moves to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he slides his mouth against yours consumingly, sucking your lips gently and teasing your tongue with his cautiously. You moan when he deepens the kiss further, letting his tongue fully overlap yours with a practiced versatility. It subdues you, inviting him to give and take as he pleases.

Several whimpers fall against his lips as you stretch onto your toes to meet his height as best as you can, trying to get more even though he’s already giving you plenty. It’s pensive. Each movement thought out and executed with a purpose, something that you can feel has a very clear destination in his mind.

You let him maintain authority, let him kiss you with a force that could bruise if he didn’t soothe the pressure with his soft tongue occasionally, dipping it back into your mouth quickly after. Your taste seems insatiable to his starved soul.

It all draws you in further, and your hands find themselves grasping at his shoulders instinctually when a forceful hand snakes through your hair to gain better control of you.

Your mouth feels a little numb and swollen from the welcome force, and he pulls away hesitantly when he feels your soft touch finally rest at his collar delicately. He barely lets more than an inch get between your lips, and you can feel the reluctancy in his movements as he pulls back.

You open your eyes slowly and see his sombre expression—more sombre than usual. The sorrow in his eyes and the agony on his brow is enough to force you to speak up first.

“I wish you told me months ago,” you whisper, lightly resting your forehead against his own as you wrap your arms around his neck, confident that he won’t pull away like he has before.

He looks longingly into your forgiving eyes, taking his hands and sliding them down to your hips in solace; an abrupt switch from from their dominant spot around your face. You understand the conflicts he has to live with. Most of them are caused by his vigilant habits in the night, yet you expected everything outside of that to still be easy for him.

Unfortunately, trauma picks and chooses its victims at random.

You find yourself looking for words. Maybe for the moment you realized he was different, when he changed.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you, Bruce.” You try to comfort him, provide some ease for his always anxious mind.

He squeezes your hip, silently reassuring you that it’ll be fine, that it won’t kill him.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you,” he retorts in an indignant tone, irritated with himself.

He regrets all of it. Most of all, he regrets making you feel unloved. The nights where he used you as a release, when he would act like nothing happened, when he would unconsciously ignore you, and when he ultimately closed himself off in the end.

“It wasn’t fair. It was…selfish,” he finishes forcefully, taking a quick breath to regain some composure.

“I just don’t want you to be part of that life,” he admits tentatively.

You can see he’s telling the truth. The way he doesn’t meet your gaze again. He does it to avoid the confrontation that comes with honesty.

You pause to take in his confession, closing your eyes for a moment with relief, but his tone is like a bullet to the heart. The dejected feeling of you possibly not wanting to be here with him in this moment.

“‘That life’?…You mean your life?” you reason, sounding surprised with his absurd claim.

You’d think that having done this religiously with him for a year would make him think otherwise, regardless of your acts together. You always showed up no matter the circumstances or emotions.

He pushes against your hips lightly, making some space between your bodies, and you shuffle back without hesitation. You let your arms fall away from his shoulders, and he does the same as you distance yourself.

“My life is your life,” he explains. “What happens to me affects you, why can’t you see that?” His face falls slightly. The realization of you not knowing you’re significant enough to be considered part of his life is…heartbreaking.

There’s so much you could say to that.

You let the silence linger briefly. “Maybe I’d be able to see that if you weren’t afraid to be in the same room as me,” you say, voice quiet as you test your reasoning.

You don’t want to start a fight. You just want to understand. You want to know why.

You notice how he hesitates when around you, and not in a flattering or complimentary way. It’s avoidant, scared, and even worried. Worry of confrontation.

He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around his stomach in comfort, carefully avoiding the fresh bandage.

“I…I’m not…scared. I’m—” Batman doesn’t get scared from feelings, but maybe Bruce Wayne does.

“You’re unsure,” you finish for him. His eyes meet yours with a sense of hope that you’re understanding.

“I just…don’t know how to go about…all of this,” he motions between you with a flick of his hand.

All of this…meaning—

“Love?” you try, making it more of a rhetorical question.

He presses his lips together in surprise before offering a firm nod. He doesn’t trust himself to say it. It’s hard to wrap your head around. It couldn’t just be that, it had to be something more problematic? Complicated?

But yet, it all makes sense because he’s him—he doesn’t necessarily do romance; there’s no time. You know that. You’ve seen how he is, nothing but a fleeting moment in the night to most, even to you.

It all clicks, and you rub your face in relief and exasperation. You can’t blame him for it all. You can for some, of course, but a relationship needs communication from both. It can’t be a one-person effort, but that’s what it ended up being.

He was just trying to protect you. That’s all someone can really ask for, but the execution wasn’t right. He abandoned you emotionally to protect you physically, and that’s not the right balance.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth at the beginning? So I wouldn’t spend all this time thinking I was doing something wrong,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him again to pull an answer from his huddled form.

The closer you get, the higher you have to tilt your head to hold his gaze.

He looks right back, overwhelmed. “I didn’t know how to say it…I didn’t know if you felt that way. When I realized you did, I thought it was just…too late,” he admits, stuttering briefly at the end.

It was clearly hard for him, too. But was it not apparent that you were waiting? For him. For anything.

You look down, nodding your head in understanding. “I don’t think I could’ve made it any more obvious, but lust can be confused for love, so I understand.” You were serious, but some sarcasm slipped through at the end.

Lust is deadly; it will bait you, hook you, and then drag you under it’s pleasurable and irresistible cloud of euphoria, disguised as the domineering man in front of you.

“At least you know now,” he says, matching your tone.

He straightens his posture and locks his cold stare onto yours momentarily, searching for something he still can’t seem to find.

Giving up, he turns to collect each piece of armour you set aside, and he busy’s himself with meticulously putting it back in its rightful spot for tomorrow.

You watch him with surprise, but there’s no anger at his dismissal. You feel relieved. Relieved that you know. You don’t expect things to be normal right away, not with him.

You know he’ll come around, but you can’t help but ask a prying question just to entertain your already validated thoughts. And to keep him talking. There’s still so much you want to know.

“So…” you start lightly. “You said you weren’t sure if I was interested at the beginning,” you say carefully.

He stops moving the instant he hears the curiosity in your tone. He turns back to you slowly, an amused expression on his face. Shit—

You hesitate when you catch his look, but continue cooly. “So, if you didn’t know…then why did you keep, uh…” You lose your words, too afraid to be so blunt and direct about your past endeavours.

It seems taboo to discuss it while not in the moment itself. Sometimes you wonder if it’s just a dream. Too good to be true.

He raises his brows knowingly as you trail off, entertained with your hesitation and embarrassment.

“Why did you— why did we continue…”

“Fucking?” he finishes for you bluntly, a small smile playing on his lips, yet it’s devoid of genuine humour. It screams danger.

He chuckles when you nod your head wordlessly. “Like you said, lust is confusing. You can never seem to get enough, and I don’t think I wanted to.” He pulls the sleeves of his tight-fitting shirt over his forearms, watching you carefully as you consider his words.

His tone was suddenly light, confident. He could feel that you were walking the fine line of giving in or leaving without another word.

“I’m not trying to persuade you into doing anything, if that’s what you’re thinking about,” he clarifies softly when he sees your eyes dance across the floor rapidly.

You laugh lightly, glancing at him reluctantly. “I’m not, but you wouldn’t have to, anyway,”

That makes him narrow his gaze in question.

You raise a brow in response. “What?”

He glances over his shoulder at a monitor, very obviously reading the time: 4:29am.

And you realize exactly what he’s doing. Why would time matter unless you were to suddenly become busy. Tonight was on the shorter end of time spent putting him back together, and you never fall asleep quickly or peacefully anyway…that’s if you were to attempt it or even make it that far.

You watch him speculatively, still mindful that he’s injured, and probably very, very sleep deprived at this point, even though you can never say for sure.

He doesn’t sleep much. You seem to be his biggest distraction.

He twists a dry strand of hair between his fingers as it’s brushed back from his face, black eyes full of self-assurance as he turns to you for what will be the last time tonight.

“You think we can make it back to the manor?” His relaxed yet serious tone startles you, making you consider the options quickly.

Hard and cold floor, small and cold desktop, small rolling chair—none are ideal, but you’ve made all work before…when he didn’t offer another option, mind you. It was never momentous enough to have taken place outside of the cave. But the manor is…farther. There’s a buffer you don’t think will be beneficial.

Who fucking cares—

“Here seems to work just fine,” you quip nervously. You haven’t taken notice of how your legs have gotten…shaky.

There’s a burning heat between your thighs, an ache that blazes bright from anticipation and just him. Just knowing what’s to come. It feels like you’ve done everything imaginable at this point, but that doesn’t lessen your excitement.

He gives a small smirk that fades just as fast. “Figured you’d say that,” he finalizes.

Stepping back to you with graceful movements, you’re chest-to-chest again in an instant. He glides a delicate finger up your neck, hooking it under your chin and tilting your gaze to his intimidating one.

“Tell me what you want.”

You desperately want to say ‘anything’, but you know he won’t settle for that.

You get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the possibilities you can choose from, and he waits for your answer patiently.

“A week ago…when you came back with a torn rotator cuff in y-your shoulder—” you stumble through the sentence but never break from his studious eyes.

“You, uh, didn’t pay any mind to it even though you definitely should’ve, and you had me down against the desk,” your voice turns to a whisper as you recount the events—as vague as possible to save you the embarrassment of being too vulgar in, perhaps, an irreplaceable moment.

As soon as you finish, you swear you see a flame flicker in his eyes. The same one you feel grow stronger in your cunt at the same time. Your knees almost buckle from anticipation, and he can only make it worse from here.

“That’s…a good choice, even though it was kind of impersonal,” he ponders, clearly running through the events of that night.

He’s not wrong. He kept your chest pinned tightly to the surface of the frigid desk, taking you from behind. No hand-holding, no kissing, no eye-contact, no nothing.

You went on to figure that it was better—easier for him that way. You never seemed to mind anyway.

“That’s nothing I can’t fix,” he mutters, finishing the thought; already set on an alternative for both of you.

Your brows pinch together, curious of what he means exactly. But you don’t have much time to think about it.

His hands quickly curve around your jaw, keeping you still as he swiftly interlocks your deprived lips again. It’s zealous and luring, pulling you even further under the crashing wave of temptation and craving.

The soft joining of your mouths makes your stomach jump with exhilaration and eagerness, clawing your hands into his hair with a gasp of bliss as he grabs your waist just as hard in response. You let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling brave enough to gently bite at his bottom lip as his warm, encompassing hands slide under your shirt.

He barely lets you break for air, delving back into your mouth just as fast as he left it to reposition. The intensity of the heavenly moment builds its tempo, and you find yourself pushing against his chest. Not to pull away, but to try and push him towards the cold, awaiting desk behind his wide shoulders.

You manage to get a single word out in between the consuming and now sloppy kisses he offers. “Bruce—”

He hums contently as he swallows your thoughts, connecting your tingling lips forcibly. He’s too fixated on the passion. He wants it to last forever, but there are more demanding impulses that will be tended to first.

“Bruce,” you gasp when you break apart again reluctantly. He notices the calm assertion in your voice, and only slows the onslaught of kisses enough to reply.

“I know,” he soothes your neediness, now delicately pressing his greedy lips to yours repeatedly in understanding. The heartfelt action controlled by nothing but spirited lust.

His hands glide back up to your jaw, cradling your face in comfort as you twirl the long strands of hair at his neck between your fingers. Heavy breaths cloud your already tangled thoughts, leaving him to take the lead again.

He gives you one last intense taste of him, stroking his tongue teasingly over yours, firmly capturing your lips together in the process with a pleased moan. You’re almost chest-to-chest, a minute sliver of space keeping your bodies just distanced enough to not completely lose what little control both of you have left.

He’s taken note of how tight your thighs have been pressed together, and how your breaths are becoming shaky with each passing second he uses to dominate your mouth.

You’ve taken note of how his tactical pants, in fact, can’t hide his very prominent arousal for you, and how you can feel the warmth finally releasing from his exerted and thoroughly worked muscles. The heat seeps through his shirt and goes directly to your body, making you shudder when you feel the change in temperature.

You draw in a breath when he finally pulls away. His obsidian eyes wild with excitement and dominion. You’ve seen this look a lot, and you’re ready to hop on the desk without another word.

He floats his eyes down your body observationally, but you don’t notice. All of this is a lot slower than you’re used to. Well-paced. If it were any other night, you’d be on round two by now at least. You’d be whining with pleasure, shaking from release and overstimulation, dripping around his cock as he buries himself as deep as your cunt will allow, over and over until he simply feels better.

He was always generous with what he gave you.

You press a hand against his chest again, and he moves this time. Taking a long stride back, he tries to conceal an amused smile as you push him toward the desk. Your eyes light up when you see the knowing and teasing look on his face.

A quiet laugh rumbles against your hand. “This isn’t how it usually goes…” He smiles lightly.

You smile with him. “I never said it’s gonna stay this way,” you challenge, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

You never take charge. You never dominate. He’s more well-versed with it, and you won’t dare to try to match his competence.

The backs of his thighs bump the rounded edge of the desk, and your stomach jumps with elation when his index finger instantly hooks into the waistband of your pants, pulling you just a little closer.

But he leaves it there. He slides it side-to-side along the hem, gently caressing the sensitive skin of your lower stomach playfully. You look into his eyes as he casually continues the slow motions.

Your eyes flick down to his hand instinctually, out of pure reflex, and you watch his finger disappear further as he smoothly twists his wrist, palm resting against your lower stomach momentarily before his shoulder shifts too…angling his hand to travel down.

His fingers graze lower, creeping to a spot that so easily welcomes him.

One of your hands grabs onto his shoulder, simultaneously steadying yourself with a gasp as you bring your faces closer again. He gives a fleeting, comforting kiss, not leaving much behind.

His towering height makes it easier for his hand to reach its destination all too quickly. And when a careful and precise finger slips in-between your folds, your eyes close in anticipation and with the thought of relief.

Your minor reaction makes him smirk. Thankfully, for him, you don’t see it.

It’s sad just how wet you already are, but it spurs him on. He let’s his fingers explore, alternating between rubbing you and slipping a single digit inside, only doing so to gather your arousal to rub across your clit smoothly.

A quiet moan gets caught in your throat as he repeats that process a few times, building you up and teasing you onto the edge continuously.

“Mm— please, f-fuck—” you whimper, fisting the shirt in your grip on his shoulder.

You don’t need to finish that sentence for him to know exactly what you mean. He needs it, too. His tactical pants have become increasingly uncomfortable.

Your plea makes him apply more pressure to the slow strokes he gives your throbbing cunt. You all but drip onto the two fingers that glide over your aching clit and back to your slick entrance, occasionally giving you what you want.

He pulls them slowly in and out of you, making sure you feel them nice and deep before he drags them against something that makes you pant with desperation. Your eyes remain shut, brows pulled together tightly as you focus on the sensation of his intent touches, but he watches your face appreciatively, analyzing your pleasure with each movement he makes.

A particularly harder jolt of his fingers up into you makes you choke, caught between a gasp and a whiny moan. That makes his eyes drop to where his hand disappears.

He hums in satisfaction. “Is that the spot?” he questions with a mocking tone, knowing full well what the answer would be. “I think it is…”

You nod your head quickly, eyes reopening ever so slowly to meet his.

His eyes are full with devilish aspirations, and your knees almost give out when he roughly thrusts his fingers back in again for a final time. You let out a small cry of bliss and dissatisfaction when he slips them out of you, wiping them off on his pants carelessly.

You were decently wet before, and you are definitely abundantly wet now.

“I think you need to lie down.” He sounds concerned, but you know it’s just for show to make your heart pound harder.

He takes your hand from his shoulder, holding it securely as he shuffles your bodies around, putting you in his place and himself in yours. Now your thighs rest against the desk, and he crowds you against it.

“Lift your arms,” he says cooly, observing your dazed expression with care.

You raise them, and he pinches the hem of your shirt, delicately dragging it up your torso and over your head with caution. He tosses it on the chair off to the side.

Your eyes catch the mangled slash at the bottom of his shirt again, and you quickly reach for the thin material.

He doesn’t question your intentions, letting you maneuver the thin fabric over the bandage, his chest, and extend onto your toes to pull it over his shoulders. He peels it from his arms, and your hands can’t help but wander across the firm muscles that stretch around his entire body.

The power he holds within him—the Batman—is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen. It was terrifying. It was unbelievable, the things you’ve seen his body do. And he would continue to push his limits.