#roofting

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#roofting #roof restoration #Roof cleaning

[roofdocotrs]

#roof restoration Brighton #roof repairs Brighton #roofting Brighton #roofing contractors Brighton

[poprock-gangsta]

𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖗

☆ ☆ ☆ 𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 ☆ ☆ ☆

Summary: If life's hardships can be likened to a living hell, then your existence seems to have plunged into a realm of double torment. The perpetrator of this suffering? None other than Smiley, a figure who paradoxically claims affection for you.

Kinks: Degrading, Impact Play, Breeding (ofc), Humiliation, Sadism

Tw: Gaslighting, Manipulation, Bullying, Violence, Weird Ran

Word Count : 3.7k

Enjoy!

As you sat in class, your mind struggled to focus on the lesson at hand. Despite your best efforts, the minutes dragged on, and it seemed like time had come to a standstill. But just when you thought you couldn't take it any longer, the bell finally rang. You gathered your belongings, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid the gaze of your personal executioner.

As you stepped out of the classroom, you were suddenly enveloped into someone's embrace. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was - the familiar scent and uncomfortable pressure of their arms were unmistakable. "Not now, Nahoya," you protested, attempting to squirm your way out of his grasp .

Disgrauding your protest, he tightens his hold, pulling you closer into him until every breath is a struggle and you have to look up at him just to breathe. A wicked grin spreads across his face, as he maneuvers you forcefully towards the rooftop. Your attempts to resist prove fruitless, despite your desperate struggle. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes you both, and you find yourself on the ground, positioned between his legs, while he leans against the fence. As time passes, you endeavor to turn around and catch a glimpse of his face, only to have him thwart your efforts by wrapping his arms around your waist, and burying his chin in your shoulders.

"Come on, Nahoya I’m going to be late!” you urge loudly however he persists, nuzzling his chin deeper into the hollow of your shoulders. The pleas and appeals for understanding continue to fall on deaf ears, until, at last, he grows weary of your entreaties. Letting out a protracted sigh, he concedes, albeit in a sadistic tone that sends a shiver coursing down your spine. "Fine, fine, if you're so desperate to make it to class,give me a kiss," his words echo with an unsettling edge. Caught off guard by his proposition, you hesitate momentarily, but knowing how he was you knew this was your only way of getting out so summoning all your courage you turn around.

With your eyes locked, you reach out to hold his cheeks, gradually leaning closer, only to have him retreat at the last moment, denying your advance. Undeterred, you persistently make subsequent attempts, each ending in the same frustrating manner. Exasperated, you decide you've had enough, and turned back to gaze upon the solid expanse of the cemented rooftop floor. "Aw Snowflake I knew you wanted to spend some time with me " he remarks, in a playful yet theatrical tone. Determined to disregard his comment, you shift your focus to your phone, and text your friend in hopes to get their notes for the day.

Hearing you type causes Nahoya to resolutely rest his neck on your shoulders, drawing you in even closer. “Who are you texting Snowflake?” he says while his once playful tone takes a sharp turn, exuding an air of rudeness and dominance. Attempting to disregard his intrusive question, you find yourself at his mercy as he begins peppering your neck with delicate butterfly kisses. Your instincts compel you to squirm away, but his vice-like grip renders any movement futile, leaving you trapped in his embrace. The incessant teasing reaches its breaking point, and you assertively confront him, stating, "I'm texting my friend to ask if I can borrow his notes since you refuse to let me go."

Abruptly, Nahoya ceases the trail of kisses down your neck and swiftly rises to his feet, simultaneously tugging you up with him. Not uttering a single word, he forcefully presses you against the fence's edge on the rooftop. A sense of confusion lingers in your gaze, yet he perceives it as an invitation, seizing the chance to engage you in a passionate, consuming kiss. As you lean back against the fence, attempting to find stability, Nahoya remains unfazed, wholly consumed by the fervent clash of your tongues.

As your lungs start to sear, you surrender the power struggle. Nahoya detects the intensity of your grip, and after what feels like an eternity, he gradually releases himself. Helplessly, you witness the thread of saliva snap, and just like the thread you collapsed to your knees. Nahoya proceeds to depart, leaving you with a final remark. "Talking about another man while I’m right here is such a turn off, so let's give this another shot after school." And don’t try to run away cause I would rather not have to punish you.

He descends the stairs, his laughter resonating throughout, while you remain seated, lost in contemplation over the recent events. Nahoya had wreaked havoc on your high school existence, tarnishing your reputation through spreading rumors that kept potential relationships at bay. He even went as far as capturing images of himself on your phone, to falsely portray you as a stalker. Moreover, he coerced you into a forced kiss with a guy in the presence of his girlfriend, branding you as a pervert and subjecting you to relentless bullying. So why did a single kiss from him set your heart racing, and why did you find solace in his discomfort? Nothing seemed to align in this bewildering haze.

After regaining composure, you composed yourself and made your way to class. As you took your seat beside your best friend, you noticed your teacher shooting a skeptical glance in your direction. Unlike the rest, your friend saw past the rumors and odd perceptions, never deeming you strange. You made an effort not to burden him, knowing his genuine character, yet his expression betrayed his concern. To alleviate his worries, you hastily jotted down a message on a piece of paper and handed it to him. With a quick read, he responded with an affirming thumbs up. The note simply explained that your tardiness was due to a visit to the nurse's office.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of yet another class, you retreated, this time infused with a newfound fervor compared to earlier. The weight of impending consequences loomed over you, threatening harm to either yourself or someone dear if you dared to be late for your rendezvous with Nahoya. With a hurried motion, you hastily stowed away your last pencil, neglecting to bid farewell to your friend or fully zip up your backpack. Without delay, you bolted out of the classroom, driven by an urgent sense of purpose.

Returning to the rooftop before Nahoya arrived, you gently placed your book bag on the ground, allowing your gaze to descend upon the sprawling campus below. Surprisingly, from this elevated vantage point, the view revealed a captivating beauty that had eluded your perception from ground level. It struck you as paradoxical that a place which inflicted such profound anguish could possess such resplendence in the afternoon light. Regrettably, this allure only served to deepen the painful scars etched within you.

After a brief interval, Nahoya materializes, prompting you to turn your gaze towards him. Yet, his countenance lacks the usual exuberant smile that earned him his moniker. Evidently, he must have detected your suspicion, as he proceeds to explain, "Mikey insists we attend a party to celebrate his sister, and it's crucial that we bring along a companion of the opposite gender to maintain a balanced guest list as we’re Emma's exact words." As he finishes his statement, his anger becomes even more apparent. Drawing nearer, he enfolds you in a tight embrace, before confiding, "Every girl I contemplated inviting was either doused in a cheap ass perfume or concealed beneath layers of fake personalities." In that moment, you discerned his true intention.

Firm and resolute, you assert, "No, Nahoya, I’m not going " emphasizing your words with an air of authority. However, when he retorts, "Well, Snowflake, it would be a shame if something were to happen to your dear friend," a wave of fear and anger overtakes your countenance. Aware of Nahoya 's propensity to act upon his threats, you choose to remain silent, releasing a sigh of resignation before reluctantly conceding, "Fine, I'll go." In that moment, Nahoya finally relinquished his grip on you, planting a hasty kiss on your cheek. "Good. I'll meet you there at 6," he remarks before abruptly dashing off.

After casting one final glance at the enchanting vistas of the campuses, you swiftly made your way back home. With a sense of purpose, you stepped into the refreshing cascade of the shower, commencing your preparations for the evening. At first, uncertainty plagued your choice of attire, until a recollection stirred within you — the prom dress you had purchased but never had the courage to wear, apprehensive of the potential consequences. Determinedly, you locate the dress and carefully slip into its elegant embrace. Adorned with a pair of exquisite earrings and a delicate mist of perfume, you step out the door, embarking on your journey towards the address Nahoya had communicated while you were amidst the shower's rejuvenating waters.

Beneath the seemingly ordinary facade of a vacation setting lay a realm of sheer magnificence awaiting your entry. Stepping inside, you were instantly immersed in its resplendence. The air pulsated with energetic music, and the surroundings teemed with a vibrant tapestry of people engaged in various pursuits—some lost in passionate embraces in secluded corners, while others reveled in the liberating consumption of drinks. In this moment, everything seemed to align, and you found yourself truly enjoying the experience. No judgment or mistreatment weighed upon you; you were free to embrace your authentic self, basking in the brilliance of your existence.

Yet, the euphoria was abruptly shattered when an unfortunate misstep caused you to stumble, resulting in a twisted ankle. Gradually, the pain escalated, prompting you to seek respite in a place of solace. Thankfully, an unoccupied couch beckoned invitingly, conveniently positioned outdoors by the pool. As you reached the couch, you gingerly removed your heels, settling onto its comfortable cushions. Tenderly, you began massaging your ankle, seeking to alleviate the throbbing ache that had encroached upon your otherwise joyous affair.

After a few fleeting moments, you yielded to the impulse of closing your eyes, granting your mind the freedom to wander. Yet, your tranquil reverie was abruptly interrupted by a soft voice interjecting, "May I join you?" Startled, you opened your eyes to find a tall boy with a distinctive hairstyle, his hair twisted into two braided strands of contrasting blonde and black. Respectfully, you removed your feet from the couch, gesturing with your hands for him to take a seat. Obliging, he settled down beside you, and a conversation ensued. "It seems you were seeking some respite in the open air as well," you acknowledged with a nod, seeking to establish a shared connection with your newfound acquaintance.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, a sense of camaraderie blossomed between you and your intriguing new companion. Ran, as you discovered, hailed from a different gang, but had secured an invitation due to his brother's friendships within this circle. Expressing his aversion to the revelry and libations that pervaded the gathering, Ran confided that he sought solace in the fresh air, a sentiment you wholeheartedly shared. Engrossed in conversation, you and Ran continued to converse, gradually drawing closer until your shoulders nearly brushed against each other. This uncharted territory evoked a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty within you, for this was your first genuine connection with someone beyond the confines of your existing friendship.

Just then Ran's hand ventured onto your thigh, an instinctual reaction propelled you to gently place your hand atop his, a subtle gesture intended to halt any further advances. However, instead of acknowledging your boundaries, Ran's tone shifted, his voice acquiring an edge as he urged, "Come on, Doll. You're an enchanting girl, and I wouldn’t mind sharing something more precious with you." His words dripped with a demanding intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Attempting to extricate yourself from the uncomfortable situation, you mustered the courage to rise, only to be forcefully pulled back down by Ran, intensifying your fear and confusion.

Just when it seemed like things were spiraling towards an even darker path, a sudden appearance disrupted the unfolding turmoil. Nahoya materialized before you, but his countenance betrayed a sinister transformation. A grin adorned his face, but it was not the customary playful smile you had grown accustomed to; instead, it bore the malicious smirk he wore every time he succeeded in orchestrating the ruin of a significant aspect of your life. In this unexpected moment, despite the fear gripping you, an inexplicable desire for Nahoya 's intervention surged within you, magnifying the complexity of your emotions.

In that harrowing moment, a devastating realization struck you with unrelenting force—this was all part of Nahoya 's twisted machinations. Tears welled up in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as Smiley ominously drew closer. The weight of his presence, coupled with the weight of years of torment, caused you to crumble completely. His hand upon you unleashed a torrent of pent-up rage, an outpouring of emotions that surged forth with raw intensity. "Don't you dare lay a finger on me, you sick, despicable bastard! What have I ever done to deserve this treatment? You've shattered my life, you’ve destroyed me!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and anguish. Without a moment's hesitation, you fled, racing upstairs and seeking refuge within an empty room.

In that secluded space, devoid of solace or answers, you found yourself sprawled upon the floor, fixated upon the expanse of the ceiling above. It became your silent confidant, a witness to the turmoil consuming your soul. In that vulnerable state, your only recourse was to lay there, hoping that somehow, someway, the mere act of staring at the ceiling would grant respite from the anguish that enveloped you.

As footsteps echo outside the bedroom, you gather your wits, scanning the room to identify the approaching presence. It comes as no surprise when Nahoya appears at the doorway. "What do you want now?" you ask, your voice tinged with despair and desperation. He remains silent, advancing towards you on the floor. In response, you rise from the floor and take a seat on the bed’s edge.

So he joins you, bringing you side by side with the man who has inflicted immeasurable torment upon you. Honesty compels you to admit that the urge to strangle him is overwhelming, yet you valiantly suppress that dark inclination within you.

A tranquil silence enveloped the room, only to be disrupted when Nahoya swiftly seized your waist, pulling you into his lap. You attempt to utter a question, but it is swiftly silenced as Nahoya engulfs you in a passionate, fervent kiss. Struggling against his advances, you vigorously pound your hands against his chest, but he quells your resistance by firmly grasping both of your hands with one of his own. Eventually, he releases his grip, leaving you bewildered, and it is in this moment of perplexity that he utters something utterly unforeseen, catching you off guard.

"I love you," he murmurs gently into your ear, and a surge of emotions floods your being, as if a cherished part of your soul had been brutally torn apart, as if a searing flame had been mercilessly pressed against an open wound. With tear-filled eyes, you lock your gaze upon him, the weight of his words sinking deep within you, intermingling with the memories of his countless transgressions.

"Hahaha, love? Are you mocking me? If inflicting pain upon me is your twisted way of expressing love, then you are even more deranged than I had believed," you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of anguish and frustration. Your tears continue to flow unabated as you vividly recollect the litany of wrongs committed by this man. In that poignant moment, Nahoya abruptly seizes your cheek, his touch both possessive and venomous. "Any man who claims to love you is only seeking to possess your body, and we both know the bitter truth," he hisses, his words laced with a poisonous disdain.

His words struck a painful chord, resonating with a bitter truth. It was an undeniable fact that love had become an elusive concept, forever out of reach for someone like you. He had meticulously orchestrated a web of manipulation, ensuring that you would never experience genuine affection from another. He craved total possession, sparing no one in his relentless pursuit, driving you to a point of no return—a place where he alone held sway over your existence.

Yes, he had succeeded in molding you into his puppet, a mere object to satisfy his whims. However, the scars he had inflicted upon you, both visible and invisible, were etched deep within your being. And now, driven by a seething resolve, you were prepared to exact your revenge, even if it meant sacrificing everything, selling your very soul. Nothing held meaning anymore; your sole purpose had become witnessing his descent into the abyss of moral decay, just as you had.

Driven by your fervent objective, you seized his collar, forcefully pulling him closer until your lips collided in an all-consuming kiss. In that intense moment, a battle for control ensued, as tongues danced and mingled, each vying for supremacy within the confines of your mouths. Gasping for breath, you reluctantly disengaged, allowing the oxygen to replenish your lungs before willingly succumbing to the gravitational pull of one another. The fiery embrace recommenced, an unabated display of ardor, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your veins, awakening a primal desire that stirred between your quivering thighs.

With a swift yet deliberate motion, he gently guides you to recline upon the bed, the weight of his presence enveloping you. As his hands deftly weave through your tresses, your fingers instinctively entwine in his hair, hovering tantalizingly above your supine form. With each deliberate caress, his skillful touch sends electric waves of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the growing dampness that permeates your undergarments. "Are you sure ready to give in yet, Snowflake?" he queries, his voice a seductive blend of allure and sophistication, teasingly testing your desires. With a deep inhalation, you nod in affirmation, your breath hitching in anticipation, yearning to experience the euphoric ecstasy only he can bestow.

As he swiftly removed your pants and your adorable ribboned panties, his grin widened. While his fingers creep up your thigh and send shivers up your spine. A trembling moan of surprise escapes your lips as his hand slaps down against your pussy.As he ran his finger along your pouty lips, you melted in his hands. You moaningl arched your back and sank further into the mattress as he drew tight circles on your clit.

He grabbed his cock that was dripping with percum and lined it up at your sopping entrance, slapping his flushed pink tip against it a few times.

I’m He slowly eased his way inside, trying to giving you a chance to get used to his height and bulk. You whimper as you cling to the bed sheets. Just then he slammed himself into your sweet spot , saying, "Your so tight for me , f..fuck." He then dragged his cock back out, leaving only his flushed tip inside.

“M…Naho, too deep…sh~

You began to feel strange and whimpered. He speeds up to a more rough pace. He continued to stuff his thick cock into your cute little cunt. Digging his nail deeper into your love handles every time he slams his cock balls deep into you.

“ M’ mm if I knew y-youu were this goodd I would havvve done thhis years ago f-”

He thrusted hard into you causing you to see stars . It was as if your entire focus was on seducing him into cumming deep inside of you. At that precise moment, he grabbed you by the waist and impaled you on his plump cock, causing his balls to slap against your ass. 10x

He waited for your cunt to begin twitching and spasming around him. Your screams drowned out all other sounds in the room. You’re about to cum for me” Will then you dirty slut go head and cum all over my thick cock? Milk me dry” bet you can’t wait to have my fat load inside.” In a condescending tone, he leaned in and whispered in your ear.

In silence, you allowed him to continue pounding your weeping cunt, groaning into your ear, and biting at your neck. “I want you to cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are, so "cum for me Snowflake"

After a couple more hard thrusts, you finally unraveled on him, your cunt squeezing so tightly that he started to see stars. Your cum causes a creamy white ring to form on the base of Nahoya cock.

“Fuckkk… I need to be stuffed with my cum. Until it looks like I've used up every last bit of you, but that's fine, because you want me to fuck a cute little baby into you, right?” You nodded absentmindedly as your eyes rolled to the back of your head in response to his meow in your ear. He slammed you against his cock several more times before releasing a stream of warm cum into your uterus. A single step forward felt like it would bring you completely undone.

He held his position so that when he did eventually pull out, as little of his cum as possible would be wasted. You lay there, gasping for air as he gave you gentle thrusts to further embed his cum in your body.

Once he pulled out he got up from the bed and went over to the dresser and pulled out a butt plug. Getting back in bed he opens your legs and places it right inside making sure that not a single drop of his cum was wasted. And with that you pulls you into his embrace and says “ I love you Snowflake, and I can’t wait for a future” you in response braying your chin into his shoulder and whisper mound enough to wear you can only hear it.

“Yep I also can’t wait for are hellish future together”

#smut #fiction #anime smut #writing #tokyo rev smut #tr smut #nahoya smut #tokyo revengers #anime #fanfic #anime fanfic #bully smut #toxic smut #tokyo manji gang #tokyo rev x reader

[sanrio-gotham]

Red Hood after screaming"I LIKE MEN" on the rooft top at 6pm at top of his lungs

(∗´ര ᎑ ര`∗)

#gothamites #only in gotham #onlyingotham #₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ #SanrioGotham

[theflytrap]

Rooft top bars in Nyc. 10.15.2022

#rooftop bars #nyc skyline #nyc nights #new york

[thefreakymunson]

hey!! i was wondering if you could write an eddie munsunxreader where they have the type of friendship where he’s super touchy/sweet and they both have a thing for each other? I was thinking maybe the reader saw eddie flirting with someone else, got jealous, and has been avoiding him because of it? maybe he shows up to her room and it gets a little smutty? idk, dealer’s choice!

"Boo!" Eddie shouted, grabbing your hips as he walked up behind you. A slight squeal left your lips at the intrusion as you carefully reapplied your lipstick in the little compact mirror you carried.

"Jesus, Eddie!" You shouted.

"Yeah, it's me. Don't cream yourself, princess." Eddie smirked, "What are you doing?"

"Fixing my lipstick," you said, huffing as you seen the red smudge left by his playful attack, "Or I was trying to fix my lipstick. You smudged it."

His brown eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked over at you, "Oh...if I had smudged it, it would look a lot messier than that."

A slight blush reddened your cheeks as he winked at you. If he only knew the thoughts you've had about him doing just that.

"Sounds like a fun time, Munson." You laughed.

"It would be if you ever gave me the time of day," he nodded, "Maybe one day you'll see me as more than just your freakishly good looking friend."

"Oh, shut up." You laughed.

"You coming to hellfire tonight?" He asked, leaning beside of you. He was so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. The scent of his cologne and cigarettes filled the air around you. You found your heart beginning to race a bit faster.

"I planned on it." You nodded, "Am I allowed?"

"You're goddamned right you are." Eddie smirked, "You only have to ask me permission for anything when I've got you striped naked finally."

"Such a tease," you tsk'd at him.

"Do you need a ride home?" He looked down at your reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah. I do, actually." You nodded, closing the compact as you turned to look up at him, "Mind giving me a lift?"

"I don't, actually." He mocked you, making you laugh, "I'll be back with the van in a minute. Stay right here."

You done as he said and stayed in your spot as he walked off towards the parking lot. Next thing you knew, nearly fifteen minutes had passed and Eddie hadn't shown up with the van. You sighed and decided to walk to where you knew he normally parked.

On the way there, the Dio patch he wore on the back of his vest caught your eye. He was standing next to another girls car, propped up with one hand. Heather Dixon. You knew her - everyone knew her. The conversation looked intimate and when the girl playfully pushed at his shoulder, you felt your heart drop. She was flirting with him and he was eating it up. Of course he would. The girl was gorgeous.

You decided you weren't going to wait on him any longer, especially not if he was going to be flirting with other girls while he kept you waiting on the corner like some fucking dumb bimbo.

Angry tears fell down your face as you walked the few blocks distance back to your home. You shed your bookbag and shoes at the door before you ran upstairs to your bedroom and slammed the door shut behind you, collapsing into your bed with a angry grunt.

What more did you have to do in order for him to get the hint? How did he not see that you lit up whenever he was around? All the flirting you done with him seemed to be missing the point. He couldn't have been that oblivious, could he?

It was a few hours later and you were laying in bed, mindlessly flipping through the few channels your TV got when you heard a slight tap on the window.

You looked over to see Eddie perched up on the small bit of roofting that hung under your window. If he got you in trouble with your parents...

You sighed and pushed the blankets off your body, walking over to the window. He didn't he ask permission as he stepped into your room. There was a perplexed look on his face as he stared down at you.

"You're not dressed?"

"Dressed? For what?" You shrugged nonchalantly even though you know exactly what he was talking about.

"Uh...for hellfire?" He squinted his eyes, watching as you walked over to the bed and sat back down, "Where did you go earlier?"

"I got tired of waiting on you so I walked home," you shrugged, picking the remote up and leaning back against your headboard, "Figured Heather was more interesting than me anyway, so...why wait around just to watch you flirt with another girl?"

"Huh?" He shook his head slightly, "What are you talking about?"

"I seen you and Heather Dixon talking when you were supposedly going to get your van. She was flirting with you and you ate it up...just like you do every other girl who flirts with you." You said as he sat down beside of you, "Every girl except for me."

His brow furrowed, "You don't flirt with me, Y/N."

You scoffed and shook your head, angry tears filling your face as he took the remote from your hands. He was completely blind to your feelings.

"I don't flirt with you?" You shook your head, "What the hell, Eddie?"

You bowed your head, hot tears streaming down your cheeks now. You didn't know why it bothered you so much. Maybe you liked him even more than you realized. Maybe it had moved past just a "crush" phase...maybe it was genuine feelings now.

"Why are you crying?" Eddie frowned. He wanted to reach out and touch you or hug you but he knew you were angry with him. It hurt him to know that he hurt you.

"I don't know," you said softly, wiping your face as you looked up at him quickly and then back down to your hands. Those big brown eyes of his were too hard to look at, "Just hurts that you're not into me, I guess."

"What?" He scoffed, irritation evident in his voice now, "Who said that?"

Even more tears fell as he slightly raised his voice. You were always the worst when it came to discussing your feelings to others.

The two of you were quiet for a few minutes as you sat there, silently crying and hating yourself for it. You hated showing vulnerability. This wasn't how you pictured your evening going by far.

"Please stop crying," Eddie said, playfully bumping his shoulder against yours, "I don't like seeing you upset. I miss that pretty smile of yours, Y/N."

And even though you were mad at him, or maybe just mad at yourself, you leaned your head down on his shoulder as he hooked your arm over his.

"For what it's worth," Eddie said, "I am into you...I think we both just have realized we're both not very good at expressing our feelings. I think you're one the coolest girls I know. And you're fuckin' beautiful...and I'm a little shocked that you're this upset over me talking with Heather Dixon about weed, but...you know...I get it, I think. I'm sure it did look weird from your prespective."

"It didn't look like a drug deal," you said, looking up at his face, your cheek smushed against his shoulder.

"It was, though. I swear to you." Eddie gently ran a finger down the length of your jaw and cupped your chin in his hand, "Heather Dixon isn't my type."

"She's everybodies type, liar." You snorted.

"Not mine." He shrugged.

"Then what is?" You asked, your eyes locking onto his, noticing just how close your face was to his.

Soft full pink lips pressed against yours, his hand flattening against the side of your face as he gently pulled you against him. It was soft and sweet. A slow and gentle dance of mouths as his free hand moved to rest on your lower back.

"You are," he mumbled between kisses, "Y/N...you are."

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Stranger things #Stranger things fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfic #thefreakymunson #Fluff

[ostdrossel]

It was cold this morning, with frost on the rooft and lawns but there was a lovely bit of sunshine for a little while. While I was still in bed, I checked the camera apps on my phone to see if anything exciting had happened during the night or morning, and I saw that the BBs had come over. The video is a little pixelly but it was early, we are still living in this gloomiest of Januaries and there was quite some commotion too. I have not seen the Bluebirds as much as in previous winters, so this was extra nice. I am glad they come to check on “their” box briefly on the regular, this will give them an advantage in the spring. 💙

#birds #eastern bluebird #blluebirds #eabl #bluelove #nestbox #nestbox cam #birds of michigan #birds of north america #birdwatching #birdlovers #nature #Ostdrossel #I am ready for gloomy January to be over

[horrorjunki3]

Chop-Top thoughts and headcannons

This man's so pretty he makes my brain go brrrrr

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death (nubbins), non-sexual nudity, I can't spell lmao

He used to have long hair before the war -> went along with his hippie vibe and cried when he had to shave it!

If Nubbins really likes you he will let you buy a photo of chop before the war -> if Chop sees this photo he may get insecure at first just reassure him that you love him and he will be fine. He does however decide to get Nubbins to take a photo of you two together so he can carry it around with him

Music is this man's life he adores every aspect of it he will make you playlists, mix-tapes, writs you songs, show you songs and more to describe how much he love you. -> I can see him sitting on his bed showing you a mix-tape he made for you " I'm uh j-just r-r-really bad with w-words p-pretty thing made y-ya this." It contains song from other artists and a few songs from his band.

He'd drag you to any cornbugs gigs -> they're usually in bars or lowkey gigs -> despite what you think he actually has a pretty good turn out to these things -> He'd totally call you his little groupie

He'd steal you stuff that you like

Choptops room is small and square with only a double bed and a vanity that holds chops record player and two stacks of records that are about to fall. His walls are covered rooft to floor in tapestries, band posters and fairylights. There's also several crafted bone jewerally and decorations hanging about -> You ask how he got all these things and he smiles and tells ya some terrifying and amazing stories.

His favourite colour has to be purple -> He when you wear anything purple or similar to his style

Chop and Nubbins are extermly close so you'll spend a lot of time with the chaotic duo -> Nubbins will see you as an extension to his brother -> if you care about cannon he'd probably be a mess after Nubbins died and could need an attentive and kind partner to help him

I feel like after Nubbins death Chop would hang out in his room

His the nicest to Bubba out of his brothers so if it's not Nubbins it's Bubba -> your His fave! Tho pretty thing don't worry!

Chop top either sleeps completely naked or on a big shirt he stole from one of the victims. His a vary chaotic person so many assume he'd be a chaotic sleeper but I personally think he'd be out like a light when he does sleep -> most likely a night owl and doesn't sleep much during the night

He gives you 'crow gifts' like rocks, pretty glass and other cool small things he finds

He definitely says hello through holding up a peace sign

He will randomly bite you to show you love -> His kinda like a feral cat ♡

#slasher simp #chop top sawyer #nubbins sawyer #robert sawyer #slasher x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #chop top x reader #chop top x you

[wonyoungismn1glowup]

UM I JUST FOUND YOUR BLOG AND IM ABSOLUTELY MELTING????

IS THIS POSSIBLE?

ILY FR, IMMA RUN TO THE ROOFT-(alright enough I'm dramatic 🧍)

BUT IDC JUST WANTED TO DROP BY AND SAY I LITERALLY LOVE YOUR BLOG, YOUR AESTHETIC, YOU- IDK ANYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH U 🧍💗💗💗💗

ᴏᴍɢɢɢ ʏᴀʟʟʟ ᴛᴏ ɴɪᴄᴇᴇᴇᴇ <3333333 ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇꜱᴛ ʙʟᴏɢɢꜱ ꜱᴏ ɪᴛꜱ ʀʟʟʏ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴀʟʟ <33333 ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴍɢɢ ᴜʀ ʙʟᴏɢ ᴛᴏᴏ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɪᴛꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴀᴇꜱᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴏᴍꜰɢ<3333 ʏᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏᴏ ɴɪᴄᴇ

(づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

اوميقد هذي اول مره اشوف حد عربي عند tumblr ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 💕💕💕

#quotes #wonyoungism #becoming that girl #black swan #cottagecore #it girl #clean girl #glow up #idgaf #mindset

[ask-ricardo-of-the-middle]

now you mention it yeah, what makes worse is that moment ago one of those 2 guys tried to replicate a scene from a game that i played during one of my lunch break, i think it was about some school girls or smth and *grabs his own pair of binoculars and looks at the rooft* oh great, as long i don't have to deal with it... at least is not as bad as what they told me about... *shudders* *grabs his PDA and opens the money transfer app* here ya go glitter delivery clerk, is not like im going to be the one to clean it when it happens anyways -W corp clerk anon

//we do not talk about Love Town

//Yes I have been so afraid

Huh… what game was it ?

#limbus company #ricardo lcb

[eliteroofservicesnarrewarren]

Roof cleaning Cranbourne-Roof Services Narre Warren

Give your home a fresh lease on life with professional roof cleaning services from Elite Roof Service in Cranbourne. Our skilled team specializes in removing unsightly moss, algae, and grime, revitalizing your roof's appearance and extending its lifespan.

#roof cleaning #roof restoration #roofting

[roofdocotrs]

#roof restoration Aberfoyle Park #roof repairs Aberfoyle Park #roofting Aberfoyle Park #roofing contractors Aberfoyle Park

[ddagent]

CAKE, Delenn is really excited about a human ritual that's dependent on candles?

CAKE: Scientist John and his alien roommate Delenn It’s my Birthday! Prompt me things.

The phone rang just after three. Delenn, mesmerised by Jane Fonda on the television set, reluctantly picked up the cordless. “Hello?”

“Delenn, it’s me. Code 7R. We’ll be there around five. Everything set?”

Delenn nodded absentmindedly, still not used to such primitive forms of communication. “All set. I shall see you all shortly. Goodbye, Susan.”

The phone went dead. She was used to Susan’s abrupt ends to conversations ever since John had introduced them one month earlier. Delenn immediately placed it back in the cradle and began the final preparations for the others to arrive at her and John’s apartment. It was John’s birthday today, a concept that he had tried to explain to her over breakfast a few weeks before. Presents, cards, candles. Delenn had fixated on there being a Human ritual that finally had candles. On my birthday, my folks are taking me out to dinner. It’ll be early; I should be home around eight. Then we can celebrate together. They had celebrated briefly that morning, Delenn offering John a traditional Minbari gift on the day of one’s birth: a new item of clothing signalling renewal (a replacement sleep shirt), an offering to be placed at temple (an orange for the fruit bowl), and a task done to make one’s life easier.

Delenn and Susan had agreed that it was finally time for others to know about her.

Continue Reading Below or Read at AO3

As the hand moved around the antique grandfather clock, Delenn waited impatiently in the living space of the apartment. She then heard footsteps on the stairwell outside the apartment: four sets. Three raps on the door. Susan. “Delenn, it’s me. We’re coming in, okay?”

The front door eased open. Delenn stood, blinking against the sudden onslaught of daylight. Susan, Delenn’s friend, entered first. Then three men she knew only from the pictures John had shown her from the Observatory Christmas party. They stared, gormlessly, at Delenn until Susan slammed the door shut and clapped in front of their faces.

“Hey, idiots, we’re meant to be putting together John’s surprise party not gawking at Delenn. Michael, you’re getting the food ready. Stephen, you’re in charge of finding some decent music to play. Marcus, you’re decorating the roof. Delenn will answer one question from each of you but that is all. Got it?”

Three heads nodded. Michael was the first to raise his hand. “Have you seen Duck Dodgers?”

Delenn nodded, smiling widely. “John had to explain it to me several times but yes, I have seen it.”

Michael grinned. “Good. Want to help me in the kitchen?”

Before Delenn could respond, Susan quickly barked orders at the group and, together, they began putting together John’s surprise birthday party. Delenn worked for a while with Michael, the security guard at the Babylon Observatory. He dismayed at the contents of John’s cooling unit before filling the temperamental warming system with so-called ‘finger food’. Stephen stole her attention next; he was a doctor at the local hospital who had helped patch John and Michael up after the second Bester situation. He had lots of questions about her anatomy. In-between questions they played John’s vinyl, listening to Journey and Fleetwood Mac, before Susan asked for help stringing fairy lights up on the roof. Marcus, a science fiction writer with a blatant attraction to Susan was, in her own words, driving her to the brink of madness.

As night fell, Delenn stared at her new friends with a smile of sheer contentment. Yet, there was a piece of her new life missing.

“Shush – he’s coming!”

As John climbed up the fire escape, Susan plunged the rooftop into darkness. Delenn had left a note explaining to meet her on the roof – a private celebration after his family dinner. So, as he peered into the shadows, expecting her presence, Susan switched on the lights and illuminated the rooftop and all his friends. They all yelled surprise; Delenn doing her best to join in the chorus. John’s eyes fell upon her – no hat, no beanie, no scarf – and then Susan, Michael, Stephen and Marcus. He immediately turned to Susan, eyes ablaze, who responded with an eye-roll of her own.

“Bester keeps sniffing around; we need all the help we can get to keep Delenn under wraps. It’s okay.” The unspoken she’s okay lingered in the air.

Eventually, after John and Susan had an unspoken argument over being too protective, Michael slung an arm around John’s shoulders and dragged him into the party. “C’mon, Birthday Boy, let’s have some cake!”

As Stephen and Marcus prepared the three-layer orange cake that Michael had baked the day before, Susan started teasing John about how many candles she was going to put on. John, however, did not rise to her teasing. Instead, he was immediately drawn to her side, openly marvelling at the low-cut burgundy dress she had chosen for the occasion. John took both hands in his, staring delightedly at the way the velvet clung to her form, before his eyes reluctantly settled on hers.

“You look…gorgeous.” He swallowed. “You okay? They haven’t asked you too many questions, have they?”

Delenn shook her head. “Not at all. I admire the inquisitive nature of Humans. Although, you are still my favourite.”

“Good.” John drew Delenn into his side, wrapping an arm almost possessively around her waist. Delenn did not disapprove of such action; in fact, her hand lingered on the open collar of his shirt, toying with one of the buttons. He stared down at her and smiled. “Help me make a wish?”

Delenn wrinkled her nose. “A wish?”

“Yeah, a birthday wish.” John pointed to the approaching birthday cake, lit with a multitude of brightly coloured candles flickering against the tapestry of night. Their friends sang loudly, joyfully. “You make a wish and then you blow out the candles.”

“Curious. In our rituals, the extinguishing of a candle signals the end of something. Not a beginning.”

“Sometimes it can be both.” The cake was placed in front of them. “Delenn’s gonna help me blow them out. On three. One, two—”

They blew out the candles, accompanied by vigorous applause from their friends. John then swiped his finger through the orange icing – and was rewarded by a soft punch to his upper arm from Susan. Marcus began singing off-key to Fleetwood Mac and Stephen threatened him with a cheese and pineapple cocktail stick. Delenn merely watched and recited her wish over and over like a prayer. I wish to never go home.

#john x delenn #dd: fanfic #prompts #ship: john x delenn

[kimmiessimmies]

In case you've missed my stories and want a quick catch up: here's the summary of 06!

From now on, I will implement another slight change. Up until now I created a story for each Simmonth. And that worked when gameplay was my main objective. But now that it's mostly about storytelling, having to create a story for each month actually constrains me and slows me down. So, while the months will still "exist" and I will continue to refer to them within the stories, the stories itself will be season-based instead of month-based. Sometimes there will be seasons with only one story, sometimes there will be seasons with several stories. This gives me a bit more creative freedom to tell the stories I want to tell. 😊

#ts3 #the sims 3 #kimmiessimmies #honeycomb valley #sims 3 #Summary 06

[rainbowcarousels]

resuscitation

This was my first time attempting Nicki in a decade, but this walked into my head at 3am yesterday and has pestered me all day. Also on ao3!

Preview:

“That’s the problem with spending your whole life as a boy on string,” There was a voice now, a familiar one for the theatre that made him wonder if perhaps he was slipping closer to hell. “Once you are no longer a satisfactory marionette, those strings become the hangman’s noose.”

Why couldn’t he have spent his final hours of mortal consciousness and delirium with his vision of his mother? No, that had been snatched from him, his comfort revoked for the sake of the ghost of a viper-tongued violinist.

What if an old er, 'friend' had found Armand after he was burnt by the sun?

Caught in the fury of living death, Armand found himself haunting his memories of the theatre. 

It had been his time caught between a terror of the then modern age and trying to access scraps of the mortal boy, weeping and frightened and locked away deep inside his mind, so much further than he ever had been in the catacombs. Not a terrible surprise to find his mind lingering here, caught in the horrifying purgatory between life and death but given neither the reprieve of death nor granted eternal life in salvation nor suffering, the mirror was undeniable. Caught like a fly in the web of His own design, Armand had prayed for release, for damnation, for something to change and give it all meaning. 

All he could do was wait quietly for divine judgement, one way or another, and so, he dreamt of the velvet, the powdered wigs, the grotesque marionettes: he had been just as lost then, grasping for something to desire, something to build himself on without the foundations of a coven master he was trying to leave buried in the fires and all too convinced that mortal child was dead and gone. 

Then he had wanted passion, something that would make him walk the streets as if his footfalls were to make a noise, as if he were more than a shadow only ever truly existing by others' reflecting light. No, not a shadow, for a shadow can move and dance and undeniably exist. He had been devoid of matter, hollowed out where Lestat had snatched the world as he knew it away from him - the creed he had lived by and clung to for his very survival smashed to smithereens. Forced once again to rebuild, for what could he do but go on? 

There was no salvation or damnation. 

At least, not then.

For a brief moment in the church, Armand had believed he had been wrong and in unison, the boy from the caves, the dying apprentice, the old coven master and whatever he could claim to be now wept at the idea he would be allowed to be a fool for God, yes, to find his shaken faith restored and throw himself at His mercy. 

Yet he was still here.

“That’s the problem with spending your whole life as a boy on string,” There was a voice now, a familiar one for the theatre that made him wonder if perhaps he was slipping closer to hell. “Once you are no longer a satisfactory marionette, those strings become the hangman’s noose.”

Why couldn’t he have spent his final hours of mortal consciousness and delirium with his vision of his mother? No, that had been snatched from him, his comfort revoked for the sake of the ghost of a viper-tongued violinist. 

“I don’t breathe,” Armand responded. “What could a hangman’s noose do for someone such as me?”

“What could anything do to a creature such as you?” Even as his mind was shutting down, the quality of his illusion was infinitely detailed. This wasn’t a spectre of the eighteenth century but a modern incarnation, piercings and darkened eyes, darkened lips and silver chains standing stark on the black velvet of his clothing. A modern gothic romantic with loose hair and a looser mind.  “Did you know that they’re weeping down there for you? Your company of immortal fools? The little idiot fledglings throwing themselves to the sun for their damned dark saint who ascended to the heavens only to end up caught on a rooftop?”

“You threw yourself to the fire,” Armand wasn’t sure if the words came out of his mouth or if he’d dropped it into his mind. Could mirages have minds? 

“And now I’m freezing my ass off on a rooftop with a blackened poppet,” Nicolas raised both his hands. “You’ve never looked prettier.”

There was something on his fingers, bejewelled with finery that contrasted the messy smush of pale and darkened makeup that looked as if he’d dipped his face in theatre grease and soot. 

One of those rings – “That’s mine.”

“This?” Nicolas put his fingers to his hand and twisted it; a taunt. “It’s mine now. If you want it back, come and take it.”

Was that not the point of this, to be cast down or pulled up? He was trying to get there!

“You really are an awful mess, aren’t you?” The way he said it was almost appreciative, as if there was something pretty about the destruction. “Two centuries later and you still can’t face it, can you? There’s nothing out there for you, little monster. There is no reprieve. There is no peace. God, if such a creature does exist, does not want you. If hell does exist, it doesn’t want you any more than it wants me. This is all there is.”

It was an awful truth, too awful for even his mind. “You’re not a delusion, are you?”

“If I tell you,” Nicolas replied. “Where is the fun in this for me?”

“This is fun for you?” Armand asked.

“Seeing you pinned like a butterfly against the glass, so utterly broken that you will not put an end to the ceaseless wailing of your newest little coven and tell them you live?” Nicolas’ smile was so sharp, so real. “Even my genius couldn’t have written such a delicious play to participate in.”

“Then leave me to it!” Armand demanded.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Nicolas had something in his hand, a matchbook and struck one up against the cold. For a long moment, he stared at the fire before he glanced back at Armand. “I wanted my release and you promised it to me. That clearly did not happen. Now it seems that Lestat in his usual fashion led you to what you thought would be yours and now, I get to ruin your attempt as you did mine.”

“I didn’t ruin it,” Armand said stubbornly. “You were gone. You were gone!”

“You almost sound like a real person when you shout like that,” Nicolas replied. “As if you were capable of feeling something. Do you feel things now, Armand? Is it possible you found yourself a fairy godmother and wished very, very hard and became a real boy again?”

This was his mind torturing him. It had to be. If he shut his eyes and opened them again, he would be gone and he could listen to the music again. There was pain suddenly, heat and the sound of cracking and – the ice was gone, but everything felt so painful without it’s pleasing numbness.

And Nicki was still there.

He had dropped the match.

“Why are you here?” Armand asked, finding he could move his leathered skin again. There was something in his mind’s eye, something Armand had seen too, something that had broken his heart – Lestat in his catatonic, the potential that the old ones might decide to end his life as only they could. “You want to see him.”

“I can’t stand the thought of it, truly.” Nicolas looked out across the rooftops. “Something finally dimmed that despicable light of his, forced him to see how merciless and cold everything really is and I should take my joy in it, shouldn’t I? I waited so long. I should enjoy it.”

“Is there joy to be had over the state of him?” Armand asked quietly. 

Nicolas’ look was as acidic as his words. “Not for you, you love him. You love him so much his state pains you more than your burns and it’s disgusting, sickening even. He’s not worth it, you know. He’ll only make you hopeful and when you remember how fucked up this world is, you’ll weep for death again, won’t you?”

“You love him,” Armand said bluntly. It was impossible not to, if you knew him as he did. 

“I despise his very existence,” Nicolas replied. “And I love him, as it is with all of us, isn’t it? We both love and hate those who bestow this gift, this curse, this – cage of eternity and freedom of time upon us.  So yes, I don’t want to see him but I must see him and would have done so tonight if I hadn’t heard you.”

“You heard me?” But he had been shielding his thoughts from everyone!

“You didn’t know I was here,” Nicolas replied. “I’ve been in your head enough to know what your insides sound like. It’s always so pleasant to spend time with you, Armand, because it’s wonderful to not be the most fucked up person in a crowd. So let’s get you someone to eat and you can sit there and weep for your manic pianist – she’s not bad, if lacking in original expression – or you can come and see if Lestat is so truly beyond all hope that they choose to destroy him.”

“They cannot destroy him.” The words were unbidden, but they were etched on his very soul. “I won’t allow it.”

Nicolas’ smile, “Oh, there you are. I thought you’d gone soft in your old age.”

Armand could do nothing but repeat himself, “They cannot be allowed to destroy him.” 

“To defy such ancient creatures is sure to end in agony, despair and perhaps even death for those who would attempt such a thing.” Nicki brightened immediately and offered his hand. “Sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.”

#flash fic #nicolas de lenfent #vampire armand #i need more interactions with these two #tw: suicide discussion (as per memnoch the devil) #armand/lestat #lestat/nicki

[dairy-farmer]

the recent failsafe arc in the batman comics has so much potential for brutim. (SPOILERS!) so failsafe's an android that bruce created, meant to take him down if he crossed the line, to be able to do that, bruce modeled failsafe after batman without all the compassion. skip to the end of the arc: their last resort is to program compassion into failsafe, but failsafe "kills" bruce. turns out failsafe's compassion manifests as fucking the grief out of tim like bruce did when tim's parents died.

😍😍😍😍😍😍 i LOVE LOVE LVOE LOVEEEEEEEEE scenarios where the only solution is to fuck tim. the idea of bruce's most pure and essential form of showing compassion was in something that happened years ago between him and tim is sooooo good. i love the idea that bruce fucked tim only once, the day of his father's funeral.

jack's funeral was small, very small. as in he and tim were the only attendees. bruce had taken charge of announcing as such, telling other capes and heroes who wanted to give their condolences and pay their respects that the ceremony was going to be small and that he'd appreciate it if they respected tim's wishes while he was in his grief. some of them had listened to the mass email he sent but others....the atom had been so regretful standing at the door to wayne manor. bruce had seen how deep the guilt had been carved into his eyes as he shifted from food to foot. ray and tim hadn't known each other well, the two of them operated in different circles which is what made ray's appearance at the door that much more...painful. ray blamed himself, everyone could see it. but no one, not even capes, can predict when someone will just...snap.

jean had always been a very intense woman and bruce had seen how badly the divorce had taken its toll on both ray and jean. it'd been...ugly to say the least.

ray had stuttered, his eyes cast down to the ground and highlighting the dark bags under his eyes. he'd stumbled with his words lacking all the assertiveness of his usual tone. bruce had watched ray shrink down to microscopic size in the palm of his hand but never had he looked smaller than in that moment.

tim was an orphan. he'd lost his father, the last of his family. his step mother was in the psyche ward of a hospital because she'd had a complete disconnect with reality and crashed the family car...while time had been inside.

tim was staying with bruce for a few days leading up to the funeral, bruce had been trying to figure out a way to broach the topic of tim staying with him while dana healed and...there was a possibility she wouldn't recover and if she did she may not be able to care for tim so....maybe the arrangement would be better made permanent.

ray had offered apologies, made a hesitant request to see tim before backtracking and biting down on his lip looking all the world like he was wondering what he was even doing there.

in the end ray just raspily asked if bruce could tell tim that he was so so so...sorry. for everything.

jack's death is not easy on tim.

bruce had needed to pull tim's trembling body away from the scene. he'd wrapped him in his cape and planted him on a nearby rooft before returning to collect all evidence that tim or robin had been present. he returned to tim's catatonic form that hadn't moved an inch just as the police siren were rounding the corner.

tim is incapable of making any decisions. he and dana were on their way to an appointment at the funeral home before the crash happened landing dana in the psyche ward and tim in the emergency room nursing a fractured wrist from blocking the airbag

tim can't make the decisions like what flowers to put on his father's grave. the casket. what clothing and accesories he'd be dressed in where he was going to be buried. what kind of service would be held, should a priest say a few meaningful words or would it be a quiet, open casket viewing affair. had jack drake even been religious enough to warrent it? someone needed to pay for security to prevent blood thirsty bottom of the barrel reporters from getting in. what was tim going to wear that day. how would they get there.

funerals were a lot of work and as bruce made calls and slowly made arrangements he couldn't imagine asking someone about the cost of a hearse to transport the body while feeling the gutted pulsing pain of loss in his chest. alfred had been the one to do the arrangements for his parents funeral. and the only reason bruce knows who to call when tim's father dies is because they'd been the same services he'd used when jason had...

bruce stares at tim's vacant eyes during breakfast and feels it tug at something in his chest. the sight of a small, hunched over figure looking like they were going to throw up in their neat, black suit.

it reminds bruce too fiercely of the day of his parent's funeral. how he'd been pinching his wrist the entire day to keep from letting the tears overflow. he hadn't eaten anything for days following his parents death.

tim was the same. leaving untouched food left outside his door.

bruce's mind does not stop making connections the whole day, seeing some overlap of himself in tim as he quietly listens to a priest recite soft words about jack drake as bruce braces a steadying hand on tim's trembling shoulder.

it was just them.

a small service is what bruce had said it would be and that's what it was.

alfred was staying with dick for a few days both of them understanding that tim was in a...delicate state.

bruce had promised them both he'd call them if he needed them.

as the service drags on bruce grips tim tighter, steadying him more as he feels him begin to crumple more and more.

bruce feels a decades-old echo of tim's pain ring in his chest.

the final bit of dirt settles over jack's grave and it's over. done with.

timothy jackson drake is now an orphan.

bruce isn't sure what compels him to hug tim tightly when they return to the manor. he tries to let tim feel every bit of compassion he can into the action. but he's not dick who can fix broken insides with a hug. he's also a man who isn't good with words. every time he speaks he makes things worse.

he can feel tim shaking, he can hear his restrained sobs, he can feel as tim's little hands scramble for purchase on his back, desperate to hold onto him- to hug him back.

bruce isn't sure anything could've healed the grief that had filled him the da of his parent's funeral. but he does his best.

somehow his best is him pinning tim down on the carpeted floor in front of the warm fireplace and swallowing his sobs as he saws his cock gently in and out of him. tim's cheeks are red, his eyes streaming tears as he hiccups and stares at bruce unblinkingly with every tilt of his hips.

tim's sobs are interspersed with soft, almost confused moans and breathy sounds.

bruce is being careful, gentle, only pressing in half his cock to get tim used to the size. he's not wearing a condom, letting tim feel the full extent of his warmth. if bruce were in the better and more rational state of mind he would be the next day he'd have realized how wrong he was to do that. but the bruce of the moment only feels gentle care in letting nothing be between him and tim. no barriers, no lies.

just pure devotion, comfort, and the promise that tim was okay and safe with bruce.

bruce has his elbows resting on either side of tim's head, his hands cupping tim's face and stroking back strand of his hair as he gently fucks his little hole open.

tim's legs are slack and on either side of bruce, spread wide and open and allowing bruce to fuck in a little deeper and punch out a gut-deep sigh out of tim.

neither of them cum for several minutes. bruce isn't going fast or hard enough to evoke on orgasm out of either of them. in the beginning, pressing his cock into tim was just a way for them to get...closer.

kissing tim hadn't been sincere enough. letting his tongue press into the warm, saliva sweetened mouth hadn't tim to fully understand that bruce was there for him.

bruce had stripped off their clothes for them, undoing his ties and the buttons of tim's dress shirt before peeling off the black slacks covering his slim legs. skin to skin had let tim shiver at the warm contact between them but he'd still been whimpering and letting out soft sobs, avoiding bruce's eyes.

it was only when bruce pressed him to the floor and met his eyes that tim had finally let the dam break and cried. heaving sobs that scraped his lungs so badly he'd started coughing. bruce had murmured soft words and comfort to tim, whispering and telling him it was okay to cry. to cry and cry until that horrible pain inside him was no longer killing him. to not do what bruce had done and hold it inside until the pain drowned him.

let it out tim. let it all out.

bruce had started fucking tim at some point. both their bodies had been bare and pressed together, rolling on the floor together until the head of bruce's cock popped into tim's little opening.

tim was small. a lot smaller than bruce. small enough that bruce knew he had to be careful as he fed more of his cock into tim's baby pussy.

it was a slow process. fucking tim took several minutes until he was wet and open enough to let bruce snap his hips forward.

he and tim didn't orgasm initially. neither of them feeling some intense arousal or desire until bruce started going faster and harder.

only when bruce is fucking tim hard enough to bruise with his balls slapping wetly against him does tim start letting out soft whines that aren't from grief.

the orgasm comes quick after that.

the two of them are breathless and frozen. just lying still and hearing each other's heartbeats slow down again.

then it's like a dam breaks.

tim's tears are just tried salty tracks on his cheeks as he flips them around and begins fiercely grinding against bruce until he's hard again. it's almost animalistic the way tim is so desperate for it. his movements are clumsy and inexperienced. he doesn't even fully ride bruce or bounce on his cock- he instead remains fully seated, the lips of his cunt split open and kissing bruce's bare pelvis, and grinds down, whipping his hips back and forth and clenching on bruce until both their mouthes fall open with short 'ah ah ah's'.

they don't stop for the rest of the day and well into the night.

in the morning they both collect their clothes and shower. then they do it again.

in tim's room. in bruce's room. on the stairs. in each of their bathrooms.

they never talk about it. neither of them ever brings it up or alludes to it.

they just bury it as something that happened between them in that weird weightless day after tim's dad's funeral.

they bury it six feet under like they did tim's father.

until failsafe.

because just because bruce never talked to tim or anyone about it doesn't mean it dind't roll around in his head some nights while he lay awake or when he programmed an android with his very essence.

when they program compassion into failsafe to save bruce's life they think it will do so by abiding to tim's own ironclad moral compass of the belief that everything deserved a chance to live and survive.

instead failsafe turns it's attention to tim.

and bruce watches as his most sincere and selfless act of compassion is once again directed at tim. who is near tears and dripping with distress and desperation to save his father. his batman.

#anonymous #asks #answered asks