#It wasn’t me it was the man in the chicken costume!

[greyjade00117]

I have done it.

The four personas of Grian.

[impala-dreamer]

The Way My Hand Looks On Your Face

A Short Story 

~It's not like Y/N doesn't find her husband incredibly sexy, but something about his new character is doing more for her than any other...~

Jensen x F!Reader; Soldier Boy x F!Reader

3,248 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Role Play, Rough Consensual Sex, Choking, Slapping, Overstimulation, Degradation, Breeding Kink, Dom!Jensen, SexyBastard!SoldierBoy

A/N: This was a commissioned story. I hope you love it!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Lightbulbs flashed over and over and Y/N wondered how he never got a headache from photo shoots.

She stood off to the side, her tiny frame hidden in the shadows behind the crew. Despite being married to the man, visiting sets like this wasn’t something she did often, and she relished every moment.

It was always fascinating to see just how much effort went into something simple like a photograph, how many hands it took to get Jensen looking as perfect as he always did.

Not that he wasn’t always handsome, always deliciously attractive, but when he was working, it was something else. Every hair was perfectly in place, his beard was meticulously trimmed, his lashes were darker and his lips a little pinker. Even his eyes seemed different, more colorful under the bright lights.

But seeing him that day was something she’d never seen before.

Watching Jensen’s face darken, his demeanor shift from lovable actor man to… this… impossibly sexy yet infuriating anti-hero was doing things to Y/N that she hadn’t anticipated.

Jensen stood against the dark backdrop, his hands clasped at his waist, his chin dipped down. His muscles strained against the tight, dark green fabric of Soldier Boy’s costume.

The flash popped.

Jensen cleared his throat and scowled at the camera.

Y/N gasped, her body tingling with sudden arousal.

Another flash.

He leaned back and flipped the bird.

Her mouth watered.

The camera clicked.

Jensen spread his legs.

Y/N stared at the large bulge in his tights and shivered.

The photographer moved around, repositioning the camera and Jensen looked toward Y/N. He picked her easily out of the shadows and cocked a brow. He could see how much she was enjoying the show, how much her face had flushed and her pretty eyes narrowed, glassy yet focused on him.

He winked and she quickly shied away, caught and embarrassed. Jensen swallowed a grin and got back to work, instantly becoming the villain once more.

He let the character take over, but tucked an idea in the back of his mind for later.

She liked Soldier Boy.

She… really liked Soldier Boy.

The back door creaked open and a tall, dark figure stepped through. A gloved hand closed the door carefully, and heavy boots stepped onto the tiled floor.

The kitchen was dim; the only light coming from the glow of the oven. The large room was warm and the air smelled sweet like vanilla and melted chocolate. A long bank of cabinets and counters was cluttered with bowls and spoons; flour sprinkled the top. Music flowed gently in from another room, but otherwise, the place was quiet.

He moved quickly and quietly like a snake slithering across wet grass. The shadows hid him well.

A small timer shaped like a chicken clicked to zero and a bell rang loud and free.

Tiny footsteps approached and Y/N appeared in the doorway. She flipped on the lights and grabbed an oven mitt from the drawer beside the oven.

The door opened and warm, delicious heat wafted through the room.

“Now those look good,” she said to herself, smiling at the perfect chocolate chip cookies lined up on the tray.

He stepped out of the shadows as she closed the oven door.

“So do you.”

His deep voice burst through the kitchen and struck her ears like a gunshot. She spun around with a gasp, startled and unprepared for what awaited her.

Clad head to toe in forest green and polished brass was Soldier Boy. His jaw was clenched tight and a wild look filled his eyes.

Y/N relaxed. “Jesus, Jen- you nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing?”

A smirk played upon his plump lips. “Don’t act like you’re not happy to see me, Sweet Cheeks. I saw you starin’ at me the other day.”

Something was strange; his slight Texan accent was off- gone, really.

She glared up at him. “Sweet Cheeks?”

He ran his eyes down her body, stripping her with his gaze. “What can I say? I like your rump. Saw it when you bent over just now. Nice and… round.” He motioned with his hands, cupping them in the air. “Wanna take a big bite.”

He snapped his teeth shut quickly and Y/N jumped. He wasn’t usually so… forward.

He took a step closer and she felt the heat flood her system. She countered, taking a step back until she was flush against the counter.

“What are you doing?” she laughed, awkwardly aroused.

“Just watching you. Enjoying you.” He licked his lips. “Ya know, I love seeing a woman where she belongs. Barefoot in the kitchen.” He paused and eyed her middle. “Too bad you’re not pregnant. Then we’d really be cookin’.”

Her pussy fluttered. She squeezed her thighs tight.

“Jensen- I-”

He lunged for her and caught her cheek in his big hand. Bare fingertips swept backward through her soft hair and tugged. Her chin lifted and he bent himself over her; a predator adoring his prey.

“Jen-”

“Name’s Ben,” he corrected roughly. His fingers tightened in her hair and she let out a breathless cry. “Learn it,” he whispered. “You’ll be screaming it soon.”

Her jaw trembled, her insides melted, her voice trickled out in a pathetic whimper.

“I… um…”

With a blink, Jensen was back and his hand fell from her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I should have called first or something. Are you OK?”

Y/N relaxed, her body slumping back against the counter. “Fuck, you are… wow.”

“Baby-” He reached for her, tentative fingers hovering over her cheeks.

She smiled up at him. “I’m fine. You just caught me way… way off guard.”

Guilt painted his face and he turned away, ashamed. “We didn’t discuss it, I know. I just- I saw the way you were staring at me during the shoot and I thought I’d be… I don’t know… I stole the suit for the night.”

Y/N caught his hand, tiny fingers barely able to wrap around each of his.

“Jensen- It’s OK. I… I kinda love it.” She chewed her lip and shrugged when he looked back over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean…” Her hand slid up the spandex covering his big bicep and squeezed. “It’s really hot.”

He raised a brow.

“You,” she corrected, letting her arm travel even higher, “are really hot.”

In an instant, Jensen was gone again, replaced by the cocky, misogynistic, sexy asshole that had broken in through the back door.

He flipped his wrist and caught her arm, pushing her back against the counter again.

“You think so?” He smirked and dragged a hand down her body, slowly surfing each curve like a tidal wave. “Kinda hot yourself.” He stopped and pinched her right nipple through her shirt. “Real hot.”

Y/N moaned desperately as he twisted her nipple.

“And a slut, too, huh? Fuckin’ perfect.”

She arched her back a bit, shoving her tits out for him.

Ben took full advantage and cupped her breasts in his massive hands. He squeezed them hard and tugged at her nipples until she let out a little pained cry.

“What’s the matter, slut?” he asked, towering over her, totally in control. “Little bitches like you need a little pain. It’s good for you. Keeps you obedient and wet.”

Again, she clenched her tights together, but it wasn’t enough to stop the wetness from dripping into her pretty pink panties.

“Obedient?” she questioned in a whisper.

Ben sneered, perfectly white teeth gleaming. His upper lip quivered. “Obedient,” he repeated. “Respectful.” He fisted her hair and yanked until she was almost off of her feet. “Submissive. Like all women should be.”

He let her go and she stumbled across the tiled floor, half playfully, half truly retreating. He was scaring her a bit, but she liked it. Somewhere deep inside, she needed it; wanted him to rip her open.

“You’re crazy,” she said, grabbing the far countertop to steady herself. Her fingers slid through flour and a light dusting floated to the floor like fresh snow.

Boots fell loudly behind her.

“I’m crazy?” he mocked, stalking across the room. “And you’re a mouthy little slut who needs to learn her place.”

Again, a giant hand reached for her, this time wrapping around her throat. He pulled hard and Y/N fell back against his chest, her throat locked against his palm. He was solid and warm and she nearly bounced off of him.

She grabbed his arm, tried to pry him loose.

He squeezed and bent his lips to her ear.

“You think you can get me all worked up and then run off?” He tisked and her knees buckled. “You can’t do that. Can’t give a man blue balls.” His fingers dug in a little deeper. “It’s bad for the reproductive system.”

His free hand tore at her shirt, ripping the thin cotton away.

Y/N’s eyes went wide as she gasped for air.

Ben pawed at her tits, roughly massaging until she could feel his dick press into the small of her back.

“That’s better,” he laughed, rolling his hips against her. Dropping from her chest, he slid his fingers down to her waist, plucked open the button on her jeans.

Anticipation and deprivation swirled in her head and her eyes fluttered, pupils rolled back. She clawed at his suit-covered arm.

He squeezed tighter, wrapped himself fully around her, pressed his hand between her thighs.

She tried to moan, but there was no air to push out, no way to make a sound.

He thumbed her clit, pushed two long fingers into her dripping cunt.

“Damn…” He sucked his teeth, whistled in approval. “Fuckin’ wet as Niagra.”

Y/N shuddered. Pleasure and searing pain raced through her body and the edges of her vision went white.

Ben scooped up her juices and rubbed her clit hard and fast, pushing her without ceremony right to the edge.

The kitchen was blurring, floor and ceiling switching places in her head. She felt her legs give out and she hung in the air against him, held up by his hands and the grip she had on his arm.

“Go ahead and cum, sweet cheeks. Want you nice and ripe for me.”

Y/N’s body went stiff as the orgasm struck and her grip slipped from his arm. Her body went slack and at the very last second, Ben released her from his grasp and oxygen rushed back into her lungs.

Her head was spinning, her limbs tingling. The pleasure intensified as the air flooded through her and woke every cell, every numb muscle. She gasped and thrashed against him, safe but shaking in his arms.

“Such a fucking slut,” he growled, pulling his fingers from her panties. “Getting off with me damned near killing you.”

Y/N floated, lightheaded and drunk on the pleasure.

Ben lifted his fingers to her lips and pressed them inside. “Suck.”

She licked at the tips and moaned at the taste of herself.

“I said, suck.”

He pushed his fingers in deeper and Y/N had no choice but to suck. She swallowed hard as he fucked into her mouth, nearly choking her again.

Her head fell back against his chest, her eyes rolled deep.

“That’s it. Stupid little slut does what she’s told.” Slowly, he retracted his fingers and a line of saliva fell down her chin. “You’re an obedient slut, aren’t you?”

Y/N could do little more than moan and nod her head, so she did.

Her answer wasn’t good enough and Ben roughly flipped her in his arms and grabbed her face, squeezing her mouth between his index finger and thumb.

“I asked you a question,” he sneered.

Her eyes went wide and arousal trickled down her thigh. Her panties were soaked; her legs were weak.

“Answer me.”

Y/N took a breath and nodded again, this time eeking out a soft “yes”.

Again, he wasn’t happy, and Ben yanked her face upward and glared down into her eyes. “Try. Again.”

A hint of a smile prickled her lips as he released her. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

Ben grinned. “Better.”

She swayed on the spot when he backed away, shrieked with awe as he shoved his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up onto the flour-covered counter. He shoved her down onto her back and yanked at her jeans, tugging every bit of fabric away.

The marble was old, but his hands were warm, sliding up from her ankles to hips and spreading her wide. Ben knelt down and kissed her pussy, gently at first before diving in like a hungry beast.

Y/N screamed behind tight lips as he sucked hard on her clit. His beard scratched her thighs and swollen lips, his blunt nails scraped across her belly. Once his fingers were back inside, she felt the flood return. She knew she’d be cumming again soon, and she reached a hand down to tug on his long hair. Jensen always loved it when she played with his hair like that.

Ben slapped her hand away. Hard.

She gasped and meant to say something but his tongue fluttered so warm and fast against her clit that she couldn’t remember what words were.

She groaned and rocked her hips into his face.

He sucked harder; jabbed three fingers in deep.

She broke, thrashing on the marble and squeezing her thighs around his head.

“Fuck, this pussy is delicious. I could make a lot of money selling you off.”

His voice made her shudder and the orgasm struck every inch of her, from the tips of her ears to the back of her heels.

“Please…”

Once more, she reached down for him, but Ben reprimanded her. He shoved her hand away and rubbed his nose over her clit. She was aching and raw, her muscles still pulsing on his fingers.

“No more, please… fuck!”

Ben sat back, his face gleaming with her wetness. “You’ll get what I give you and you’ll thank me for it.” He clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes at her. “Won’t you?”

She shook her head, begging. His touch was almost too much, but his thrusting hand would not slow.

“Jensen, please-”

He was on his feet in an instant, leaning over her, crushing her into the countertop. He stared down and cocked his head, examining her, daring her.

“What’d you call me?”

She trembled beneath him. “Baby-”

A heavy palm came crashing against her left cheek and Y/N gasped.

“What did I tell you to call me?” he growled, grinding his covered erection against her spread pussy. “What did I tell you you’d be screaming later?”

Her mouth hung open and she blinked up at him, consumed with the feeling of the thick fabric rubbing against her sex.

Another crack against her cheek.

“Well?”

“Ben!” she gasped out. “Ben! Soldier Boy! Ben!”

He smirked. “Good.”

His lips came down swiftly and he licked into her mouth, sucking hard at the air that was left inside her lungs. She turned to jelly, barely able to move to meet his dry thrusts.

Just for fun, he hit her again, this time leaving his hand against her face. She felt the outline of him burn into her skin and he laughed to himself when he pulled his palm away. Her cheek was bright pink, the ghost of each finger clearly defined.

Almost tenderly, he caressed the spot, dragging his thumb across the top. “I love the way my hand looks on your face…”

Y/N was panting, shaking with arousal or pain or renewed orgasmic power, she couldn’t tell which. Whatever it was, it was driving her insane. She whined and reached down to grab his hips, pulling him closer.

“Please fuck me,” she begged in a quick whisper. “Please.”

Ben bared his teeth, tiny fangs peeking out from beneath perfectly ruddy and swollen lips. “You don’t get to decide that, you little bitch.”

Three hard thrusts between her thighs had her screaming and she slapped at his chest, tugged at the golden embroidery.

“Sorry! Sorry! Please! Fuck!”

He grabbed her hair.

“Who decides?” he asked, yanking hard.

“You do!”

His hand relaxed and Ben dipped his chin, looking down at her with a devilish stare.

“Lucky for you, I don’t wanna wait any more.”

He was gone for only a quick moment, stepping back to fumble with the costume and shimmy the leggings down.

“This fucking… thing…”

The fabric clung to his thick thighs and he stumbled forward, fighting with the pants and his dick which was making things very difficult.

Jensen looked up and gave her a little shrug. “Be right with you,” he laughed.

Y/N popped up on her elbows, watching him struggle. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Take your time.”

He managed to get the tights down to his calves before she attacked, unable to wait any longer. She hopped down from the countertop and lunged at him.

The hard tile floor came up to greet them both, but neither seemed to care. Y/N mounted him, fitting her tiny legs around his trim waist and wiggling down onto his cock.

Jensen moaned and bit his lip hard as her ass bounced on the top of his thighs, her cunt swallowing him whole.

“Fuck, baby- oh, fuck…”

She smiled down at him, grabbed his hands and placed them on her tits. “Don’t go soft on me now, Ackles. Where’s that bad boy?”

He took a breath and the cockiness took over, shifting his features like a mask had been fitted into place.

“No fucking way I’m going soft, bitch.”

Ben twisted her right nipple and she bounced faster. He slapped her left breast and she rolled her hips. He grabbed her throat and she shook, entire body trembling as the pleasure crested once again.

“Fuck, Ben- Put a baby in me. Fuck!”

He sucked his teeth and squeezed her neck. “Oh, yeah? You want that? Want me to flood this little cunt with my cum? Knock ya up good?”

She nodded quickly, her jaw slack, her eyes wide.

“Yes!”

Holding her in place, he bucked his hips hard.

“Gonna drown you. Filthy sluts need to be bred-”

There was more he wanted to say, so many more disgusting insults raced through his head, but there wasn’t enough blood there to support them. He dropped his hand to her hips and held on as he came, thrusting slowly up into her dripping pussy.

Y/N trembled; her tight cunt milking him dry.

“Fuck!”

Jensen’s eyes rolled back and his back arched up off of the floor. “Jesus Christ!”

A sweet moment of blissful silence passed over them and their breathing steadied.

“You OK?” he asked, blinking up at his beautiful bride.

Y/N nodded. “Amazing. Damnit, you’re good at that. Too good.”

Jensen blushed and licked his lip. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

With a satisfied sigh, she fell down over him and into a deep kiss.

The suit was ruined, the kitchen was covered in flour, but they were happy and riding the afterglow.

Y/N snuggled into him, nuzzled her face in the crook of his sweaty neck. “Hey, babe?”

He wrapped his arm around her. “Hmm?”

“Can you keep the suit?”

Jensen laughed and kissed her forehead. “I’ll give Eric a call and see what I can do.”

“Perfect…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[modelbus]

Could I request a Singer!Reader x Tommyinnit fic with the song ‘So American’ by Olivia Rodrigo? I think it would be cute if tommy bragged about reader on stream and she wrote songs about him <3

I assume you wanted a song fic, and if not… too late… whoops…

Pairing: Cc!Tommyinnit x Fem!Reader

So American

Drivin’ on the right-side road He says I’m pretty wearin’ his clothes

Tommy’s eyes are on the window, looking vaguely surprised every time that the Uber takes a turn and reaffirms that, yes, he is meant to be driving on the right side of the road. It was something he jokingly called “barbaric” when he first visited your parents with you, but now he simply gives you a disgusted look to confirm that his beliefs on it hasn't changed. 

His arm is over your shoulders, playing with a loose thread on your sweater. Technically, it’s his sweater, but you claimed it as your own this morning. You claim most of his clothes as your own, actually. You liked wearing his baggy sweaters, he liked seeing you in them. Your fans go wild for it.

A fair trade, in your opinion.

His clothes were softer than yours for some reason, and they smelled like him. Plus, he had about a gazillion sweaters. He could definitely afford to spare some for you.

“The fuck is that?” Tommy asks, squinting at someone in a chicken costume dancing on the roadside with a sign. “Are they a fucking chicken?”

“It’s advertising.” You explain, laughing at the look on his face.

“Take a photo, take a photo.” He directs you, barely waiting for you to get your phone out before he snatches it to take a photo while the Uber drives by. Then he flips the camera to take a selfie of you two, making a horrified look for the photo. You mimic his expression. “There, send it later, I’ll post it.” 

“Got it.” You take your phone back, zooming in on the photo of you two to see how you look in it. Your hair’s a little messy, but that's to be expected. It’s a long Uber ride, after all.

“You look pretty as always, stop inspecting the photo.” Tommy grins at you, yawning after.

“Yeah yeah.” Clicking your phone off, you drop your head onto his shoulder. “Whatever you say, Tom.”

“Damn right, whatever I say.”

And he laughs at all my jokes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, it's just not fair of him To make me feel this much

“This mod adds alligators to Minecraft.” Tommy says, showing you it.

He’s trying to find a collection of mods for a new modded Minecraft video, but he’s run through most of the good working ones. And he wasn’t receptive to downloading a virus for a video on the bad mods.

“What do you call an alligator in a vest?” You ask, looking back down at your phone. “An investigator.”

He stares at you. After a moment of silence, he snorts. “That was so shit. Never make a joke like that ever again.”

“You still laughed.”

“But it wasn’t funny.” He stresses. “It was a pity laugh. Your joke was pitiful.”

“So you say, but you laugh every fucking time.” You smile brightly at him: he can’t help but smile back.

“There aren’t even any fuckin’ alligators in England, man. You’re so American!” Tommy nudges you with his elbow, going back to scrolling through mods.

So American. A common insult, but he has a way of making it seem endearing. 

“And you’re so British.”

I'd go anywhere he goes And he says I'm so American

Tour life is exhausting. 

Traveling from place to place, staying in hotels that range from absolute shit to five stars, you start to wonder why on Earth you’re doing this. But, for all your complaints, you know Tommy is even more exhausted. After all, he’s the one performing damn near every day. And although he loves it, you know it’s draining.

So there you are. Waiting in the wings after every show, giving him a hug when he runs off stage. Enduring the same creaky hotel beds as he is, although he uses your body as a pillow while you use the hotel pillows. 

Despite it all, it’s incredible watching him shine. He’s in his element, sharing comedy and humor with the world. And every single show, he always seems awed at how many people show up.

You’re glad you get to be there to see him flourish and to support him through it. Even if you get stuck with the odd-job of trying to fit Freddy into a dog costume a few too many times for your liking. Even if Tommy drags you out onto the stage for bows despite your lack of being in the actual show and your protests.

Simply put, you’re happy to be wherever Tommy is. He inspires your songs, pages of your notebook filled with the mere idea of his stage presence.

Your fans are probably tired of it by now. You’re not.

I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me When he's with me

“Turn the light off.” Tommy groans, face in a pillow and arm thrown over your stomach.

You glance at the light above the bed, the switch within arms reach. The hotel room is otherwise dark, matching the time of how late it is. And yet you can’t go to bed. With Tom next to you, your mind is racing, inspiration racing through your thoughts like lightning in your veins.

“I’m almost done.” You promise him, knowing you’re not. The notebook full of song lyrics and ideas is crammed full, the page you’re working on is half empty. It’ll be filled by morning.

“Bullshit.” He complains, blindly grabbing for the notebook and pen. He whacks you in the arm, making you shove him, and he finally gets his hands on your prized notebook. “Fucking thing.”

Yelping when he drops it off his side of the bed, you try to lean over him to grab it back. Instead, he acts like an octopus, throwing all his limbs around you like you’re a damn stuffed animal.

“Tom—“

“Light. Off.” He demands.

“I need my notebook—“

“Light.” He repeats slowly. “You have a recording tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t mean I need sleep.” You grumble, but reach out and flip the light off. The hotel room plunges into darkness, and Tommy makes an agreeable noise.

Within what seems like mere seconds, he’s out as easily as you had turned off the light. Exhausted from his stream earlier, no doubt. By all means, you should be exhausted too. Yet the warm body next to yours keeps you wide awake.

If you blink, or close your eyes, he might not be there in the morning. The best damn thing to ever happen to you, a British guy. You won’t lose him, or everything good he’s brought to you.

Laying your head on his arm, you stare blankly at the ceiling. Half-formed lyrics with no background music swirl around in your brain, pushing insistently at your cerebral cortex in a desperate bid to escape from being thoughts and becoming reality.

Tommy snores loudly, knocking you directly out of your thoughts. Laughing, you nudge him with your foot. He rolls, suffocating you with the way he ends up half atop you.

You’re more than happy to let him.

But ain't it love? I think I'm in love

Two steps forward, five back. Turn, flip your hair gracefully.

The metronome ticks in time with your moves, keeping count for you so you stay on time. Although you preferred the singing part of your job, you tough it out with your choreographer for dances. Besides, seeing it all come together is immensely satisfying.

“Run it through one more time girls!” Your choreographer, Elain, shouts with a clap of her hands. You scramble back to your spot, flyaway hairs already sticking to the back of your neck. Who needs a workout when you have dance?

By the time you’re finished with the last run through and take a break to chug some water, you’re dripping sweat. Attractive? No. But you worked damn hard, and it’s proof of that. All of your other dancers are sweating too, chatting between swigs of water.

You grab your phone, swiping it open to check your messages. Your manager was meant to email you about a certain venue sometime today, and you didn’t want to miss it.

But the second you open your phone, it vibrates with a call. A photo of you and Tom pops up, his name broadcasting across the screen. You smile automatically, knowing damn well he has your schedule memorized to call you during breaks.

“I thought you were streaming?” You ask, accepting it and raising it to your ear. One of your dancer wiggles her eyebrows at you, knowing exactly who it is.

“If only my man was that good to me.” Another girl jokes, laughing.

“I thought you were dancing.” Tommy snarks back on the phone. “Slacking, huh?”

“Oh, fuck off. I’d like to see you dance. Last time you broke a vase.” You lean against the wall.

“It was in a stupid place and it was fucking ugly.”

It was on a table, and it was flower-patterned.

“It was fine, Tom. You just can’t dance. Wait— I take that back. You ‘club girl’ dance.”

He gasps commercially, then starts shouting into the phone. “You bitch! I do not! I am a sexy sexy man while dancing!”

Your jerk your phone away from your ear, laughing despite the fact he probably just burst your eardrums.

“Break’s over!” Elain shouts, eyeballing you in particular. You nod at her, bringing your phone back to your ear. Luckily, Tommy’s stopped shouting.

“—Jack goddamn manifold is coming over for the stream, so I have to hide all your shit because I don’t trust him with it—“ Tommy is saying, rambling about a topic. You wish you could skip choreo to listen to him for ages, FaceTime him and watch while he talks. God, you miss him. You really should plan a visit to England again soon.

“Tom.” You cut him off. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to dancing.”

“Is it already—? Oh, yeah.” He sighs. “Fine, I guess I can let you leave my amazing presence. Call me after, or else.”

“Promise.” You assure him. “Love you.”

“Love you!” He echoes back enthusiastically.

You end the call, frowning down at your phone for a second. Definitely need to plan a new trip.

"Girl, stop frowning!" A dancer calls out to you, and you laugh, dropping your phone.

"Yeah yeah, I know."

You're lucky to be in love.

[truthfulpoint]

Halloween (inspired by true events

This story is inspired by a Halloween experience.....names have been changed for obvious reasons…..

It must have been because it was Halloween. Violet just didn’t do things like this. She was a nice girl. She was a disciplined girl. She had a good job and a lovely apartment. She visited her parents regularly. She fed her cat and went to the gym and sent thank you cards to people who gave her gifts. It was Halloween, though, and sometimes when you put on a costume it just changes you. It changes you enough to do something crazy, if only for one night. Originally she really didn’t want to go to the party. She didn’t even have a costume, but her friend Christine had brought over some rabbit ears and said “Just put on the sluttiest thing you have and you can be a Playboy bunny or something!” The thing about Violet was that she had these tits. She was a somewhat plain girl, cute, but in a girl-next-door sort of way. She had very large breasts for her frame, though, and she spent a lot of time hiding them and generally hating them. As she looked through her closet, she considered that Halloween was one of the few times in the year that she could actually show them off. After all, Violet really didn’t know many people at the party and what could it hurt? She found a very skimpy pink top. It barely even fit over her breasts and showed several inches of cleavage. She put on her best bra, the one that really pushed her tits together and put on the low cut pink top. Looking in the mirror, she blushed a little. It wasn’t shocking for Halloween, but it was shocking for her. She pulled on a pair of jeans, chickening out on the mini skirt. Then she placed the rabbit ears on her head and applied a little too much makeup. Violet smiled at her reflection. She looked like a slut. When the two friends arrived at the party, it was like being back in college. A lot of people were milling about with red plastic cups in their hands. Everyone was a little drunk, which made Violet uncomfortable because she didn’t like to drink. Drinking made you lose control and do stupid things and she wasn’t interested in doing that. A dark-haired man with dark glasses eyed Violet as she walked in. He wasn’t really wearing a costume, just a pair of devil horns. Christine saw Violet looking back at him and told her “Oh, that’s James.” Christina sort of smiled a little. “We went out once or twice.”

“What’s he like?” Violet asked innocently, trying not to look back at him as he smiled at her and continued to stare.

“Oh, he’s nice enough… a little too kinky for me.” Violet wanted to ask what she meant by that, but Christine went to get a drink. Violet went to follow her but bumped into a sandy-haired tan-skinned guy wearing a black robe, like the killer in the Scream movies.

“Hi there, I’m Peter,” he said smiling wide and staring at her tits. Violet felt like everyone was staring at her that night and the feeling was both embarrassing and a little powerful.

“Oh, I’m Violet,” she sort of mumbled with a smile.

“Your costume is hot,” he said with a grin. She didn’t reply. The dark-haired man with the devil horns came over and stood next to Peter. The two of them sort of smiled at each other.

“Who’s your friend?” Peter looked her up and down, eating her up with his eyes.

“This is Violet. She’s a Playboy bunny, right?” Peter asked with a laugh.

“I’d buy that issue. I’m James,” he said with a grin, moving in on her a little.

Violet looked around for her friend, Christine, but she was no where to be found. Violet was pulled into a conversation with James and Peter. The topic started with what they all did, but moved quickly to sex and never left.

Violet wasn’t used to this. They were being so forward and she didn’t know how to react. She thought she was probably supposed to smack them or something, but she enjoyed the flirting like this. She was sort of getting addicted to their eyes on her body. A break from real conversation. The embarrassing rush of being an object for a little while. Peter was cocky and sort of a jock, but James was smooth and intelligent. Peter looked at her body all night, while James liked to look into her eyes and guess what she was thinking.

As they spoke, Violet found herself being moved by them around the room. They would back her up a little by moving in on her, and before she knew it, she was next to a door. Peter looked at James and opened up the door. James took Violet’s hand and led her in.

“What are we doing?” she asked with a nervous laugh.

“We want to kiss you,” Peter replied with a chuckle. The room was dark and messy. Clothes on the floor, a computer on a desk in the corner, a low bed near the window. Violet’s eyes were moving quickly around, judging the environment, looking for her escape route. Peter closed the door behind him and turned around with the same cocky smile. James had a predatory grin that matched his devil horns. The devil pushed her back and she tumbled to the low bed. Sitting up, wide eyed, Violet was eye-level with two belts and two zipper and four big hands. Violet started to breathe a little faster.

The two men looked at each other, communicated something with their eyes. Violet looked up at them trying to figure it out. Peter chuckled a little. His eyes were right on her cleavage. James was looking right into her eyes, though.

Violet wasn’t sure where to look or what exactly to do. Her heart was racing. This was it. She’d had fantasies about this, but it was different with two strangers in some house she’d never been to. She thought she should probably end it soon, maybe just kiss them. But the man in the devil horns leaned down and slipped his hand onto her shoulder, then around her. He pulled her head back by her hair. Suddenly, he was kissing her.

His kisses were a little rough and a little insistent, but his lips were soft. When she was kissed right, Violet’s mind sort of wandered away and she tended to do things she knew she shouldn’t. When he opened her lips a little with his tongue and then swirled around in her mouth, tasting like candy and a little beer and heat, she felt herself falling. When the second pair of lips touched Violet’s shoulder, her body locked up for a second. The reality of it started getting her scared as well as very wet. Usually a kiss on her lips really got her started. And if a guy knew how to kiss her neck, she would totally melt. When Peter started sucking on the skin just under her ear while the devil horn guy kissed her deeper and hungrily sucked on her lips and tongue, she felt a new level of desire. It was like Violet couldn’t control herself anymore. Four hands roaming all over her. Peter was aggressive and rough. James had knowing hands that floated over her skin and nails that dragged up her back and down her arms. Each man alone would have made her swoon with their attention, but both at the same time were making her mad.

Peter touched her breasts for the first time and he chuckled hoarsely.

“Fuck, your tits are perfect,” he whispered as he squeezed them and lifted them and his thumbs hunted for her nipples though the thickness of her shirt and bra. As Peter grabbed and rubbed her breasts, James took her hand and pushed it against the crotch of his jeans. He was hard and although she wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take this, Violet couldn’t help holding the firm shape under his pants and wanting it. There is something so intimate about the first time a man unzips his fly and pulls out his cock. It is usually in some intimate moment and you are seeing a part of someone that has been hidden that you may have felt a little and wondered about. This was new, though. This was two strangers. When there was a cock in front of Violet, she could focus on it. She could worship it. She could suck it and savor it and hold it and own it. Two cocks made everything different. They both pulled at her attention. They surrounded her. She felt compelled to hold each one, go back and forth between them. The demands of it made her dizzy. The world became hard and throbbing. The smell of their bodies was overwhelming. The feel of their coarse hair and the rawness of all that skin; it was all too much, but she couldn’t stop. Sitting, Violet jerked the two of them off a little. She wasn’t really sure how far she might go. One of them, she couldn’t even tell which anymore because she couldn’t look up, moved closer. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the two cocks. Violet licked her lips. She was a good girl, but she did love to suck cock. She really shouldn’t, but when he moved closer, the head of his cock just brushed her lip. She just held the two of them, feeling the heat and hardness of them. She closed her legs tight. She really shouldn’t. She didn’t know them. Peter reached forward and pulled her hair. Her mouth opened and James moved forward, slipping the head of his cock between her lips. Once it was in her mouth, there was no more thought of what was wrong or right. There was only the taste of his skin, the feel of his length and the power, of making him gasp as her wet tongue slipped under his sex. She closed her eyes and sank into the rhythm of it. Filling her mouth with saliva to wet the pushing and pulling. The build up that she needed. She couldn’t keep her eyes shut for long because she felt Peter’s hardness in her other hand. When James pulled away and Peter moved forward, Violet was breathing hard and fast. Peter’s cock was fatter, slightly rougher and darker skinned. She licked the head of it, her hand slipping up and down James’s cock, still wet with her saliva. Peter’s hips bucked as she licked the head. He wanted her badly. He wanted her to envelope his cock in her hot mouth. She liked that. She teased him, tightening her lips and just sucking a little on the head, letting it pop in and out of her mouth. She looked up for a moment to see James watching her. A wave of dirtiness washed over her, so much she almost stopped, but she didn’t. She had a job to do. She sucked Peter’s cock, slipping in as much as would fit. She wet it down so it slipped in and out smoothly. She worked the shaft with her hand and sucked the tip and then gave it long strokes with her mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasped. She smiled a little between strokes. James moved closer so that both cocks were directly in front of her face, so close the two men’s hips were touching. She moved back to James, his cock feeling cooler that Peter’s. She sucked James fast and deep, nearly gagging, then she went back to Peter. Back and forth, back and forth, until the only thing she knew was cock and thickness and wet tips and hands in her hair and on her neck and shoulders.

“I need to fuck this chick.” Peter said between gasps. Then suddenly the two men were moving quickly around her. Peter lifted Violet up so that she was standing and pulled off her shirt.

“Fuck, that’s what I’m talking about.”

He squeezed and massaged her breasts groaning at the feel of them as James moved behind her and started unhooking her bra.

“They��re huge,” Peter marveled as he pulled off the bra. Violet was getting nervous. This was all going fast. Kissing and touching and even a little sucking was one thing, but she wasn’t sure she could fuck a total stranger, let alone two. But his hands were so hot on her breasts. Her nipples being played with made her bite her lip. Then James started working on her pants as Peter pulled off her shoes. The two of them were taller and stronger and she felt like a rag doll being pushed between them. When they were done she was only wearing her panties and the two of them were standing in front of and in back of her. A hard cock pressed against her stomach and another against her back. James kissed her and Peter reached around and squeezed her breasts from behind. He took her nipples and pulled on them a little, testing her sensitivity. She knew she should tell them to stop, but every time she thought of it, the thought would get washed away by fingers and cocks and wanting. The next thing she knew she was on the bed again, this time on her knees.

“What the fuck? She’s soaked right through her panties! Her thighs are wet. Jesus Christ, she fucking wants it.”

She didn’t even know who said it; her face was burning and eyes were closed. She knew she should really stop it, but then she was being pushed down farther, her ass up in the air and her head almost level with the bed. Then James’s cock was pressing against her lips again. It pressed and slipped against the wetness of her lips and she couldn’t help it. She opened her mouth and it slid in, pushing her back into the rhythm and the taste of him. Peter was pulling down her panties and she knew she had to stop it. She struggled a little but the cock was in her mouth and when Peter got the panties down to her knees, he rubbed his fingers around the wetness of her and found her swollen clit and then she was overcome. The finger on her clit, the cock in her mouth, Peter leaned over and with his other hand rubbed her tit and pinched her nipple, harder now, a little too hard.

Her hips bucked and the two of them laughed.

“Damn, she has a nice ass, too,” James said. She could feel the vibrations of his voice through his cock.

“Hell yeah, she’s built to fuck. Perfect,” Peter replied as if she couldn’t even hear. Then the first spank landed on her ass. The two of them laughed. Another spank, harder. James’s hands came up to her shoulders, holding her still. She was breathing fast out of her nose, but she needed to keep sucking. She braced herself for another slap but then felt the hot hardness of Peter’s thick cock rubbing against her.

She had to stop this, she thought. She had to, but he was sinking into her. She shouldn’t, but his hands were on her hips and James was holding her shoulder, and then he was holding her by her hair, and his cock was pushing into her mouth as Peter pushed right into her cunt. Then the whole thing became unstoppable. She was trapped between them, sucking, being fucked, her senses overloading and her body being pushed and pulled and used. They were pistoning in and out in the same rhythm. She felt helpless to them and helpless to the itching building frightening pressure inside of her. She had never really come from just being fucked, but this was new. This was so overpowering. It just kept pounding from every direction.

“Fuck, she is so tight,” Peter said, his voice straining.

“And she doesn’t stop sucking,” James added.

Peter’s fingers grew tighter on her hips and his thrusts started harder and faster and wilder. James was pumping into her mouth and he was gasping. They were both making grunting noises and spilling out curses and moans. They both started ramming her faster. Violet felt this rush and this fear and then she was coming hard, trying to keep sucking, but James pulled out of her mouth just as she let out a loud moan.

She was still coming when she felt the hot shots of come on her cheek and neck. Then she felt Peter pull out of her and felt more hot jets of come all over her ass and back.

Then there was emptiness. She was lying on her stomach, soaked, spent, and used. Everyone was panting. James brushed her hair back and she looked up to see his eyes, a little kinder now and his smile. The devil horns were just visible above his now tousled hair.

“We’ll make sure nobody comes in here. You should get cleaned up.” Violet swallowed hard, the shame pouring down on her, and at the same time, her chest welling with invigoration. She had an adventure, a wild new adventure. Lifting herself back up on her knees, she arched her back.

“But you didn’t get to fuck me yet,” she said, with a smile. The two men smiled and the dangerous game started up again

[cloudstaff]

It wasn’t me it was the man in the chicken costume!

[geminiwritten]

untouched ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: billy hasn’t touched you for months, and you’re frustrated, so you decide to invest in some skimpy lingerie in the hopes that he won’t be able to resist

notes: YES, this is (very loosely) based on the song ‘untouched’ by the veronicas and if you haven’t heard it, it’s a bop. also, i’m so sorry for the terrible british accent writing, and i’m sorry for the fade-to-black but i was too chicken to actually write all the smut. please let me know what you think!

side note: i would die for this man (billy butcher and karl urban)

warnings: a lot of swearing, beer, very light smut, and some google translated french

word count: 5848

You hadn’t originally planned for Frenchie to come along on your little shopping trip, it was supposed to be MM, but when he got a call from Janine, you couldn’t possibly have asked him to prioritise you over his own daughter. Hughie had offered to drive you, of course, but you decided that Frenchie was the lesser of two evils in this situation, and you refused to go alone. Lately, you weren’t the biggest fan of going anywhere alone.

“Ooh,” Frenchie coos, pulling a lacy baby doll from one of the racks and holding it up to his own body. “I think this would suit me, no?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I think it would, why don’t you try it on?”

He giggles and throws the garment over his arm. “I think you, mon amour, would look ravishing in it.”

So here you were, in the middle of the lingerie section in one of New York City’s largest department stores, shopping for scandalous undergarments with Frenchie. You have to admit, he is a huge boost for your self-esteem, but you trusted him much less than MM to keep this little shopping trip a secret.

“What about this one?” he asks, holding up a bodysuit styled after Starlight’s costume that left even less to the imagination than her suit already did.

You scoff, “Absolutely not.”

He giggles again as he returns the bodysuit to its rack. You were doing your best to avoid anything that resembled the costume of a Supe, even if some of Queen Maeve’s designs did catch your eye. The purpose for which you were buying would definitely be negated by anything that looked like it had been produced by Vought.

“May I ask,” Frenchie says as he catches up to you at the next rack, “what exactly are you looking for, and why?”

“I just need some new underwear,” you lie. “The washing machine at that dingy apartment only works half of the time and I figured that buying more underwear was a more economical option than buying a whole new machine.”

The second part wasn’t a lie, but you still had to turn away to hide your pink cheeks.

“Ah,” he sighs, moving around the rack to follow you. “So silly of me to assume that this had something to do with Monsieur Charcutier, but I suppose you would not lie to me, hm?”

Your pulses races, pumping even more blood into your cheeks and making the huge store feel suddenly stifling. You ignore his inference and turn toward a shelf full of wrapped latex garments, ranging from underwear to bras, to suspenders and gloves. The items draped over your arm are mostly lace and straps, so you choose a pair of latex hot pants and hand them to Frenchie.

“Like this,” you say, “practical underwear, perfect for fighting. I won’t have to worry about them falling down.”

He smirks. “Of course, and perhaps you will need this to?”

He takes a riding crop off one of the hooks beside the latex display and offers it to you.

“Better than a gun, in my opinion,” you state, taking the crop and holding it under your arm that is already full of lingerie.

“What is it for if not to spank a naughty, naughty Supe,” he chuckles.

After an hour of browsing and dodging Frenchie’s attempts to get you to reveal your true agenda, you approach the check-out counter. A surly old woman serves you, grumbling between disapproving glares as she scans each item that is more scandalous than the last. You’re so busy trying not to burst out laughing that you don’t even notice the inclusion of the riding crop until she hands you the bag.

“Have a great day,” she mumbles insincerely.

“And you too, mon chéri,” Frenchie says with a wink.

You grab his wrist and drag him behind you as you b-line for the store’s main doors. By the time you reach the curb, you’re both giggling like idiots and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes while strangers watch you with wary expressions. It’s only a short walk to the car, but you manage to compose yourself by the time you’re both climbing into your respective seats. The engine sputters to life, and Frenchie swerves into the busy traffic in the direction of your current residence.

“Be honest with me, mon amour,” he says, and you look up from your phone, “what is all this about?”

The paper bag is nestled between your feet, and you can see a buckled strap peeking out of it. None of your purchases were at all for practical use.

You sigh, “I honestly don’t know, Frenchie.”

“Butcher has been distant lately, no?”

You nod, and he glances at you from the corner of his.

“It has been rough,” he says, “and I know he is not good with his emotions, even in the best of times, but I know he does care about you.”

“I know.”

He moves a hand from the wheel to hold one of yours. “You do not need all of this to make him lo-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, your pulse spiking with panic, “please, don’t say that word.”

“Mon amour,” he sighs, and somehow in French the word sounds a lot less intimidating. “You are beautiful, do not ever forget it.”

You smile at him and raise his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. “You’re beautiful too, Frenchie.”

He chuckles, “I know.”

It isn’t just that you’re afraid of that word when it came to Butcher, because there were so many more things to fear in this world, it was more to do with the fact that he hasn’t touched you in months. You knew, when it all started, that this situation wasn’t going to be easy and it definitely wasn’t going to be something that meant a whole lot to Butcher, but you went ahead and fell anyway. With the chaos of the cause you were all fighting for, and the uncertainty of whether or not any of you would live, you thought you’d be able to put your own desires on the back burner. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was good for a while, but then things got bad again and more skeletons crept out of the closet, and Butcher has all but forgotten about you. It isn’t that he no longer cares about you, because you know he does, but he’s been all work and no play for months now, and your heart is beginning to ache. And so is the place between your thighs that he is exceptionally good at satiating.

You might be stupid enough to fall for the man but you’re not stupid enough to assume that he might ever return those feelings, so you’ve decided to focus on the one element of intimacy you know he craves too.

“Looks like le Charcutier himself has returned,” Frenchie says, and only then do you realise the car has stopped.

Butcher’s car is parked at the curb in front of the decrepit apartment building that you currently call home, and you can swear there are new scrapes scratched along the passenger’s side doors. You tuck your purchases as deep into the paper bag as they’ll go before getting out of the car and following Frenchie into the building. You climb two sets of stairs and stop at the third door on the left, nervously chewing the inside of your lip while Frenchie fumbles with his keys.

“You know,” he whispers, pausing as he turns to you, “he might not-”

“Frenchie,” you hiss, “I don’t want to talk about the consequences, okay?”

He sighs, “I just don’t want you to be upset if he does not appreciate this the way you want him to.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

You snatch his keys and jam the big rusted one into the doorknob, twisting it angrily and pushing the door open before he can say another word. You knew your plan had holes, but you didn’t have the patience to try and talk any sense into yourself because Butcher was the only thing on your mind. He has been from the moment you met him.

The first person you see is MM, sitting on the couch watching old cartoon reruns with a content smile on his lips. Hughie is in the kitchen, on the phone to his dad and by the sound of it, attempting to talk him through the process of rebooting his Wi-Fi router. Your frustration dissipates at the sight of normalcy, or as normal as it got for people who live the way that you all do. It’s been quiet lately, more reconnaissance than murder, and more time to plan and recover for when things inevitably go wrong.

“Hey,” MM calls, “how did you go?”

He immediately glances at the bag and grin splits across his face.

Hughie bids his father goodbye before tucking his phone in his pocket and looking to you, his frown turning quizzical. “What is that?”

“It is a- uh,” Frenchie puts a finger to his lips, “how do you say flagellateur?”

“You bought a cane?” Hugh gasps, “What the hell for?”

MM chuckles, “I believe Frenchie called it a flogger.”

“For the naughty Supes,” Frenchie says, pulling it out of the bag before you can react.

Hughie bursts out laughing as Frenchie moves like lightning and smacks MM across the bottom with the crop, a sharp cracking sound echoing through the room. MM yelps, turning to Frenchie with a murderous glare.

“Touch me with that again and I’ll shove it so far up your ass, you’ll feel it in your throat,” he threatens.

Frenchie smirks, “Do not make promises you cannot keep, vilain garçon.”

MM moves to grab the crop, but Frenchie is faster. He steps back and holds it behind his back, giving himself a light tap on the thigh and moaning wickedly. Hughie’s laughter bubbles up again, and even MM can’t help from chuckling.

You roll your eyes despite your amusement, “Come on, Frenchie, that’s enough.”

“Au contraire, mon petit chat,” he coos, “we are just getting started.”

“Who’s gettin’ what started?”

All four of you turn toward the familiar voice – gruff and always a little sarcastic – to find Butcher standing in the door to the main bedroom. His hair is damp and tousled, and his signature trench coat absent.

“Nothing, Monsieur Charcutier,” Frenchie says, still holding the crop behind his back.

“What the bloody hell are you hidin’?”

Hughie is struggling to hold back his laughter, his eyes watering with the effort. The boy is definitely sleep deprived, though this time you blame Annie more than the vigilante lifestyle.

Butcher takes two heavy steps forward and his brows furrow. “Is that a fuckin’ riding crop?”

“Oh, this?” Frenchie shows him the flogger. “This is Mademoiselle Y/N’s.”

He steps toward you and slides the crop back into your bag.

“We went shopping,” you say, forcing yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes despite the overwhelming urge to run back out the door.

He cocks his head, “You went shoppin’ with Frenchie, ‘n’ bought a fuckin’ sex toy?”

You nod slowly, feeling the blood burn in your cheeks. The air is suddenly thick, and you struggle to draw anything more than a shallow breath as you wait in silence for someone to say something. You know it’s bad when even Frenchie shuts up.

“Right,” Butcher glances at the bag in your hand before turning to MM. “Well, since everyone’s ‘ere, we might as well go over what we know ‘bout the rally this weekend.”

Hughie rushes over to the small dining room table to retrieve his laptop, and MM turns the television’s volume down to zero. Butcher looks back at you, and then to Frenchie.

“Unless,” he says, “you two had somethin’ better to do?”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, and your embarrassment turns into irritation.

“Just let me get changed.”

You don’t wait for a response before turning on your heel and marching into your room, slamming the door for effect. You tip the contents of your shopping bag on the bed and begin stripping out of your jeans. It is hot in this dingy little apartment, since no one had yet been successful in getting the thermostat to work, so your decision to change into shorts and a loose button-up wasn’t totally uncalled for. It just so happens that you decided to swap your bra and panties for a sheer black bodysuit with a built-in harness that wrapped around your chest and waist, and down around your bum into thigh garters. You button your shirt enough to only just show the straps over the curve of your breasts, and make sure the garters are tucked under your shorts before remerging into the living room.

The boys are gathered around the kitchen bench, Frenchie and Hughie looking at the laptop while Butcher and MM point at what you can guess is a map on the countertop. You assume Kimiko is still sleeping, and no one was game enough to try and wake her.

“We’re not sure if anyone from corporate is scheduled to attend,” Hughie says, “but it looks like every member of the seven have been ordered to appear.”

You step between Frenchie and MM, right across from Butcher. Frenchie glances at you, his eyes dropping for less than a second to your cleavage before he gives you a cheeky smirk. You press your lips together to keep from laughing, and when you look toward Butcher you find his eyes already on you, or rather, on Frenchie. If looks could kill, the poor French man would be a pile of dust on the floor.

“It would be suicide to try anything at this thing,” MM states, “with all of them there, the security is going to be tight.”

“I agree,” Hughie says, “so if we go, it has to be lowkey, and we can’t be recognised.”

“So that rules out you and Butcher,” you point out, leaning past Frenchie to see the laptop screen.

“You and I can go, then,” MM points at a spot on the map, “we recon from the outskirts, and Frenchie waits off side in case we need an emergency extraction.”

“No,” Butcher says, his eyes trained on you with an intensity that made your spine feel like a gummy worm, “she’s not goin’ anywhere near this shit show. Her and Hughie watch from this buildin’,” he points at a building two blocks from the main event, “me ‘n’ you go in for recon, ‘n’ Frenchie ‘n’ Kimiko will be waitin’ nearby.”

You frown, “Hughie can do the surveillance on his own, and you can’t go anywhere near Homelander. I’ll go in with MM.”

“No,” he says again, “you’re not gettin’ that close.”

“This isn’t close,” you point at the map where MM had, “and if you’re worried then you can wait with Frenchie but Butcher, you can’t be seen. It’s too risky.”

“You wan’a know what’s risky?” he snaps, his gaze dropping to your chest.

You cross your arms, fully aware that it accentuates your breasts.

“Fuckin’ arguin’ with me.”

You roll your eyes and take a step back. “Fine, get yourself killed for no fucking reason Butcher, see what I care.”

Tension rolls through the room like a dark storm cloud, rumbling with impending thunder as it settles right between you and the man you’re glaring at.

“No one is going to die,” Hughie speaks cautiously, “we’re not going there for a fight.”

“I know that.” you snap, though your eyes don’t dare leave Butcher’s. “Tell him that.”

“Butcher,” MM says, “I know you want to lead, but she has a point.”

Butcher scoffs, “I don’t give a damn about whether I’m on the front line or not, but she’s not goin’ anywhere near those fuckers. ‘Specially if I’m not at her fuckin’ side.”

Your heart stutters and your resolve cracks. Your shoulders slacken as every measure of intimidation you had built up dissolves and the stupid but familiar feeling of warmth and longing spreads through your body.

“We’re not getting close, Butcher,” Hughie says, “all we need is-”

“That,” Butcher spits, pointing at the same spot on the map, “is too fuckin’ close.”

MM looks at you, waiting for you to argue some more. Butcher rarely listens to anyone, but on the occasion that he does, it’s often you. But right now, you’re tired and you’re sick of arguing with this man when all you really want is for him to throw you up against a wall and tear your clothes off.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “you’ve got to live your life the way you want, right, Butcher?”

You circle around Hughie, around the kitchen bench, and behind Butcher where the barely functional fridge is. Silence hangs heavy in the air as you open it, bottles rattling in the door. You take a bottle of beer from the shelf and shut it again, turning to the drawer where you last saw the bottle opener, but it isn’t there. Sighing, you turn on your heel to stand beside Butcher and lift the hem of your shirt to wrap it around the bottle top, using it to buffer your hand as you struggle to get the cap off. With a soft pop, the cap comes free and so does another button on your shirt, revealing the little gold buckle connecting the straps between your boobs.

A small, triumphant smile quirks your lips as you look up, meeting Butcher’s gaze much closer than before. His eyes are dark, his pupils devouring almost all of his hazel irises.

Frenchie clears his throat, keeping his own gaze locked on the map. “Hughie says that most of the roads will be closed, but if we park the van here,” he points to a side alley, “we should be able to leave quickly, if we need.”

“What about the perimeter guard?” MM asks, “They’ll have more than usual, and I don’t doubt half of them will be Vought’s B-listers.”

Hughie nods, “Annie said they’ve been flying in all week, from almost every state.”

You can’t focus standing this close to Butcher, feeling the warmth rolling off his body and from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn to you every couple of seconds. He isn’t subtle about it at all, and with his height advantage, you know he can see right down your loose shirt. When you try to focus on the map, you can see his hands in fists at his side, knuckles white with strain.

“What do you think?” Hughie asks, at which you only respond with a slow blink. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just tired.”

You raise a hand to your neck and tilt your head to the side, rubbing at your hot skin and subtly letting the collar of your shirt slip off your shoulder. When you glance at Butcher, you know you’ve almost got him. His neck is red and jaw set as he watches you like you’re prey.

You bite your lip to hide your smile, surveying the map with a wicked idea when Frenchie, bless him, asks the perfect question. “Do we know where Homelander will be arriving?”

“There,” you reply, stretching onto your toes and reaching across the bench. “From there, he will walk through this audience before flying to the stage.” You arch your back as you trace your finger along with the directions, feeling your shorts ride up and the garters on your thighs dig into your flesh.

Another beat of silence pulses through the room before Butcher clears his throat. You look to him quickly, only to find him glaring at Hughie, and when you turn to the boy in question you realise that he too had noticed the black straps on the backs of your thighs.

“Sorry, uh, yeah,” he mutters, cheeks pink, “Homelander is the only one who won’t be escorted directly to the stage. They want to create hype, so he’ll be moving around to greet fans.”

“Well, we better make sure we’re not anywhere near wherever he’ll be,” MM says.

Hughie nods, “If he follows orders, he’ll stay within the barriers. Vought is wary and with all their assets in one place, they’ll be making sure even Homelander is on his best behaviour.”

Frenchie chuckles, “They do not want golden boy starting a civil war in the middle of the city, eh?”

“They know that there’s a huge chance of anti-Supe protest,” you say, “which raises another issue, access. No one in a two-mile radius will be allowed in without verification.”

Hughie turns his laptop to face the group, “I’ve been working on that, but I need to know who is going in so I can print ID badges.”

The four of you look at Butcher.

“It’s your call,” MM says.

He blinks as if suddenly returning to reality, and shifts awkwardly on his feet so his hips are pressed against the kitchen bench. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice thick, “I don’t wan’a think abou’ it right now, alrigh’?”

Hughie nods and closes his laptop, and MM sighs though his small smirk is betraying as his eyes meet yours.

“Well,” Frenchie says, “if we are done here, I am going to go get us something for dinner.”

MM tucks his phone into his pocket, “I’ll come with you.”

“Really?” Frenchie frowns.

MM glances at Butcher before turning back to Frenchie. “Really.”

“I’ll come too,” Hughie says quickly, “I-I mean, I was going to see Annie, anyway.”

Frenchie’s smirk is so wide you’re worried his cheeks are going to split. The three of them hurry out the door, muttering goodbyes and arguing over who is going to drive before leaving you and Butcher alone with the storm cloud of tension still rumbling in the air.

You down half your bottle of beer in one swig before sighing, “Well, as much as I would love to keep arguing, I’m going to-”

“Oh, you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweethear’.”

You only just have enough time to turn around before Butcher traps you with a hand on either side, gripping the bench with white knuckles.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?”

You feign an innocent frown, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

His breath comes and goes with a shudder, and you can feel it fan across your bare neck.

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout this,” he hooks a finger under the garter around your thigh and lets it go with a snap. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout you goin’ shoppin’ with Frenchie for fuckin’ sex toys.”

“Okay,” you smirk, “and what exactly is there to talk about?”

His head cocks, and you feel like prey staring down a predator.

“What is there-” his eyes narrow. “What is there to fuckin’ talk about? I don’t know, maybe when the fuck you started fuckin’ around!”

His rage, though intimidating, only turns you on. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Am I not allowed to fuck around, Butcher?” you ask, watching the pulse in his neck race.

An emotion flickers behind his eyes, too fast for you to discern, but it’s strong enough to relieve his frown and he almost looks hurt.

“Do you want to fuck around?” he asks, his voice low.

You can’t figure out if he’s baiting you or not, or if it’s just the aching in your chest that’s trying to convince you that he might actually be feeling something.

You decide to guard yourself, keeping a smirk on your lips. “Are you offering?”

He releases his grip on the bench and rubs both hands through his hair, making it stand in jagged spikes.

“Look,” he sighs, “I know it ain’t any of my business, but if you and Frenchie are-”

“I’m not fucking Frenchie!” you exclaim, the past few months of frustration finally breaking out of the bottle.

“Oh,” he straightens, “good.”

“Good?” you echo, “For fuck’s sake Butcher, you are thick.”

His frown returns and before you can move, he traps you again. “What was that?”

“I said, you are thick,” you press your bum into the bench in a lame attempt to create distance. “If you think I’m sleeping with Frenchie- with anyone, you’re an idiot, but you know what? I already fucking knew that.”

“Yeah? And when did you figure that one out?” he asks, once again a predator who has cornered his prey.

“About three months ago, when I woke up and you weren’t there,” you say, fighting the lump in your throat. “You fucked off for three days, Butcher. No one knew where you were, you didn’t answer your fucking phone, and when you got back, you acted like nothing had fucking happened.”

You can hear your heart thumping in your ears as you wait for him to bite back, but he doesn’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh, “And now you won’t even fucking touch me.”

“Is that what you want?” he whispers.

You can only nod, too afraid that another word from your lips will turn into a cry. He breaks your stare and lets his eyes fall to your chest, slowly moving his body closer until it’s completely pressed against yours. You can feel him against your lower belly, not fully hard but definitely there and probably the reason he was hiding himself against the bench before.

Unlike the last time he touched you, this one is gentle. His fingers start at your jaw, just below your ear, tracing the sensitive skin right down to your collarbone and stopping at the swell of your breast. He groans, the deep sound rumbling from his chest and reverberating through your body. Your breath is shallow as you wait impatiently for him to kiss you, watching his lips like an addict yearning for a taste of the drug that only he can provide.

He denies you, though, instead dipping down to press his mouth against your bare shoulder and sending waves of electricity dancing across your skin. It isn’t exactly what you wanted, but its enough to make you sigh, and you roll your head back to allow him better access. His lips leave gentle kisses along your collarbone, the scratch of his beard raising goosebumps in its wake.

You feel like you can breathe for the first time in months, and your heart is beating so violently within your chest that you know he can feel it on his lips. A small voice at the back of your head is screaming, telling you to stop and push him away, because the further this went, the less control your head would have over your heart. Your heart that is threatening to crack a rib as it tries to surrender itself to the man in front of you.

When his lips leave your skin, you whine, but he doesn’t smirk like he usually does. He doesn’t make a sarcastic comment about how needy you are, or even look up to meet your eyes. His gaze is on your chest as his hands come up to the collar of your shirt, fingers curling into the soft material before yanking it apart. The buttons break, popping off the shirt entirely and scattering across the kitchen floor. He gasps, almost inaudibly, but you know you heard it.

This isn’t like before, he’s too quiet and too gentle, aside from the whole ruining your shirt thing. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, longing for approval as his dark eyes devour your scantily clad torso. His hands follow the curve of your body down to the waistband of your shorts, finding the button and popping it with much less force than they did the shirt. His fingers hook inside the denim and guide them down over your hips and past your thighs before letting them drop to the floor. Then he steps back.

You feel empty without his warmth, and you aren’t quite sure what to do with your arms while he observes you from the other side of the kitchen. Given, it is a small kitchen and he’s barely two steps away, but you suddenly feel like an exhibit on display.

You swallow thickly, “If it’s- uh, if you don’t like it I can-”

“I fuckin’ love it,” he says, his voice low and raspy as he closes the distance again.

Pressed against you, you can feel him hard behind his jeans, and you can’t help feeling a little proud.

He cups your jaw with both hands, his face only inches from yours. “I fuckin’ love you,” he mutters, before crushing his lips to yours.

The taste of his mouth sets your tongue ablaze, but instead of melting into a puddle like you know you should have, your spine goes rigid. The voice in the back of your head grows louder, clearer, as it rushes to the front and crashes against your skull, screaming.

He notices you tense up, and pulls back immediately, not offended but afraid. His frown is deep and his mouth slightly agape, realising what he’d said and knowing that it’s the reason for your reaction.

You stare at him, “What did you say?”

He takes a generous step back and runs a hand over his face, “Fuck.”

“Butcher,” you press, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and compensate for the loss of warmth.

“I’m sorry, love,” he sighs, “I didn’t-”

The lump in your throat rises, “You didn’t mean it?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, “I meant it, jus’ didn’t mean to say it.”

“You meant it?”

He nods slowly.

You blink quickly to try and repress the moisture filling your eyes. “You meant it as in… you love me?”

He nods again and you can feel your whole body beginning to shake.

“D-Do you love me like-like a vice?” you ask, your voice unsteady. “Like you love drinking and smoking or-”

“I love you like I fuckin’ love you, okay?” he snaps.

The irritation in his voice makes you flinch, and he regrets it immediately but refuses to move toward you again.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N,” he sighs, “isn’t it fuckin’ obvious? I haven’t fucked you in months.”

You frown, “Yeah, and why would that make me think you love me?”

“‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ twat who doesn’t know what’s good for him,” he says, “and sweethear’, you are too fuckin’ good for me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You!” he exclaims, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous and young, and you shouldn’t be in any of this shit, let alone in it with someone like me.”

It feels like your heart is swollen, pressing against your ribcage and squeezing all the air from your lungs. Your pulse races, blood rushing to your head and making you dizzy as you try to make sense of his words.

“Butcher,” you close the distance between your bodies, pressing him against the opposite bench, “I want you, and everything that you want.”

He keeps his arms rigid by his sides as he stares down at you, his pupils still blown with lust.

“If you want me to leave you alone, then I’ll stop,” you say. “If you want me to fuck off, then I’ll go, but no matter fucking what, I’m yours because I love you. I don’t have a choice about that, because I fucking need you."

He breaks your stare to look up at the ceiling, letting go of a long sigh before looking back down with the smallest quirk in his lips. “You’re gon’a fuckin’ kill me, aren’t you?”

You smirk, “I’ll certainly try.”

His hands find your bum, pressing you impossibly close as his lips crash into yours and it feels like your heart bursts, sending shockwaves through your body and turning your limbs into jelly. With a soft grunt, he lifts you up and pushes away from the bench, allowing you to wrap your legs around his hips. You can feel him completely now, rock hard and rubbing against you in the most delicious way as he carries you across the room toward your bedroom.

Your hands are tangled in his hair as you kiss him sloppily, pouring every bit of frustration and longing into his mouth until he pulls away and drops you onto the bed. He begins unbuttoning his shirt and your fingers find his belt, eye level with you as you clumsily unravel it.

“An’ what’s all this?” he asks, calling your attention to the pile of lingerie dumped on the bed.

You would have blushed if your face wasn’t already burning red. “Just some things I bought.”

“Jus’ some things, huh?”

He picks up one of the lacy red garments and holds it up, a devilish smirk stretched across his lips. “Who’re plannin’ on wearin’ all this for, love?”

“Well,” you giggle, “Frenchie was very approving of it all when I was trying them on, so…”

He throws the lacy thing aside and pushes you back on the bed with a hand around your throat. His legs straddle your hips, pressing against your throbbing core and sending jolts of excitement up your spine.

“If any other fucker ever sees you in this, I’ll cut his fuckin’ throat,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as his beard tickles your cheek. “You’re gon’a wear all of this for me, and I’m gon’a ruin all of it.”

You move your hips for some sort of friction as a soft whine escapes your lips, but his other hand grabs your side with bruising strength and holds you still.

“Do you understand me, sweethear’?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “yes, I understand, Butcher. Just fuck me already.”

His hand tightens around your throat and another wave of heat washes over you.

He tuts, “What have I said ‘bout manners?”

“Butcher,” you groan, clawing at the fastening of his jeans.

His hands leave their places on your body to grab your wrists, easily transferring both of them into one hand, restraining you as he sits up. He reaches behind himself on the bed, and you wriggle impatiently beneath his weight.

“Think I need to teach you a lesson,” he says with a grin, holding the riding crop in his other hand.

Thrill bursts in your stomach and you feel yourself clench, wetness pooling in the crotch of your bodysuit.

“You ready for me to show you how to use this thing, doll?” he asks, touching it to the valley between your breasts.

The leather loop is cool against your hot skin, even through the sheer material as he traces it down your sternum and all the way to your belly button. All you can do is nod, holding your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress the whimpers wanting to escape.

He pulls the crop back before softly smacking it against your right breast. The gossamer fabric leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and his eyes light up at the sight of your taut nipple.

“You, my love,” he murmurs, caressing your left breast with the crop, “are fuckin’ diabolical.”

END.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Can you do it?

Of course I can. Unlike you, I am more than capable. My talent's include Ultimate Game Analysist, Ultimate Historian, Ultimate Theorist, Ultimate-

Yeah, yeah, I get the picture. Also, I'm the Ultimate Gamer, not the Ultimate Game Analysist.

I play games. I rarely ever think too hard about the story unless it's really good. Even if they're not, I still enjoy them.

But go on! Hit me with your best shot!

Alright...

The story starts with a man named William Afton, who moves from England to a town called Hurricane in America with his wife and three kids; His eldest son Michael, his younger son Evan and his daughter, Elizabeth. He meets a man named Henry Emily, and after forming a friendship, the two of them open an animatronic-themed family diner called Fredbear's Family Diner. The problems begin when one day, Henry's daughter, Charlotte, is having a birthday party at the diner. The other kids are mean though, and they lock her outside. William then arrives at the diner, drags Charlotte into the alleyway, and murders her. It's unclear why he does this, though it is rumored he was tired and drunk, and had been having a fight with Henry over management of the diner. Now, Henry built an animatronic called The Puppet made to watch over his daughter, but while this was happening, the Puppet was stuck inside a box. When it gets out, it goes outside to try and protect her, but not only is it too late, it's raining, so it ends up breaking down. Charlotte's spirit then latches onto the Puppet's body, and possesses it. The next part of the story focuses on Afton's sons, Michael and Evan, the former of which is abusive to the latter. On Evan's birthday in 1983, Michael and his friends shove Evan into Fredbear's mouth as a prank. However, one thing they did not know is that at least two of the animatronics, Fredbear and Spring Bonnie, contain a device called Springlocks, which allow these animatronics to be cranked open as suits. This was an idea by Henry and Afton to save on management funds for the animatronics, but there is a catch. If the Springlocks get loose on the animatronic suits, they fold back in and crush the person inside them. This is exactly what happens to Evan, who's skull is crushed after Fredbear practically bites his head off; he goes into a coma, and dies a week later. As if it wasn't the case before, William Afton reaches his breaking point following Evan's death, and starts using the Spring Bonnie suit to lure children into the back rooms of the diner, and then kill them; then proceeding to hide their bodies inside the animatronics. He's successfully able to kill 5 children before he gets caught, but due to the fact that no one can find the children's bodies or any evidence of his crimes, Afton gets away with it. After their deaths, Charlotte Emily, possessing the Puppet, starts putting the spirits of the dead children in the animatronics they were stuffed in. Which means by this point in time, the Puppet, Freddy Fazbear, Chica the Chicken, Bonnie the Bunny, Foxy the Pirate, an unused Golden Freddy costume, and Fredbear, are all possessed by the ghosts of the children Afton murdered, with Fredbear being the only exception, as he is possessed by Even Afton. Even though he is able to avoid prison, William Afton is fired from his own company as a result of the scandal. He then proceeds to open up his own business, Afton Robotics, to work with this sister company called Circus Baby's Pizza World. At some point down the line, Afton discovers this material called Remnant that is produced when young children die. Remnant allows one to preserve their soul after they die, and this is what allowed Charlotte, Evan and the other kids to possess the bodies of the animatronics, and using it, you can effectively become immortal. Afton then starts creating robots like Circus Baby and a few others designed to kill children, so that he can harvest this Remnant. However, another problem arises, when one day, Afton's daughter Elizabeth, gets too close to Circus Baby. With Evan now dead and with Michael having left the house, Elizabeth is Afton's only remaining child, and with this, she is then indirectly murdered by Afton's own hand. While the details after this incident are still unclear, supposedly, Afton loses what little remains of his sanity and ends up killing his wife, and puts her inside another animatronic called Ballora. This is still only tentative and theorized stuff though, so it's up for debate. Regardless, Circus Baby's Pizza World is closed before it even has a chance to open, and William Afton is all alone and on the loose. Flash forward to 1987, and there’s a new pizzeria open called Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. The animatronic suits the deceased children possess are stored safely in the back room, and the new animatronics, including Toy Freddy, Toy Bonnie, Toy Chica, The Mangle, and Balloon Boy are equipped with facial recognition software designed to detect the faces of criminals. This is implemented in case William Afton ever comes back, but it proves ineffective. Afton returns, and with no Springlock suits to hide in, he instead uses the empty Golden Freddy suit, since it’s unused, broken, and mostly empty. He kills another 5 children, which thanks to Charlotte Emily in the puppet still being present, possesses the spirits of the animatronics that I just mentioned. This is the second missing children incident focused in on Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. The place is then forced to close down, but before that point, they hold one last party on November 14th 1987. During this party, it is suspected that Jeremy Fitzgerald, the protagonist of Five Nights at Freddy’s 2, becomes the victim of the Bite of ‘87, after moving to the day shift and having his frontal lobe bitten off by The Mangle. The restaurant is closed down for good, and a few years afterwards, suggested to be somewhere in the 1980′s, William Afton sends out a message to his only remaining family member, Michael Afton, and tells him that his sister and mother are trapped inside the now closed Circus Baby’s Pizza World. Michael goes to Circus Baby’s in the hopes of setting them free, which is now an automated establishment. They think he’s an employee, so Michael poses as one and spends a week there while the building attempts to reopen, until he is tricked by the animatronics, and attacked by a scooping device, similar to the one inside Baby that killed Elizabeth. During the week Michael works, the robots in the facility, including Baby, Ballora, Funtime Freddy, Funtime Foxy, as well as a few others, tear themselves apart and reform themselves into a mash of animatronic parts; adopting the name “Ennard”. When Michael gets scooped, he is injected with Remnant and completely scooped out of his insides. Ennard then uses Michael’s body as a suit to escape the sister location. After they escape, Michael effectively becomes a walking corpse, then vowing to find his father and end his suffering. The first place he tries is the new Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, which opens in 1993, which also happens to be the original location of Fredbear’s Family Diner, and uses the original cast of Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy, as well as refitting the original Golden Freddy suit, but they never actually use him. The original Spring Bonnie is also housed here, but is unused and rotting. Michael was blacklisted from Freddy’s history after the death of his brother, so in order to land a job at the place, he uses the name Mike Schmidt, the name of the protagonist of the original Five Night’s at Freddy’s. However, the possessed animatronics mistake Michael for his father and spend the week trying to kill him. After his week is finished, he is fired, and the place once again gets shut down. Michael unfortunately never finds his father, but William Afton DOES come back to the original location. Because of Michael, he now knows that the kids have possessed the animatronics, and fearing for what they might do, he goes to Pizzeria after it closes down to dismantle them. Every Fazbear Location has a room that is off the map and invisible to the animatronics, which the company typically uses for storage, as well as to hide the victims of the springlocks so they bleed out without the children seeing. William hides in this room, coming out to dismantle the animatronics until all four of them are torn apart. However, once he does this, he releases the spirits of the kids who attack him. With nowhere to run, Afton hides inside the rotting Spring Bonnie suit, in hopes of scaring the kids off. He laughs as he thinks he has them cornered, but the Spring locks, which have loosened over time, fail, and he gets crushed inside. Afton has spent years prior injecting himself with Remnant, so when he’s crushed, he comes back to life, thus marking the birth of the series’ most infamous antagonist: Springtrap. Afton doesn’t have a will of his own though, and is locked in the room until 2023, with the opening of Fazbear’s Fright. Fazbear's Fright: The Horror Attraction is the location in which Five Nights at Freddy's 3 takes place. The attraction is a replica of the old Freddy Fazbear's Pizza located inside a local amusement park, meant to revive the decades-old urban legends that surrounded the establishment. Outfitted with old animatronic parts and suits, as well as dim lighting and true-to-life décor, patrons would walk through the building like a haunted house, reliving the nightmare of 30 years ago. Afton, having spent another 30 years rotting inside of the Spring Bonnie suit, is transported to Fazbear’s Fright. And as luck would have it, the one filling the role of the night guard for the establishment, is Michael Afton. Taking the opportunity before he misses it, Michael sets fire to the building and burns it down with William inside it, using the establishment’s faulty wiring as an excuse. When Fazbear’s Fright burns down, William is killed and the spirits of the original 5 deceased children, who have been possessing Michael throughout the week he was working there, are set free...Or so he thought. As it turns out, William survives the fire and rebuilds himself with the parts that were left over inside the building, and escapes. As things stand, Charlotte Emily possessing the Puppet, Elizabeth Afton possessing Ennard, and William Afton possessing Springtrap, are all out roaming the world. Ennard gets tired of being controlled by Elizabeth, so he spits her out. Elizabeth then rebuilds herself into a new version of Circus Baby called Scrap Baby. Ennard then discards the clown mask and takes on a new Freddy-shaped face, now going by the name “Molten Freddy.” Molten Freddy also has the spirits of the 5 children possessing the Toy animatronics inside it. After all this time, Henry Emily finally learns what’s been happening over the past few decades, and decides to take it upon himself to settle things. At an unspecified time after FNAF 3, he devises a plan to bring all the animatronics into one location, including Springtrap, Baby, Molten Freddy and the Puppet, so he can destroy them and set them all free once and for all. Henry creates an animatronic called the Lure Encapsulate Fuse Transport and Extract device, also known as L.E.F.T.E or Lefty for short, modelled after Freddy, to find the Puppet possessed by his daughter, and capture her. When Michael finds out about this, he goes to the fake Pizzeria that Henry created for his plot, luring all the animatronics together in one place. Henry then locks down the building and burns the whole thing down with himself, Michael, Elizabeth, Afton’s wife, Charlotte, William and the remaining children inside Molten Freddy, freeing all of their souls from the torment. William’s soul is sent to hell where the children are free to torture him for all eternity, but the story of Springtrap doesn’t end there. Some time before his death, William uses his genius mind to scratch his consciousness and memories in binary code into the electrical components of some of the animatronics. The big problem with Henry’s penultimate plan was that Fazbear Entertainment was no longer in his own hands, and was actually still running as it’s own company at this point. Some time during the events of the other games, an anonymous games developer was hired by Fazbear Entertainment, then later hiring a different company called Silver Parasol Games to create the Freddy Fazbear Virtual Experience. The purpose of these games being published was to make it seem as if the events of the previous games were fabrications and old wives tails, and to discredit the real stories of the children getting killed. The issue arises in the computer chips that Silver Parasol Games were provided by Fazbear Entertainment to scan in, in order to make the animatronics in the virtual world appear more realistic. And as you might have guessed, William Afton’s consciousness is thus ported into the game, practically bringing him back to life within the world of the game. Now known as Glitchtrap, Afton programs himself the power to take over the body of the tester, so he can bring himself back to the real world. He tries taking over the body of a dev named Jeremy, but after deciding that Jeremy is a poor candidate, he possesses his body and forces him to commit suicide by using a guillotine paper slicer on his own face. The second person he tries to possess is the unnamed protagonist of FNAF VR: Help Wanted. This fails, and the dev is able to defeat Glitchtrap and lock him away. However, before this happens, Glitchtrap finds another host named Vanessa, and eventually settles on using her. After the VR experience, as well as an additional Halloween themed DLC, Fazbear Entertainment then commissions the creation of a giant mall called Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex. During the run time of the Pizzaplex, multiple animatronics are switched around and the tragedies begin yet again. This leads into the events of Five Nights At Freddy’s Security Breach, and the events that preceded it involve an unknown specimen, Patient 46, and Vanny, Vanessa’s villainous alter ego under the control of Afton, reprogramming the animatronics' systems and make them more deadly. Alongside this, another 9 unnamed people go missing, likely all children, as well as multiple missing therapists, likely killed by Vanny. While the original lineup of band animatronics at the Pizzaplex includes Glamrock Freddy, Glamrock Bonnie, Glamrock Chica and Roxanne Wolf, Bonnie is eventually replaced by Montgomery Gator. With how the game says this happens following a night where Bonnie went down to Monty’s designated area, the golf course, before his disappearance, as well as how his physical appearance in Security Breach’s DLC, Ruin, shows he has claw marks across his body, it’s highly likely Monty dismantled or damaged Bonnie beyond repair, so that he could replace him in the main cast. Roxanne Wolf, or Roxy’s reason for taking Foxy’s place in the main cast is never given a reason. One night, after the Glamrock animatronics have been reprogrammed, Freddy Fazbear malfunctions and breaks down on stage. When he wakes up, it’s revealed that he was placed in low power mode, which likely saved him from Patient 46′s reprogramming. Also, he discovers that a young, homeless, orphaned, anonymously registered boy named Gregory, the protagonist of Security Breach, has been hiding inside his chest. Freddy resolves to help Gregory escape the Pizzaplex before Vanny and the animatronics can find and kill him, and they discover that the Pizzaplex is built on top of the fake restaurant that Henry Emily created to lure Afton and the others years prior. Vanny locates Afton’s corpse in this building and uses the recharge stations for the Pizzaplex animatronics to reanimate his body, effectively bringing him back to life. However, before Afton can return and start killing again, Gregory and Freddy stop him, and he is killed by a creature called the Blob. The Blob is very similar to Ennard and Molten Freddy, as it is an amalgamation of several animatronics that are possessed by the 9 people that went missing. Security Breach has several endings, but the “canon” ending that results in Afton’s defeat results in Freddy and Gregory escaping and sitting on top of a hill, staring into the sun. It is likely that with the eventual destruction of the Pizzaplex, Vanessa’s spirit is freed from the clutches of Vanny and Afton, but this is not guaranteed. Lastly, we come to where we currently reside in the story with Security Breach: Ruin. At some unknown time, Gregory befriended a young girl named Cassie, the daughter of one of the Pizzaplex’s engineers. Apparently, the story goes that Cassie had her birthday at the Pizzaplex, but none of her friends showed up, leaving her to become friends with Gregory, who comforted her, and for Roxy to do the same, becoming Cassie’s favorite animatronic. After the Pizzaplex is shut down, Cassie gets an SOS from who she believes to be Gregory, and goes to the ruined Pizzaplex to rescue him, as he has somehow ended up trapped under it. In reality, it turns out to be a trap created by an animatronic called the Mimic. The Mimic is first introduced in the Tales from the Pizzaplex storybooks, and is a hyper-intelligent animatronic created by Edwin Murray to care for his young son while he worked. The mimic has the special ability to copy the behavior and voice of anything it observes, as well as change its form to fit into any animatronic suit. After Murray’s son David dies via vehicular manslaughter, the Mimic tries to imitate David, after learning his mannerisms and habits through his interactions with the boy. Edwin loses it and bludgeons the mimic to death with his fists. A week before Christmas, Fazbear Entertainment sends a small team to the abandoned factory to "clean up a mess." The team believes they are expected to finish Edwin's projects, and while doing so they come across the remains of the Mimic. From the waist up it appears to be functional but it doesn't move, so the team decides to complete it by attaching legs from a nonfunctional animatronic onto it. Then, the Mimic comes to life and kills each of them in ways eerily reminiscent of innocuous behaviors it had seen from Edwin and David. Several more people come to the Pizzaplex for various reasons in the Tales from the Pizzaplex storyline, and the Mimic begins to claim more and more lives. It’s suggested that prior to the events of Security Breach, Vanny discovered the Mimic under the Pizzaplex and deemed it a problem, so she developed a system called the M.X.E.S to imprison it. However, during the events of the DLC post the original game, the Mimic poses as Gregory, mimicking his voice and pretending he's trapped in the Pizzaplex so Cassie can unknowingly free it. Once Cassie deactivates the M.X.E.S, the Mimic escapes and tries to kill her. In the supposed “canonical” ending, Roxy protects Cassie, then Cassie tries to escape via an elevator. The real Gregory contacts her through a loudspeaker, and tells her that it is not her fault. However, he also says that bringing Cassie back up to the surface will be a huge risk, as the Mimic will also follow them. And after apologizing, the wires to the elevator get cut, causing Cassie to fall into the depths of the underground. Her fate, as well as the Mimic’s, are left unknown.

...That’s it.

Holy $!-!17...

[redfurrycat]

Top Gun: Peacock 🤠+🐓= 🦚 [Part 3]

[Bradley, Jake and Mitchell are on their way to the beach to meet their son’s godparents, Nat and Javy. Jake is sweet-talking his forever feathered chicken who’s moodily driving the Bronco.]

Jake: Come on, Bradley. A deal’s a deal. You HAVE to wear it.

Bradley: …

Jake: Do you really want to teach our son about not keeping his word?

Bradley: ….

Bradley: But I thought you always win at darts! That’s why I accepted the bet in the first place. I thought it was in the bag!

Jake: As much as it pains me to say, I wasn’t expecting Javy and Nat to win. I feel as bereft as you do, Roo. Come on. I wear one of your atrocities too. Do you really believe I’m okay being seen in public with…this? I even let you dress our baby with THAT THING.

Jake is looking forlornly at his son who is playing with his Léon plushie without a care in the world.

Bradley, smirking, to his son: Duckling, don’t you love your new clothes?

Little Mitchell: I wike it, pop! I’m you!

Bradley to Jake: HA. SEE? He likes it. My baby duck has such good tastes.

Jake: Agree to disagree, darlin’. I still have time to right his path. Also, I call dibs on his Halloween costume. Anyway, stop brooding and put your shirt!

Little Mitchell, giggling: Are we gonna have chicks, pops?! Nice.

Jake: No, honey, it means your pops doesn’t like his shirt. Silly, don’t you think?

Little Mitchell: Yeah. Siwwy. I wove your shirt pops!

Jake, mimicking tears: There is hope for you yet. You've earned the right to have a go in a F-18!

They arrive at the beach. Jake is carrying his son on his shoulders and making sounds of a F-18 taking off. These two happily laugh and run towards Nat and Javy, already there. Javy is even making howling sounds to welcome his favourite godson.

Natasha to Jake, smirking: Where is your other half?

Jake towards the bronco: Come on darlin’! Step off that perch of yours!

Bradley is bracing himself, puts the shirt and gets out of the car.

*Wolf-whistling*

Natasha: Looking good, Bradshaw!

Jake: Oh, very good, almost too good to be true.

Jake to Javy, discreetly: Thanks for this, man. You’re a true bro. I owe you one.

Javy: More like a thousand, but who’s counting…Now, give me my pup.

Natasha, Javy and Mitchell go towards the sea talking about Mitchell’s day at the zoo, meanwhile Bradley joins Jake.

Bradley: You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

Jake with a devilishly smirking face: I don’t know what you’re talking about, darlin’.

[part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4]

(Check what's below the cut, you'll understand why Bradley is having a brooding seizure :P)

Little Mitchell's shirt:

Jake's shirt:

Bradley's shirt:

Nat's shirt:

Javy's shirt:

[part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4] - [part 5] - [part 6] - [part 7] - [part 8]



[xnorthstar3x]

Mothers Daughter

Part 2 in gamble series part 1

“Well let’s get up there I gotta take a shower.” (Y/N) said leading him into the building the desk clerk slept as they entered feet propped up on the desk. The elevator ride to (Y/N)’s apartment was uneventful and awkwardly quiet. Bakugo had traded his hero costume for civiles and 2 duffel bags that contained a months worth of clothing in each. (Y/N) lead him to her apartment unlocking it and entering quietly she kicked her shoes off and shut the door behind him locking all the locks and sliding the chain lock in place. She turned on the light slipping on slippers and greeted her cat on the sofa who mewled disapprovingly of the visitor in her entry way.

“It’s only for a few months kiko he’ll be gone then.” She said scratching the cat on the head. She walked into the kitchen and shook a bag of food filling two bowls and filling two water bowls up she washed her hands as 2 cats made their way to the kitchen and made her way into another room Bakugo followed her as she entered seeing a hospital bed, with a woman with similar features as (Y/N) watching the news. (Y/N) walked over to the monitor and checked the screen.

“Who’s this handsome man in the doorway. Are you finally gonna give me some grandkids (Y/N).” She said smiling at Bakugo who stood unmoving in the door way a bit shocked by the view.

“They’re be cute wouldn’t they mamá.” (Y/N) said handing her some pills and a glass of water.

“I’m (M/N), I may be in this bed but I’ll still kick your ass if you even think about hurting my baby girl. She works to hard to take care of us to be treated badly." She took the medicine.

“Lemme go clean up and I’ll get started on dinner alrighty.” (Y/N) said pulling her domino mask off and running a hand through her hair. She stood and smiled at her mother who smiled back and nodded channel surfing. (Y/N) walked past katsuki who followed her to the living room once again.

“I’m gonna take a shower, I’d offer you to join but I know you’ll decline.” She winked at him and he grunted in response putting his bag down near the futon. He looked up to find her gone but he could hear her in her room rummaging through her things. He looked to the door way of her mothers room and pondered an idea. He stalked toward her room and tapped lightly on the door.

“What is your favorite dish Miss (M/N)?”

.🐈‍⬛.

(Y/N) stepped out of the bathroom in sleep shorts and a large shirt. Her freshly washed hair tied up in a bun on top of her head. The first thing she noticed was the sound of her mothers voice laughing and chatting with Bakugo. The second thing was the smell of a home cooked meal. She stalked forward and caught eyes with katsuki in the kitchen as he placed something on the island counter in front of (M/N). She gave him an approving look. As her mother turned her wheelchair around to face her.

“(Y/N) you better hold onto this boy he can cook. You aren’t that bad at it huh but he definitely would put some meat on those bones of yours.” She teased as (Y/N) walked forward shaking her head playfully. She took a seat next to her mother and noticed it was her mothers favorite dish on the counter. As much as she loved Japanese food her mother always had a love for Chinese Cuisine and would tear into some gong bao chicken anytime she could. Katsuki sat a bowl of white rice in front of (Y/N) who looked up at him with a soft gaze. She picked up some chopsticks and started loading food into her mothers own rice bowl who swatted her away commenting about how she wasn’t helpless.

“Now how did you two meet?” (Y/N) mother asked gently sipping some jasmine tea. (Y/N) met Katsuki’s eyes, he nodded discreetly for her to answer. She shook her head and he stuffed his mouth in response.

“Well mother I’d love to tell you but Katsuki just loves to tell the tale. He says I simplify things to much.” She said smirking at him as she sipped her own tea he glared but softened his gaze when he noticed her mother turn to him.

“Well miss (M/N) it started out like any other day.” His deep voice rumbled lightly explaining how he happened to bump into her one night and couldn’t let her get away. It wasn’t completely a lie he found himself smiling as he spun the tale. (Y/N) found herself softly gazing up at him, the smile he wore made it’s way to his eyes, he looked pretty good with a grin on that harsh face. He was certainly her type, she preferred a man who could pick her up with ease and do just about anything he wanted to her. Her thoughts drifted off else where imagining all the fun they could have if he’d loosen up a bit.

“Well this meal was amazing, but an old lady’s gotta sleep.” (M/N) said placing her empty rice bowl down, (Y/N) swallowed and rose from her seat following her mom to help her into bed. “Goodnight mama. See you in the morning.” (Y/N) said turning the light off the glow from the tv giving her mothers face a glint as she smiled.

“Goodnight tiger.” (M/N) said winking suggestively at her daughter who rolled her eyes playfully.

He’s a hottie her mother mouthed wiggling her brows as (Y/N) shut the door with a grin. She turned to face Katsuki who stood at the counter chewing his last bite. His gaze traveled to her it wasn’t harsh but it wasn’t soft, somewhere in between.

“If you want I can lay out a futon mat for you in my room or you can sleep in my bed if that suits you more.” She said winking at him. He snorted sipping his tea.

“You couldn’t handle me in your bed tiger.” He said gazing over top his cup. The way he used (Y/N)’s mothers nickname placed a light blush to her ear tips she smirked.

“I could handle you I’m sure. I’d be happy to demonstrate.” She said walking over to a linen closet to grab a futon mat taking it to her room. Katsuki shamelessly watched her walk out of the room his eyes targeting the green shorts she wore the words Dynamite printed across the butt in orange letters. His eyes grew shocked and he almost choked on his tea. She was wearing his merch, his name was written on her ass. She definitely planed that out.

Series masterlist

[interdimensional-warlock-man]

Is that a plane? Is that a bird? Is that… oh? Oh it IS a Bird! The mysterious Poultry Man assaults the scene as the next in line of Hermits I draw!

Remember, it wasn’t me, it was the man in the chicken costume!

[awlimagines]

Pumpkin Jamboree

So, first things first. HUGE thanks to @just-a-pansy for allowing me to use his rival children for this prompt! You should definitely check them all out if you haven't already! The story is below the cut to be sure proper thanks were given. Please enjoy!

It felt surreal to you sometimes. What were the odds of so many of you having children around the same time frame? You couldn’t say you weren’t happy that things worked out this way. All your worries about Ellis having someone to play with were gone. You and Gustafa maintained good relationships, giving your son plenty of friends among the children of others who could have once been romantic rivals. 

You loved the tradition of the Pumpkin Jamboree. You remember crying when your parents told you that you were too old. So, it wasn’t a surprise to Gustafa when you eagerly volunteered to help the children dress up and lead them to the part Rock and Lumina were hosting at the Villa. The day had finally come, and you were focusing on restraining yourself from gathering the kids into a group hug.

Cecilia and Marlin’s daughters dressed as little scarecrows. You had no doubt Marlin sewed the costumes for them. Ava dutifully tried to keep her younger sister Marcie from unraveling her clothes by picking loose threads. Tito dressed like his father. If it wasn’t for him having Flora’s eyes, you would have thought Carter had reverted in age. Your son had stolen one of his father’s large green hats and begged Gustafa to make him a robe. Ellis now stood with his friends, loudly proclaiming he was a wizard and could create spells from music. It was his daddy’s love spell song that entrapped you after all. 

Blushing, you did your best to ignore Gustafa’s laughter as you ushered the children outside. Four kids couldn’t be hard to track and wrangle. They should be more manageable than the farm’s adventurous chickens. You enjoyed their babbling as you followed behind the group. You had the group detour before heading to the Inner Inn and through the village. Since Nina’s passing, you did your best to include Galen. The older man was starting to involve himself in Forget-Me-Not Valley again, and you wanted to be sure he was included in the Pumpkin Jamboree.

In a flutter of activity, more children joined the group. First, Nami’s son Mikhail tumbled down the inn’s stairs. His bright hair almost matched the pumpkin costume he wore. Following Mikhail’s appearance were Cody’s son, August, and Molly and Griffin’s child, Rae. You recognized August as a Renaissance painter, though you couldn’t name the exact one. Rae’s costume stumped you until they explained. They were a warrior princess. It was why they had a frilly top with pants and a sword. Didn’t you know slaying a dragon would be difficult in a dress? 

It wasn’t until you started the path uphill to the villa that you realized something was amiss. There were too many children. There should be seven, but each time you counted, there were eight. You picked out the child you didn’t know quickly. She looked like a girl with black hair, her white dress only shades lighter than her. You fought panic as she ran with the other kids to greet Edie (dressed as royalty) and play. 

“Maybe she’s one of those black-eyed children,” Rock mused when you asked him about the child. “Y’know, I’ve heard they come and bring misfortune wherever they wander. Though with how close the mountains are, maybe she’s a mountain spirit instead? I wonder if she’d be appeased with candy?” 

“Oh! I’ll ask her if she’s a ghost!” Marcie excitedly quipped before running off. 

You hadn’t realized she had come to stand near Rock and you. You could only imagine what Marcie said when she reached the other children gathered around Lumina. You shrank back and sidled away from Rock when Lumina fixed him with a glare. Her disgusted frown told exactly what she thought of him telling such stories around the children.

“Adora is Daryl’s granddaughter,” Lumina’s voice seemed to drip with displeasure as she joined you. “She must have wandered away from the lab when she saw the other kids. Rock, please go let Daryl know Adora is here.” 

Lumina sent her husband off with a wave, refusing to acknowledge his explanations for the time being. She sighed to you about how sometimes it felt like she had two children. Edie was obviously the better-behaved one. You laughed along with her, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Daryl had a granddaughter? The man hardly seemed that old; he must have decent genetics. Who had his wife been? You couldn’t wait to share this gossip with Gustafa.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Mall Santa

Day Four of WangXian Christmas Stories!

If you asked Wei Ying, this whole “take pictures with the mall Santa” thing was quite the weird tradition. In what other circumstance would one allow their child to sit on a costumed stranger’s lap, take pictures and ask for gifts? None! So how did it become okay to do it if the stranger was dressed as Santa?��

Regardless, A-Yuan seemed beyond excited at the prospect of there being a mall Santa in their city and no matter what Wei Ying told him, he wouldn’t give up on the idea of meeting him, even if the queue was long and they could have done a million other things in the meantime. A-Yuan could be impossibly stubborn when he wanted something, a trait Wei Ying didn’t know whether he picked up from himself or from Auntie Wen Qing. Probably both. 

So, Wei Ying had to interrupt their Christmas shopping for friends and relatives to meet this mall Santa, only comforted by A-Yuan’s excitement and the knowledge that it would be over soon. Sure, the boy was adorable, and Wei Ying loved seeing him happy and full of holiday cheer, but Wei Ying was getting a bit skittish waiting in line and if another lady cut in front of them again, he was quite sure he would eviscerate her, goodness be damned. 

Eventually though, their turn came, and A-Yuan all but jumped in Santa’s arms.

“Hello, little one! What would you like Santa to bring you this year? Have you been good?”

“Yes, yes, very good! You can ask baba!”

Wei Ying laughed a bit and nodded in agreement, sharing a bit of a conspiring look with Santa. 

“Well, then, would you like some new toys?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I want the most.”

“Oh? Then what else do you wish, little one?”

“I want Baba and Rich-gege to get married, of course!”

Wei Ying turned redder than Santa’s clothes. A-Yuan continued. “They’ve been going out for like a hundred years and I know they love each other so they need to get married already! I want a second daddy! And a little brother to play with, because Jingyi can’t always come over and I get so bored!”

Santa laughed heartily as Wei Ying attempted to cover his face with a hand, the other carrying a dozen shopping bags. He was really going to die of embarrassment in the middle of the mall, wasn’t he? 

“Anyways, you’re supposed to be able to work miracles, right? That’s what Baba needs, so please, please, please, do it! I promise I’ll be even better this year, and I won’t steal A-Ling’s sweets at recess when he doesn’t look ever again!”

Wei Ying didn’t know whether to laugh or attempt to hide behind the giant mall Christmas tree. No wonder Jin Guangyao was always giving him the side eye... so much for A-Yuan having been a perfect kid. 

“Santa’s going to try his best. But other than that, is there anything else you wish for?”

A-Yuan lifted a suspicious eyebrow. “Well, didn’t you read the letter I sent you? You can get me the remote control train set I wrote about in there!”

Santa smiled brightly. “Of course, of course, I remember now! I’ll do my best to make your wishes come true this year! Merry Christmas, little one!”

“Okay, thank you! Merry Christmas!”

And A-Yuan jumped off the man’s lap and ran towards Wei Ying, as if nothing even happened and he didn’t just air their business for half the queue to hear. 

--

“A-Yuan... Santa can’t grant wishes like that one you asked him...” Wei Ying began as they picked up their McDonald’s order in the food court. A-Yuan took his Happy Meal and sat at a table as Wei Ying drank from a tall cup of too hot coffee, seated in front of him 

“Santa can grant any wish! And besides, it’s not that big of a deal.” and the boy sipped from his juice emphatically,  “Rich-gege showed me the ring he’s going to give you anyways, I just want it to happen already!”

Wei Ying almost choked on his drink. 

A-Yuan bit into his chicken nugget piece like nothing at all happened. 

[etherealpapercut]

loki x y/n as halloween-themed quotes from my friends/family!

~*~*~*~

loki: what day is it?

y/n: october 30th.

loki: ...

y/n: ...

loki: oh my gosh tomorrow’s halloween

y/n: it is.

loki, panicking: y/n!! i need help with my costume!! i haven’t prepared a costume!!

~*~*~*~

y/n: it’s halloween tomorrow.

loki:*gasps*

y/n: what?

loki: that’s why you bought so many chips and cookies and candy yesterday! 

loki: *points accusingly* and then you hid it all.

~*~*~*~

loki: y/n, tradition is to carve... pumpkins... right?

y/n: *holding a knife to a watermelon* 

loki: ...

y/n: ...

loki: ...

y/n: i’m actually... allergic... to pumpkins...

~*~*~*~

y/n: i’m going as a ghost. just a bedsheet and sunglasses over top. are you dressing up, or are you too old for that kind of thing?

loki, sputtering: too–too old? old?! i’m old??? 

~*~*~*~

y/n: i didn’t think my costume through, and now i have to wear it to school.

loki: is that another thing you guys do? wear your costumes to school?

y/n: well, kind of. so that you can show off to everyone you know–but listen, i cannot go waltzing into the building in an 8ft tall realistic gorilla costume, the secretaries would freak.

loki: fair enough.

~*~*~*~

loki, calling y/n on the phone, on the verge of tears: why didn’t you come to my costume party?

y/n: ...

y/n: oh no

y/n: i completely forgot about your costume party

loki: you forgot about my costume party? y/n, how could you??

y/n, now on the verge of tears: I’M SORRY I’M SO SORRY I’LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU I PROMISE

~*~*~*~

y/n: my funniest halloween memory?

loki: please, y/n, don’t–

y/n: okay–shush–listen, there’s this house in my neighbourhood that goes ALL OUT every year and it was really messed up, man, so i wasn’t going to the door to ask for candy...

loki: oh dear

y/n: but loki wanted to prove me a chicken, so he waltzes up the path, past the skeleton under the lawnmower, the torn up dolls covered in fake blood hanging from the tree, all the caution tape and stands right next to the witch statue by the doorbell–

loki: oh no

y/n: –which was actually a lady in a costume and not a statue–

loki: please stop talking

y/n, giggling: –and so this witch grabs loki by the shoulder, and he screams so loud.

loki: you would have done the same!

y/n: and it was so fucking funny

loki: no

y/n: and we haven't been trick’or’treating since.

loki: i was traumatised...

[rocksrntpeople]

Rewatching Iron Man

I hadn’t read or seen much comic book stuff when I was invited to watch Iron Man with my friends at the movie theater back in 2008. I’d seen and enjoyed the DC cartoons as a kid and of course I knew of Iron Man, but I didn’t know anything about him except that he looked like a rubber chicken version of Dr. Doom.

All this to say, Iron Man launched me into the world of comic books and superheroes. I was hooked from then on and I still love comics today. This movie quite literally changed my life, even if the change wasn’t as profound as most life changes.

Obviously, I’m biased.

But then something genuinely surprising happened.

Somewhere along the line I’ve forgotten how to put down my critical analysis of media and not only was I pleasantly surprised at the great writing still hitting the mark, but I was able to notice the superb cinematography, something I’d missed through no less than 3 rewatches. I mean, of course there’s the surface-level awesomeness like the entire opening sequence with its fluid transitions or the perfectly tense scene where Pepper is collecting data from Obadiah’s files, but even beyond this facade lies near perfection.

That moment when the missile lands next to Tony in the desert, the camera does a short, quick zoom with a zshooom sound and it’s just so reminiscent of comics and the idea of being hyper-aware in a high-stress moment.

When Obadiah has Tony paralyzed and is giving his evil monologue, everything is perfect. The angled shot, the lighting, RDJ’s violet veins, Bridge’s cartoon-villain dress and demeanor. It all comes together in this scene and despite the minimal camera work, the room seems to be spinning as the monologue goes on.

These are still pretty surface level things, but throughout the film there’s just a masterful execution of every element — lighting, costume & makeup, camera angles — just everything is absolutely seamless for 99% of the movie. It’s kind of insane to think about a blockbuster superhero movie being so technically well-executed!

One thing in particular that caught my attention and stayed pretty true throughout the movie is the fact that this movie doesn’t follow Tony Stark. In almost every scene with Tony, the camera is following another character. This does two things: it lets the audience know things that Tony doesn’t, which helps build tension, yadda, yadda; and it makes a distinction between Tony Stark and Iron Man. Because when Tony Stark is in his suit, then the camera begins to follow him. Even the final shot of the movie plays to this, finally — finally — focusing on Tony Stark and Tony Stark alone, as he declares he is Iron Man.

Fucking chef’s kiss. Are you kidding me?! This movie was so fucking good; that’s why it’s one of my favorite MCU movies of all time, despite being the first. (We don’t talk about Hulk in this household.)

Robert Downey Jr. is the perfect Tony Stark. I found it a bit funny that at times the makeup crew tries to harken Downey back to his teen acting days with the extremely glossy eyelashes, but other than that it holds up overall and I would even go as far as to say that we probably haven’t had a stand alone superhero movie that was as good as Iron Man since Iron Man. 

It’s just so damn unique; I can see exactly how it gripped the world with its melding of humor and action and reality and just everything we were all feeling at that moment, without shoving it down our throats that this is what we needed. Like, god, can’t one of these rich guys turn good instead of evil for once? Can’t someone get fed up and save us already? Are we finally getting a superhero movie as good as what’s on WB Kids??

And then Iron Man swoops in, dripping in sarcasm and long-lost teen lust, acting as though it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be a rich guy in a mech suit, and ultimately delivering us unto a new age of entertainment.

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The elephant in the room

Okay, yes, let’s talk about Rhodey. I remember when he was replaced; I was so upset. I felt that Terrence Howard was the absolute best choice for Rhodey and that he did an impeccable job opposite RDJ. Rewatching the film…god damn it, it’s still very true! Why’d you have to do it, Terrence? Why?! You were beautiful as you soared so high…

Listen, I like Don Cheadle as much as the next person, and did back in 2009 too. But he is not a good Rhodey. I feel like there are many other black actors who would have done the role better and I half-remember people throwing around Denzel Washington’s name as a “better” suggestion. Personally, I’d have gone with someone closer to Howard’s look, like maybe Jamie Foxx or someone.

The fact of the matter is that while the character is a military guy, one of the main reasons he’s friends with Stark is because he’s a progressive, more laid-back and approachable kind of military guy; he’d almost have to be for his work as a liaison with civilian organizations. Both Cheadle and Washington have such stern looks…it just doesn’t fit. (To be clear, I think Cheadle has done a good job with the role; I just think Howard would’ve done it perfectly. God it hurt to hear him say, “Next time, baby.”)

I mean, this is just my opinion and I know that Cheadle has millions of fans for his role, but I just don’t see it and never have. Terrence Howard is part of what makes the first Iron Man so great. But, c’est la vie.

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So, Iron Man — Great Success! 

I guess I should rate these but I’m afraid there’s going to be a trend…

10/10 for Iron Man!!!

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.

.

Next week, I’ll see The Incredible Hulk, which I am only watching out of respect for the timeline.

But actually, I liked this movie well enough and thought Edward Norton was a great casting choice. We’ll see if it holds up because it’s been probably a decade since I last saw it.

[adultswim2021]

Robot Chicken #56 “Boo Cocky” | September 7, 2008 - 11:30PM | S03E16

I just realized what the title means. That’s cute. 

Man, do I hate this show. I swear to god, I don’t set out to hate this show; I will watch it with an open mind and hope that something in it will be of value and/or make me laugh. A few things get me here and there, but this episode? (spoken quickly, quoting a commercial I vaguely remember from my childhood) I-don’t-think-so.

First sketch of substance starts off with some recreations of scenes from the motion picture Revenge of the Nerds. The joke is that after a montage of mostly-faithful adaptations of key scenes of the nerds committing various crimes (notably the main nerd raping the cheerleader by posing as her boyfriend in a Darth Vader costume) it smash-cuts to them in a court room. They are sentenced to half-a-lifetime of hard time in a federal prison. They get brutalized in there. The show makes a joke that the gay nerd is happy to be in prison because he’s gay. Huh! What an interesting joke for me to talk about humorlessly for two paragraphs: 

Hey I JUST JOKEEENG. I am instead going to say opinions about those movies, because I think I’ve seen all of them? I don’t remember the third one almost at all. The first one is the best, but it’s not that good. I have a soft spot for it because it was one of the first R-rated movies I was allowed to see, along with Animal House. At the time I preferred it over Animal House, which is insane to me now.

Michelle Meyrink is in Nerds, va-va-va-voom! The second one is boring and bad, and rated PG instead of R. Ogre becomes their friend in that one, which is usually the domain of animated series adaptations (such as: Murph in the Problem Child movie/cartoon). Parts 3 & 4 are television movies, I think? The fourth one has one or some of the nerds getting married as a pretense for them reuniting. I remember they showed it in 3D that didn’t really work at all. You had to get the glasses from your local Safeway or something like that?

I remember turning the fourth one off early because it was lame, and then the next day at school my friend chided me for missing the much-ballyhooed bachelor party scene, where female strippers came out with like calculators on their bras (as seen in the promos). I watched the movie when the box set came out on DVD, and it was hilarious how gay it was. Literally, I mean, I’m not doing a thing where I am using schoolboy language to take you back to my 1990s Northern California grade school experience of being small and insensitive. What I mean is: the gay nerd gets so excited by the music and sensuality that he jumps on the strippers' stage and steals focus, and his friends all cheer him on instead of getting horny for girls. Honestly, those are some good-ass friends and I’m glad he found them.

I’m not talking about the next sketch yet. First I’d like to acknowledge that I’m doing a thing that I think I swore I would not do, which is use Robot Chicken sketches as a jumping off point to riff on popular culture in a self-indulgent way. I simply don’t care anymore. I like rehashing things I know about movies. It’s the only thing keeping me alive at this point. 

Okay the next thing is: Conan of “The Barbarian” fame answers the question “what is best in life”, and instead of delivering what I’m guessing are very iconic lines (I don’t like the Conan movies! I am sorry! I do not retain things from them!) he sings a song that is ironically flowery. He name-checks gumdrops, which seems like very low-hanging fruit when you’re trying to write a song where the joke is that it’s saccharine. Does anyone actually ever refer to gumdrops in any other non-ironic context? Anyway, I REALLY hated this one. The song wasn’t even fun. It felt like a song written by bad comedy writers who don’t normally write songs. Not the worst song to be on Adult Swim, that honor probably goes to the one in Casinko. 

Another bad bit: a channel change gag where a big monster carrot eats a rabbit and then says, “did that blow your mind?” at the camera. No. It did not. There’s an unfunny sketch about the Borg infiltrating the Star Trek experience in Las Vegas. My father-in-law is Walter Koenig, so I get to have that over dinner. There’s an okay sketch where a fart outbreak in a mental ward is interrupted by a TiVo menu and off-screen characters arguing about Robot Chicken that results in bloodshed (shout out to Moral Orel, a show Robot Chicken is friends with). There’s a sketch where two sound engineers are oblivious to the fact that the guy in the soundproof booth is being mauled by various fantastical things (zombies, aliens, finally a werewolf). 

The last “main” sketch is Saved by the Bell, but it’s Saw. You can tell right away that Jigsaw is Mr. Belding, because they got the real guy to do it. Lotta real guys in this. Dustin Diamond, fresh (not really) off his stint on Tom Goes to the Mayor, is in this as well! Get you a guy who can do both. Anyway, this sucks too, but I guess it’s sorta impressive that they got 80% of the cast to lend their voices to this. I guess. Wait, no, it’s not.

MAIL BAG

Bradley Needlehead rocks

HE DOES. Thank you for bringing him up. I read somewhere, and I also vaguely remembered it on the previously-mentioned AdultSwim.com video commentary that they told DLH that he was his replacement, and asked him to coach the actor to help capture him better. I think I characterized it a little differently. I could probably use a little clarification on that. It is remarkable that Needlehead went on to create China, IL.

[ereardonlibrary]

Come Back [Chapter 9][Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OC]

Summary: Eight years ago, Bradley Bradshaw was just a college boyfriend who broke your heart. Now, he’s back in your life after a coincidental reunion, and he’s adamant about starting up a friendship. Will it be possible to be just friends with Bradley, or is he inevitably going to end up ruining everything you’ve spent the better part of a decade rebuilding?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x OC [Nurse Maggie Brooms]

WC: 3.5K

Warnings: Cursing, angst, smut, sexual inexperience

Series masterlist

You walked away.

Bradley Bradshaw had stormed back into your life and uprooted everything you had spent the better part of a decade rebuilding in his wake.

You had loved Bradley once. It was the kind of love that sinks into your DNA and replicates. Love that clings to everything you own, like a fine dust. It didn't just go away because he cheated. It didn't disappear simply because you told him to go.

You hated to admit that you had thought of him the minute you stepped on San Diego soil after graduating your nursing program. You thought of Bradley as you watched the sun rise over the ocean. You had thought of Bradley so many times over the last eight years that he had become almost a figment of your imagination. He was like deja vu. You weren't sure if you remembered him, or simply the memories of him that had been living with you since the day he walked away.

It never crossed your mind that he would come back and beg for forgiveness.

The two of you had been kids back then. Neither of you had been ready for the life you had wanted together.

You walked out of Bradley’s house into the dark night and you could feel his eyes burning into your back as you drove away.

You needed time. And space. You needed to reconsider how Bradley fit into your life. If he fit at all.  

In the last eight years, everything had changed. And also nothing had changed. He still loved you. A part of you still loved him. But love wasn’t enough. You didn’t know if this Bradley had what it took to be the man you wanted. The man you needed. The man you deserved.

You were tired of trying to fix him.

***

You slept with Bradley six weeks after your first official date.

It had been you calling the shots, wanting to take it slow. And Bradley had been more than happy to go at your pace, something you had found surprising.

“Is this slutty enough?” you asked, turning around and holding up a black bra. Kailey scrunched her nose.

“Depends what you wear with it.”

“This,” you said, holding out a pair of black panties.

Kailey shook her head and stood up, rummaging through your dresser until she found a navy blue lace bodysuit.

“Wear this,” she said and you took it out of her hands. It had been part of a very questionable Halloween costume from the year before, but you had chickened out at the last minute and worn a sweater on top.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. You walked into the bathroom to put it on. “Does he know?” Kailey called out.

“Know what?”

“That you’ve only had sex once before this?”

“Yeah, he knows.” You yanked the bodysuit up and looked in the mirror. “I told him about Dan.”

“Is he pressuring you?” she asked. You sighed and opened the bathroom door.

“No, not at all,” you said, tossing your clothes in the hamper and pulling on a skirt over the bodysuit. “He’s been great, actually. Considering I threw myself at him the first night we met, he’s been good with taking it slow.”

“Because if you’re not ready…” she trailed off and you threw her a look.

“Mom,” you whined and Kailey laughed. You pulled a sweater over the skirt, tucking it in, and yanking on a pair of knee high heeled boots. “Alright, how do I look?”

“Like you are gonna get fucked.”

“Oh my GOD,” you said, and Kailey chuckled. “You’re so vulgar I love it.”

“I’m just saying, he better wrap it. We don’t need any children running around this apartment, it’s already small enough.”

“Can you imagine?” you asked, swiping on lipstick and tossing it into your purse for touch ups later. “OK, I should go, Bradley texted me he’s almost here.”

You stood up and shrugged on a coat. It was early December, and while Virginia was overall mild there was a definite chill in the air.

There was the slam of a car door, and the doorbell and you rushed to open it. Bradley held out a box of chocolates and you smiled, taking them in your hands and giving him a kiss. “Come in,” you said. “Let me just put these down and grab my bag.”

He stepped inside. Kailey lingered in the doorframe to the kitchen, sizing him up. “Hey Bradshaw,” she said and he gave her a smile.

“Kailey, how’s it going?”

“Oh, just fine,” she said and you put the chocolates down on the counter, scooping up your bag.

“I’ll see you later?” you asked her.

She gave you a grin. “Sounds like I won’t be seeing you until tomorrow.”

You groaned and she laughed, skipping off down the hall toward her room.

Bradley turned to you. “What’s she talking about?” he asked.

You put your hand on his arm, steering him toward the door. “It’s a surprise.”

You hadn’t told Bradley your plans. He thought you were going out for dinner and then back to his room to watch a movie. He didn’t know that you had a fistfull of condoms shoved in your purse, or that you had spent the entire night squeezing your thighs together, anxiety and nerves rolling over you as you watched Bradley talk across the table, his big hands milling in the air as he told a story. How all you could think of were those hands traveling up and down your body, his mouth between your legs.

“You OK?” Bradley asked as you walked down the hallway to his dorm room.

Threading your fingers through his, you nodded as he unlocked the door with one hand. Bradley had started to keep his room neater as the weeks went on and you spent more time together. There were no socks on the floor, no empty coffee cups stacked up on the desk. He flicked on a lamp, basking the room in a soft glow, and you dropped your purse on the ground near the desk.

“So what do you want to watch?” he asked, bending over his laptop and pulling up Netflix. “Comedy? Romance? Action. I know you’re not a fan of action movies but look at this one.” He pointed to the screen, turning around to gesture to you when his eyes widened. You had shed your skirt and sweater, ditched the boots, and were standing in the middle of the bedroom in the navy bodysuit. “Holy shit.”

Crossing the room, you slowly closed the laptop shut, winding your arms around Bradley’s neck. “Kiss me,” you said softly and he immediately reached down, grabbing your waist and pressing his lips to your neck.

“Fuck you look amazing,” he said, pulling away for a second and admiring you. You blushed and turned away and Bradley slid two fingers under your chin, pulling your gaze back to his. “Baby look at me. You’re so beautiful, I hope you know that. I’m seriously in awe of how fucking gorgeous you are.” His hands trailed gently over your sides, around to your ass. “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Let’s have sex,” you whispered into his ear and Bradley raised his eyebrows.

“Are you sure?” It wasn’t a leading question at all. You saw it in his face, he wanted you to be sure. “Because if you’re not ready, baby, that’s OK. There is no rush.”

You shook your head, taking his hand from your side and placing it on your breast. Bradley sucked in a sharp breath, his hand squeezing your flesh gently. “I want you, Bradley. Tonight.”

His lips crushed themselves against yours, as Bradley walked you backward toward the megabed, kicking off his shoes in the process. You slid your fingers under the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it on the floor, running your hands over the smooth muscles of his chest.

Lying down on the bed, you watched as Bradley unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground before he climbed in next to you in only a pair of green boxers. You leaned over and ran your hand down his arm.

“We can stop anytime you want,” Bradley whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

You shook your head. “Do you not want to sleep with me?”

“Babe,” he said, resting one hand on your bare thigh. “Of course I want to. I’ve wanted you since that first night you showed up to my room at three in the morning.” You groaned and tossed one arm over your face, embarrassed just at the memory of that night. Bradley chuckled. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. I just want to make sure this is what you want.”

“Just kiss me already,” you whispered and Bradley laughed, rolling over and locking his lips on yours. One of his hands came up and gripped the back of your head as he slotted himself between your legs, your thighs squeezing around his hips as he rocked into you gently. You moaned as he pulled away, peppering light kisses on your neck before moving lower, gently palming at your chest before pulling the bodysuit to the side to lick your right nipple, then your left as you raised your hips, grinding up against him, desperate for friction. “Fuck, Bradley.”

He gave you a grin, one hand pressed against the lace covering your stomach as he moved down on the bed, lying on his stomach between your legs. You sat up a bit against the pillows, as Bradley raised his eyes to yours, one large hand pulling away from your thigh to drag the fabric of the bodysuit to the side, exposing your core.

You were nervous, and then he groaned and dipped his head, licking through your folds. It was the first time anyone had ever gone down on you, and you fell back against the bed in shock. You hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it wasn’t that. Bradley continued to lick upwards in short flicks before he centered on your clit and you let out a gasp, fingers bunching into the sheets.

“Are you OK?” he asked, raising his head and you simply pushed it back down, felt him chuckle between your legs as his mouth suctioned back against you.

“OH shit.” Bradley’s fingers dug into your thighs as the pressure in your lower stomach continued to build. “Wait, stop,” you said and he looked up, lips glistening.

“What is it?”

You shook your head. “I just, I don’t want to cum yet.”

He smirked, wiping at his lip with the back of his hand and crawling back up to where you lay on the bed. “That good, huh?”

You smacked his arm playfully and he laughed, pulling you in for a kiss, one large hand warm on your cheek. You rolled over until you were straddling him, feeling how hard he was in his boxers beneath you. As you lowered yourself over him, he groaned and the sound sent waves of pleasure straight between your legs. Grinding over him slowly, your fingers heavy on his chest, Bradley looked up at you. You smiled at him before he reached up, slipping the straps of your bodysuit off, pulling it below your breasts, sitting up and taking your nipple into his mouth. A strangled moan left your throat as he thrusted his hips up against you while sucking hard on your nipple before pulling his mouth off with a wet pop.

Rolling over, you shimmied off the rest of the bodysuit, lying on your back.

“Shit,” Bradley said, leaning over and digging through his drawer. “Where did I put those?”

“I have condoms in my bag,” you said and he gave you a questioning look. You shrugged. He stood up and crossed the room, opening your tote and letting out a cackle as he raised a fistful of condoms into the air.

“Mags, seriously, how many did you think we’d need?”

You gave him a small smile. “Better safe than sorry.”

He pinched one between his fingers, tugging his boxers off with the other hand before tearing the package open and sliding the condom on. When he turned to face you, your eyes went wide. “I’ll take it slow,” he said, walking over to the edge of the bed. “I promise.”

You nodded and Bradley climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He ran his hands along your thighs, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. You raised both hands to his neck, pulling him in closer.

Finally, you felt him nudge at your entrance, pushing in gently and you gasped, hands dropping to Bradley’s upper arms.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, dropping his head toward your neck as he entered you slowly.

Your thighs shook as he continued to slide in. He was thicker than you had expected, and much longer, and it took a while for him to sink all the way in. Finally, Bradley let out a grunt and looked down at you in his arms.

“You OK baby?” he asked and you nodded feverishly.

“Yes, please, fuck me,” you begged and he smiled, sliding back out a few inches before pitching forward, his hips hitting yours, leaving you gasping for breath.

“Oh you like that?” he whispered, and you nodded. Bradley slid backwards again, snapping his hips into yours and pulling moans from your mouth as you tilted your head back against the pillow. “Fuck, baby girl, you are so damn pretty when you moan like that for me.”

All you could do was whine as he repeatedly fucked into you, one hand coming down to touch your clit, his thumb circling the bud as your legs tightened against his hips.

“Fuck, baby, I’m going to cum,” Bradley whimpered near your shoulder as your hands pressed deep against his toned back.

You let out strangled moans as he picked up his pace, holding himself upright above you as he drove his hips into yours, pulling staccato whines from your lips.

“Shit!” he cried out, stalling inside of you before falling heavily against your bare chest. You wrapped your legs around him, hand stroking down his sweaty back. You hadn’t cum, but a part of you didn’t expect to. Not the first time. A moment later, he sat up, untangling himself and withdrawing from between your legs. There was a dull pain and you watched as he disposed of the condom before crawling back onto the bed, pulling you into his arms. You rested with your head on Bradley’s bare chest.

“How was I?” you asked and he laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Amazing,” he whispered and you rolled your eyes. “Mags, I’m serious. I can’t believe how lucky I am that you ever looked at me, let alone had sex with me.”

“Shut up,” you murmured. “You’re Bradley Bradshaw. You can get any girl on campus you want.”

He squeezed his arms around you, pulling you in tighter. “I don’t want any girl. I only want you.”

***

The day after your fight with Bradley, you found the first note.

It was tucked inside the mailbox next to the front door. You would have missed it on your way home after an exhausting 15-hour shift, if not for the corner edge sticking out of the metal flap of the box.

To Maggie, it read on the plain white envelope and you frowned, stepping inside and sliding a finger under the seal. Settling down onto the couch, you pulled open the tri-folded paper.

Hey Mags, it’s Bradley. Listen, I know you’re mad at me and you have every reason to be. It’s why I haven’t called you or texted or shown up in the middle of the night begging you to take me back. You need space, and I have to respect that.

I respect you, Mags. Despite what you may think. I’ve always respected you. I just lost my footing for a moment. But throughout it all, I never once lost respect for you. I lost respect for myself.

You might open this and throw it away without reading the full thing. And here’s why that would be a mistake: I love you, Maggie Brooms. I’ve been in love with you since the moment you walked into my life. And I’ve also known from the very beginning that you are way too good for me. That I was lucky you ever even looked my way. I’m so damn lucky to have a second shot, if we can call this a second shot.

I’m going to make you a few promises that I intend to keep. First, I will let you come to me when, if, you’re ready. I won’t bother you again in person until then. Second, I will be honest with you. I made that promise to you at that diner a month ago. I vow to keep it even if the truth hurts sometimes.

You’ll get a letter from me every day to recount all of the things we missed over these last eight years. Guess I should start from the beginning.

Here we go.

I cried when you walked the stage at graduation. Michael Brackney sat next to me, and I had to pretend it was allergies, but it wasn’t. You looked so fucking beautiful up there, in that white dress underneath the navy robes. At that point it had been five days and fourteen hours since you had thrown me out of your apartment. It felt like months not being able to speak to you every day. Hear your laugh. Watch you light up the room. Simply sit there and watch you talk and think about how much I loved you.

After the ceremony I spotted you and your parents off to the side. Your father looked at me and it went without saying. He hated me, to the depths of my being. I turned away as fast as I could.

I didn’t have anyone there with me at graduation, so I ate dinner with some guys from the fraternity and their parents in the great hall. But the whole time I had my eye on you. A part of me was counting down the seconds before I watched you slip out of the doors into the warm May night. I knew it would probably be the last time I would ever see you.

You didn’t know it, but I sat in my truck and lingered outside your apartment that night after the ceremony. I watched you inside packing up box after box.

It kills me to know that when I finally gave up, gave in to the feelings of inadequacy and fear and guilt that prevented me from throwing the car in park, ringing the bell, begging for forgiveness, I was probably only a few minutes too late to take you to the hospital. I can’t stop thinking how if I had waited just a few more minutes, if I hadn’t been so selfish, I could have been there for you.

I hate that I wasn’t there to support you. I hate that I didn’t know we lost the baby neither of us knew we ever had. I hate that you had to be alone in such a dark time.

I spent years hating myself for how I treated you, Mags. I spent years trying to block out how I had screwed up the only thing in my life that had ever gone right. You were, and still are, the best thing that ever happened to me.

I had done too much damage to ever be worthy of you. That’s why I drove away that night without trying to get you back. It’s why you haven’t heard from me over the last eight years. I was scared and I didn’t think I deserved to win you back.

I’ve never been more proud than I was the moment you crossed that stage at graduation. You did it with such grace and poise and I know that only a few days before I had done the most selfish thing in the world and I had broken a piece of you and taken it with me in the dark of the night.

I need you to know, Mags, that I’ve never forgiven myself.

There’s a piece of you inside of me, Maggie Brooms. You have a piece of my heart. And I think I have a piece of yours.

You deserve the world. I’m not sure I can give you that, but I will try my hardest.

You’re my dream girl, Maggie. You are my home. I've always been trying to find my way back to you.

Love,

Bradley

A/N: I'm sorry for any epistolary haters out there — I used to be like you too, but have learned to love letters in stories.