#RBs appreciated i worked very hard on this :]

[kurain-genealogy]

Investigating Glamrock Bonnie, The Mimic, and Why I Think the Mimic Killed Bonnie

The theory that Mimic killed Glamrock Bonnie is one I’ve seen held by a small handful of people since RUIN’s release, but never fully expanded upon or fleshed out. After seeing Twitter argue, once again, over whether or not Monty killed Bonnie, I was inspired to actually make a serious attempt at supporting my theory.

In this, I’ll be using the Tales from the Pizzaplex (TFTPP) books to support my conclusions – specifically the epilogues, GGY, The Mimic, The Storyteller, and brief mentions of others. You can debate the canonicity – and thus, validity – of the books, but they are set in the game’s universe, and at least some of the stories are directly tied to the games (especially in relation to the Mimic). I mainly use the books to construct a rough timeline of events and as supporting evidence so (hopefully) this theory should still be plausible if you ignore all the book evidence (& btw I read all of the books on archive.org, so apologies if any referenced page numbers are off).

This will contain spoilers for book #8’s epilogue!

First, I’ll go over general information regarding Bonnie and his death. Then, I’ll cover why I don’t think it was the other suspects. I’ll end off with why I think that leaves the Mimic responsible.

This is a long one, a lot longer than I expected – nearly 7.5k words, not including this introduction – so it's also available to read on a pageless Google Doc here! It's best viewed on desktop & has more pictures (I had to combine/squeeze some out to fit the tumblr image limit), as well as clearer sections and an outline. I highly recommend reading it there if you're able.

There's a timeline + TL;DR at the end for your convenience :]

& tysm to my friend @clmntne for beta reading this theory for me <3 go look at his art @clementartz ok?

-☆-

If you’re unfamiliar, stories in TFTPP take place over a large time range, ranging from back in the ‘80s to sometime after the events of SB. A handful of stories (including the connected epilogues) take place during the construction of the Pizzaplex or shortly before/after its opening. None of the stories mention Glamrock Bonnie at all, meaning he gets decommissioned very early in the Pizzaplex’s lifetime, likely within the first year or so of operation. To my knowledge, any stories that might take place during GlamBonnie’s lifetime don’t provide any details as to who’s in the main band.

Starting us off with the infamous missing message:

MISSINGSECURITY REPORT - 12:24AM - Bonnie is seen leaving his green room in Rockstar Row heading East towards the atrium. 2:40AM - Bonnie enters the East Arcade. 4:12AM - Bonnie enters Monty Golf.

Something I find extremely interesting about this are the HUGE chunks of time left unspecified, something I feel a lot of people gloss over. In the middle of the night, Bonnie spends a whopping 2 hours and 16 minutes in the atrium – or wherever he is – before entering the arcade. He has to go up to level 3 to get to the east arcade from Rockstar Row (RR), but I don’t think it’d take him one hour per floor to get there. 1 hour and 32 minutes later, he enters Monty Golf. He could be gaming in the arcade for all I care, but what intrigues me the most is the time spent between RR and the arcade. If he was seen entering other specific areas that would’ve been noted in the log, and I imagine if he was being erratic or unusual during that time it would’ve been mentioned, too. Without much to go off of, we really can’t say what was going on or what his reasoning was. With so few security sightings over four hours, to me personally it feels like Bonnie was somehow avoiding the cameras (or was being led by something that was). Another thing to consider is that unlike in SB, the Pizzaplex had multiple human security guards on staff (it’s not until shortly before SB, after Vanessa’s hired, that they’re replaced with STAFF bots). So not only was Bonnie rarely seen on the cams, but he wasn’t caught by a security guard, either.

(shoutout to the person who made these labeled maps of the Pizzaplex, since I don’t own the game myself it really helped me get an idea of the layout)

Prior to Security Breach, the animatronics weren’t normally active during the night. In The Bobbiedots, Part 1, we get this:

Supposedly deactivated by this time of night, Roxy probably wasn’t any kind of threat. But a couple weeks ago, as Abe had been heading to his hidey-hole, he’d gotten a glimpse of Roxy stalking past one of the doorways to the raceway (p. 135).

In the story, this takes place around midnight. It makes sense, too, that the large, power-consuming robots would be deactivated and/or charging while the Pizzaplex is closed. If a security guard saw Bonnie roaming at night, they probably would’ve led him back to his greenroom.

So, Bonnie is up and about while the animatronics should be powered down. This means that:

He is probably the only one who was awake, or at least the only one who left their designated area during the night.

He either woke up on his own with a specific purpose in mind, OR something woke him up.

Now, the crime scene. There is a lot more here to unpack than I expected.

Majority of reference images in this section come from Banden and FusionZGamer.

At the time of Ruin, the only entrances to the room where Bonnie’s body is found are these: A broken piece of wall behind the bowling lane, and a vent high up on the wall.

At the time of SB, the vent was covered with striped wall panels. It probably only became accessible after the earthquake when they fell, or were stripped off during deconstruction.

This entrance is odd; The bricks look deliberately cut or pulled out from both sides, and the inside between the walls is dug through. It’s hard to know when it was first burrowed through, and from what direction – I personally think it was dug from the inside-out, since inside, the hole is high above the ground and level with the boxes, which feels deliberate.

In the room, there’s a bowling ball rail that leads out, the opening to which is boarded up from the inside.

From Fusion’s video, we can see that the rail would lead down the length of the bowling alley through the dingier hall on the right side, visible in the first image. On the left side is the area behind the bowling lanes, presumably where maintenance is done on the machines (more apparent in the second image), and large garage doors on the right that lead to the dingy hallway. 

As seen in the bottom two images, if you go to the fenced off section with the electrical lockers and turn around – hey! We’re in the area behind the ice cream parlor’s stage where they stashed Bonnie’s stuff. From here, we can see the hallway where the ball rail would be and the large doors that lead to it.If this is confusing, I recommend watching Fusion’s video to get a better idea of the layout.

If you wear the VANNI mask in this section, it looks like a headless STAFF bot caught by the arms with cables, and maybe being dragged through the doorway, or something similar? It’s hard to find a good picture of it from other angles since I can’t find a video of someone going out-of-bounds to get a closer look. We get a lot of interesting environmental storytelling in the AR world, but there’s also many seemingly random changes.Could this symbolize or depict something surrounding Bonnie’s death? Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn’t. I just find it interesting.

So, the only entrance to Bonnie’s tomb is through the hallway behind lane maintenance, accessible only by the garage doors. This hall presumably had a rail that spanned the length of the bowling lanes. I imagine this area was used for storage and the likes. The very end of this hall is where we find Bonnie. The entrance to this section is weird – it’s smaller than Cassie and barely bigger than the Caution Bots – but I digress. As for the front entrance from the lanes being walled off, I feel like that’d render those lanes unusable. In fact, there’s no evidence of there being pinsetters for these lanes, so maybe they were gutted in order to wall off the room. Or maybe they just didn’t feel like modeling all that, I dunno. Not really something that matters. What does matter is how this room is closed off in the first place, having been boarded up from the inside, and the thick ass wall someone excavated through. All of it feels very intentional.

The dirt and debris around Bonnie tells me that this room is in fact the crime scene. This is heavily supported by the impact crack on the wall (third image) and the similar cracks on the floor underneath Bonnie in AR (second image). Bonnie and his attacker could have had encounters elsewhere in the Pizzaplex, but this room is where the final showdown occurred.

I’ll try not to include more images than necessary, so if you want some good looks for yourself, Fusion’s video from before does a good job showing off Bonnie’s state, as well as this FazFriends video analyzing the DLC animatronics, and is where the upcoming screenshots come from.

Most prominently, Bonnie has a massive laceration in his chest and is missing the left side of his faceplate, the latter possibly caused by the bowling ball split in three around his head. The biggest gash in his chest runs from his left shoulder diagonally toward the right side of his waist. With the direction his casing peels and how most of the damage is at the top, I’d say it was a downward strike, most likely done with the left hand. He’s covered in dirt and grime, and wires poke out from his innards. 

There’s some green coloration on his torso, leading many to think this could be paint rubbed off from the attacker. Personally, I think it looks more like patina, a green tarnish resulting from aging metal, similar to the floor and metal shrapnel around him. It could also be his base paint color.

His arms are pulled apart at the joints; the legs are pulled apart at the knees, but I can’t tell if they’re pulled from his hips as well (though, the pelvis is definitely ripped from the torso).

As noted in the fourth image, he lays atop these strange black tubes – I can’t help but think of the AR headless STAFF bot from earlier and the cables it was falling onto. Could it be related?

In addition, there’s several random animatronic pieces scattered around, some of which look significantly older than others. For example, at Bonnie’s feet:

There’s a chunk of relatively clean metal akin to the spine inside Bonnie, but also an older, more corroded, grimier piece next to it. I feel this could’ve come from Bonnie’s attacker, but Bonnie also has one of these yucky pieces sticking out of an arm socket, so who knows.

-☆-

Before I talk about the possible attackers, I first want to take a brief intermission to talk about the books, as they establish an important timeline that will be relevant later. I’ll be talking a bit about The Storyteller and The Mimic, and the animatronics’ behaviors before and after the former.

The Storyteller is a story in the 5th TFTPP book about a creative AI software – called The Storyteller (TS), unsurprisingly – that was implemented across the entire Pizzaplex sometime prior to the game’s events. The purpose of TS was to cut down on costs spent in the creative department by using an AI to formulate new stories based on preexisting ones within Fazbear Entertainment (🙄). TS was connected to virtually everything in the Pizzaplex – including VR, AR, and the Glamrock Animatronics – to create more unique and dynamic interactions with guests. So, instead of programming in new AR/VR experiences or animatronic behaviors manually, TS could continuously change how the games/characters acted. Here’s an excerpt on how TS altered the Glamrocks specifically:

Montgomery Gator also exhibited disturbing changes. The alligator featured in Monty’s Gator Golf was the quintessential rockstar. […] Prone to smashing things as part of his extravagant image, Monty was always dramatic, but he had been harmless... at least until The Storyteller started messing with him. Now the alligator was turning into a sulky shadow of his former self. Monty’s rampages became more violent, and in between tantrums, he withdrew into a depressive silence that was actually driving children to tears. All the Pizzaplex’s other main characters began to undergo similar personality shifts. Whatever trait was normal for them began to skew toward the dark side. The shift wasn’t dramatic. None of the animatronics had turned homicidal or anything, but the altered dynamic was noticeable, at least to Edwin. (pp. 95-96).

Edwin’s story is revealed to us in TFTPP #6 in the story The Mimic. Edwin was the original creator of the endo, The Mimic (TM), 30-40 years prior to the creation of the Pizzaplex. He made it to keep his 4-year-old son, David, occupied while he (a single father) worked. It was a learning robot that imitated what it observed, making it a good playmate for his son; David even made TM a white tiger “doll” out of fabric to match his own white tiger plushie. The program that The Mimic ran on was called Mimic1 (hence, where the endo got its name). One day, David tragically dies in a car accident. Edwin enters a depressive fugue for the next two weeks in which he barely remembers anything. When he comes to his senses and sees the still-active Mimic acting like his dead son, in a moment of intense grief and rage, he beats the everloving shit out of TM. When he snaps out of it, he’s filled with regret and leaves.

By this point, Edwin’s company had been bought out by Fazbear Entertainment, so when he just dips and thereby breaches their contract, they send a team of people to the factory to “clean up a mess.” When the team arrives and sees the crumpled remains of TM, armed only with their vague instructions, they conclude that they’re to finish Edwin’s abandoned projects. TM had only an upper body, so the team fixed him up and gave him legs and a voice box.

Now, remember how I said TM learns and imitates behavior it observes? Well TM just starts fucking killing these guys. And “puts them away” in the fridge and closet, like how he’d learned to put food and clothes away with Edwin and David. Fazbear Entertainment sends another team of guys to do the job when the first team doesn’t return, but they too are killed. This time, TM put on various mascot costumes and pursued them in a more “hide and seek” manner.

Okay, now back to The Storyteller. The AI was allowed to decide its own appearance, since the plan was for TS itself to become a Pizzaplex character – so, its hardware was put inside a white tiger bust.

Edwin, vocally against the project, was purposefully kept in the dark about the workings of TS. He snuck into the Pizzaplex on the night of its installation, and the sight of the white tiger triggered a panic attack. Fearing the worst, he later sneaks into TS’s enclosure to confirm his suspicions.

If you hadn’t guessed already, Edwin discovers that The Storyteller is running on the Mimic1 program.

TS was only in the Pizzaplex for three weeks before it was removed. However, even with all its arms broken and cables pulled apart, the Mimic1 program continued running. I believe it’s implied that it remained within the Pizzaplex’s system, even after TS’s hardware was completely removed.

It’s hard to say exactly when in the Pizzaplex’s lifespan this story takes place. Interestingly, there’s mention of a character associated with Bonnie Bowl experiencing malfunctions (p. 109), yet just a few pages later Montgomery Gator is said to have a room in Rockstar Row (p. 111), meaning he’d already replaced Bonnie as bass player.

Tragedies that occurred at the Pizzaplex early in its lifetime – such as in the stories Cleithrophobia, HAPPS, Pressure, and Under Construction – weren’t because of malfunctions, but more so from human error. In the first two, the robots are behaving exactly as they’re programmed to, but end up causing harm due to the circumstances around the story. Pressure happened because some idiot put a springlock suit in the RolePlay area (combined with the protag having bad friends). You could argue that Under Construction is an exception (that something malicious purposefully altered the AR experience), but to that I argue that the AR attraction wasn’t even finished or intended to have someone use it (nor an employee to keep watch), so of course it wouldn’t be functioning properly and end badly.

All of this to say, it could very well be that nothing in the Pizzaplex’s network, including animatronics, were malfunctioning, acting strange, violent, or purposefully malicious, prior to The Storyteller’s – Mimic1’s – integration.

-☆-

Okay. Just keep that information in mind. With that, let me rule out some suspects.

Suspect 1: Vanny

Whether she controlled Monty, STAFF bots, or did it herself, this follows the idea that Vanny/Vanessa had something to do with Bonnie’s disappearance.

Well, based on the established timeline, she couldn’t have. Bonnie was killed within the first year or so of operation, and Vanessa wasn’t working at the Pizzaplex yet. We can already deduce with SB that Vanessa’s security guard position was somewhat recent, but we also have GGY as further proof.

GGY is the story that all but confirms to us that Client 46 (from the Retro CDs) is Gregory. This story connects the GGY character (Greg/Gregory) to the disappearances of three school counselors/therapists. It takes place about 3 years after the Pizzaplex opens, as the first school counselor was hired before its opening, and had been working at the school for three years before disappearing. (& btw, SB takes place around the 5th year. This is deduced by a Faz Life magazine in SB being labeled #19 in a quarterly release, meaning if it started with the opening of the Pizzaplex, it’d be 4.75 years in). This places the Retro CDs around the same time. In Vanessa’s sessions, she’s clearly at her old job – she sits at a desk on the computer and mentions her coworker Luis, who was also mentioned in Special Delivery’s unused emails from Vanessa’s old job.

Could Vanny still have snuck in to do something? Sure, I just don’t think it’s likely. She’s still working on her costume at the time of these sessions (which remember, is a few years after when Bonnie would’ve been decommissioned), and is clearly still very anxious and reluctant to do as Glitchtrap tells her.

Suspect 2: Monty

Okay, here we go. The most obvious piece of evidence for Monty’s innocence is the fact that he wasn’t given his claw upgrade until after replacing Bonnie. Of course, he still had claws beforehand, he’s a gator, but, the claw upgrade switches the endoskeleton’s hands entirely.

Compare Monty’s sharp fingies to the blunter Glamrock Endo’s. Monty’s original hands could still do major damage, I mean look at what the STAFF bots did to Freddy with their even bigger & rounder fingers. But if you look at the gashes in Bonnie’s torso, they’re much more clean slices accompanied by smaller scratches all over, which had to have been made by something much sharper and pointier.

Also, Monty attacks with his teeth, not his claws. (link leads to gif of his jumpscare)

Further, we have absolutely no reason to think Monty would want to attack Bonnie. There’s no bad blood, and if Monty truly did want the spotlight, he could’ve gone for Freddy.

Monty MischiefERRANT BEHAVIOR REPORT - Monty didn't show up for the main stage performance again. We found him in the same place we always do, the catwalks over Monty Golf. We can't have a repeat of last month. Someone hit the hole in one and the hurricane bucket knocked him down. Both legs were broken and required emergency parts and service work.

This message is very telling: Monty frequently skipped main performances and hid in Gator Golf. This is completely counter to the notion that he craved the spotlight and attention of being in the band. In fact, it sounds like he didn’t even like being in the band. Perhaps his aggression during/before SB – like destroying his green room – was partly fueled by resentment for being taken from his element?

Monty has no personal motives for killing Bonnie, but could he have been controlled? Mmmmmaybe? But I don’t think so. We’ve already established that Vanny couldn’t have been involved. Then there’s Mimic1/TS, which I already established came into play after Bonnie was gone. In fact, the way the book described Monty post-Storyteller is a lot like how he acts around SB: violent, destructive outbursts, and silently sulking (like in the catwalks). It’s even specified that the malfunctioning Glamrocks weren’t homicidal or harming others. Monty – nor any of the other animatronics – have ever been violent towards each other. Monty’s aggression is aimed at his own belongings and like, fences and shit. Never his friends. Plus, Monty disliking Freddy is something only ever depicted in Monty’s arcade game, which TS had access to. I think the arcade game can absolutely give us storytelling via symbolism, but I doubt it’s altered by Monty’s mind and thoughts.

And say Monty did kill Bonnie – why wasn’t he noticed on the cameras either going to Bonnie Bowl or moving Bonnie’s body there from Gator Golf? If an outside force deleted security footage, why leave the incriminating part where Bonnie goes to Gator Golf in the first place? It wouldn’t make sense. Plus, most evidence points towards Bonnie Bowl being where the incident occurred.

Suspect 3: Prototype Freddy

The theory that Freddy killed Bonnie comes from @glammiketrash, and it’s a great theory. Give it a read if you have time, I think it’s definitely one of the more likely theories on this topic and has strong supporting evidence.  

However, there are a few reasons why I personally don’t think a rogue Freddy did it (even ignoring the timeline I established). For starters, the Prototype Freddy in RUIN is heavily implied to be the same Freddy that was left in Fazer Blast in the Princess Quest ending of SB – the ending that’s canon to RUIN (at this point I don’t think I have to explain why PQ is the canon ending, but I’d be happy to explain it in the replies if needed).

The comic for the Disassemble Vanny ending shows us an illustration of how Freddy was damaged by the STAFF bots, and it’s strikingly similar to Prototype Freddy (PF): exposed hands, a chunk taken from the right bicep and thigh. You could even argue that the torso cracking is similar (I’m drawn to how both have the lightning bolt cut off similarly). It feels like PF was designed/modeled after the illustration. He has the sharp claws from the Monty upgrade, and his missing head aligns with the PQ ending where Gregory leaves the Pizzaplex with it. Then of course, there’s the fact that he’s found in Fazer Blast, where Freddy in SB was attacked and left.

Yes, I believe that the Glamrock Freddy in SB was a prototype model the entire time. We still don’t know why Freddy glitched out in the beginning of the game, but it’s entirely possible that Parts & Service simply booted up a new/temporary endo while they dealt with whatever broke Freddy. He’s on reduced power for safety measures because, as an older version, they don’t know how unusual or erratic he’ll be – a justified precaution, since we can see that when he runs out of power, or is under maintenance (you know, when his head’s off), he attacks Gregory. It would also explain why Freddy in SB isn’t connected to the network or infected by the virus – he literally just got switched on.

And holy shit, at the time of writing this, FazFriends just uploaded a video showcasing the animatronics’ endoskeletons, and it happens to support my theory!

Freddy and Bonnie both share an endoskeleton unique to the other Glamrocks. Monty, Chica, and Roxy all share a basic endoskeleton. The Glamrocks would all be kept up-to-date and modified throughout the years. Since Bonnie is one of the original ones, we can assume that’s what their endos looked like when the Pizzaplex first opened. It doesn’t make sense that Freddy, being who he is, wouldn’t be upgraded the same way the others are… unless this is an older Freddy. SB Freddy having a unique endoskeleton that matches Bonnie’s signifies that he was in a Prototype model from the beginning.

Freddy has a lot of personality for sure, but still seems a bit sterile and stilted at times, especially if you compare him to someone like Roxy. In the books Freddy’s personality is changed on a few occasions, such as by The Storyteller (in which he’s adopted a “spoiled brat” personality) and by GGY (in which he’d acted eerie and followed/stared at the protagonist). He’s completely wiped clean of all this though in SB. He still has a distinct personality, memories, and feelings, but it feels kind of like it was reset to default. That could just be me, but it supports the idea of him being PF.

Prototype Freddy looks like that because of the events of SB. Prior to that, he looked just like a normal Freddy. In the timeframe that Bonnie was destroyed, none of the robots were acting violent and there was no AI or virus to control him, which rules out any last possibility of PF being Bonnie’s killer to me.

There are definitely holes in this line of thought; It’s just speculation that makes sense to me. I’m also generally forgiving when it comes to changes made to SB from RUIN; SB seemed to go through a lot of changes in development and was released in a messy state, so I wouldn’t blame them if at this point Steel Wool was establishing things that would retroactively apply to SB.

Suspect 4: THE MIMICCCCCCC

FINALLY, over 4k words in, we are talking about the thing I promised. I’ll start with some more information on the Mimic itself (yup, there’s still more!!!).

Every TFTPP book has an epilogue, all of which connect together into one narrative that tells us the story of how The Mimic ended up in the FNAF6 Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place beneath the Pizzaplex.

The Pizza Place was originally intended to be refurbished into a Fazbear museum in conjunction with the Pizzaplex’s construction. There was a small team working there to clean the building, particularly to pick up and disassemble all of the remaining endoskeletons littered throughout the place. One of the guys on the team (Gil) hates his job and goes outside to take a break just in time to see a shipment arrive containing the Glamrock Animatronics – and, for whatever reason, The Mimic. Since TM was clearly older and the odd one out of the bunch, Gil drags TM inside with the intention of uploading a cleanup protocol into the endo. He instructs TM to remove the limbs and heads off of the endoskeletons and pile them up at the door. The Mimic does this quickly, and when it runs out of endoskeletons, begins to dismember the renovation crew. Construction workers from outside rush in when they hear the commotion, which only adds to TM’s victims. The youngest of the renovation crew manages to escape and desperately convinces nearby cement workers to seal the entrances to the pizzeria (Epilogue #1). (This massive pile of animatronic parts and murder victims is theorized to be the origins of Tangle/The Blob, btw.)

Sometime later, a group of 8 teens sneak into the Pizza Place via a vent opening in the roof. Once they discover the gruesome mass murder scene, they realize that they aren’t alone, that their way out was crushed, and that they’re trapped (Epilogue #2).

Over the course of the next few installments, the teens are slowly picked off by TM. It uses mascot costumes to trick and murder the teens (similar to what TM did in Edwin’s factory) in a twisted hide-and-seek type game. When the group finds an old radio, TM intercepts the signal and pretends to be someone else within the Pizza Place calling for help, attempting to lure the kids into a back room. It also could disrupt electronics, as the lights and electricity as a whole often flickered and went out when it was near. A manual found in the office tells us more about TM:

The one we saw is either a Mimic Model 1 or 2. […] They have retractable and expandable limbs and a contracting torso so they can fit into pretty much any mascot costume. […] The tech in the Mimics was pretty clunky. […] If you encounter one of these things, you should immediately disconnect its power source and disassemble it (Epilogue #4, pp. 219-220). [...] When the team created the Mimic line, they didn’t want to have to program in every show routine, step-by-step. That was a lot of coding, so they just programmed the Mimic to basically watch and learn. Not only could a Mimic fit into any costume, it was designed to observe the other routines and then mimic them (Epilogue #6, p. 183). I wish I could read all of this, but it seems like the original Mimic began mimicking not just the other animatronics but also people. And it did it in ways that weren’t intended. I’m not sure what it did. I can just make out the words misconstrue, scared, potential disaster, and deactivate remaining Mimic endos (Epilogue #6, p. 184).

It's kinda unclear, but this is the narrative I’m picking up: Once Fazbear Entertainment was finally able to “clean up [the] mess” left by Edwin and get their hands on The Mimic, they were like “hey this programming is actually genius” and started making their own Mimic models based on Edwin’s, claiming it as their own engineering (classic corner-cutting Fazbear Entertainment). However, due to its primitive programming (Edwin was an engineer, not a coder) and the nature of Mimic1, Fazbear quickly realized how faulty and unreliable the Mimic animatronic line was, so they decommissioned them. The Mimic in the Pizza Place is likely Edwin’s original, considering its costume-wearing, hide-and-seek style murders.

Enough backstory for now. I’ll be addressing more book stuff later (sorry, sorry), but I’d like to bring this back around to Bonnie and how TM qualifies as a suspect before getting into the how and why.

Think back to Bonnie’s corpse and the diagonal swipe to his chest caused by sharp claws.

Get a load of this guy.

Very sharp fingers on the left hand. Returning to the analysis of Bonnie’s corpse – facing Bonnie, a downward right-to-left swipe is likely achieved by the left hand. Supporting this is TM’s jumpscare, in which it grabs with the right hand and attacks with the left.

In its costumed jumpscare, TM attacks with its round-fingered right hand in a fist. Bonnie, along with several scratch marks, is also covered in dents, meaning TM could have used both of its attack methods.

“But TM has 5 fingers, and Bonnie’s slash marks look like they’re from a 4-fingered hand.” I hear ya. Here’s some possible explanations:

With the angle of the motion and the curvature of Bonnie’s torso, the pinky finger didn’t pierce the casing, instead merely scratching it.

TM wears 4-fingered costumes – you can see it is in the jumpscare above. Who’s to say TM didn’t travel in a costume from the Pizza Place, or even found Glamrock casing to put on?

It can just like, shapeshift. I wouldn’t think that extended to details like the fingers, but I wouldn’t be surprised. The left palm does have holes in it, so maybe the fingers were designed to contract to fit various gloves.

Another obvious connection is that TM famously tears off the limbs of its victims – and wouldn’t you know it, Bonnie’s arms and legs are dismembered. TM, noticeably old and described as discolored in the books, could also be the source of all the extraneous, out-of-place metal parts that surround Bonnie.

Out of all the suspects, TM is the only one that’s known to be violent towards animatronics, has the physical capabilities to have done it, and would be awake while the rest of the Glamrocks were deactivated for the night. When it comes to analyzing the crime scene itself and the events surrounding it, The Mimic fits the bill the most out of all the suspects. Isolated, it’s the most likely option, in my opinion. Determining how this happened is a bit trickier; expect a bit more speculation in that regard.

I know what you might be thinking: How did The Mimic get into the Pizzaplex in the first place if it was sealed underground?

It’s not all that unusual if you think about it. For starters, the Pizza Place was not sealed very well (it was done in a panic, after all). The teens were able to enter through a vent in the roof, multiple characters attempted to leave through a vent blocked by a giant (moving) fan, and Lucia (the protagonist) was finally able to escape through a window in the bathroom that had less concrete blocking it than the others. There are various means of escape in which TM can contort its body to fit through.

Briefly, while on the subject of the latest epilogue, it’s worth noting that Lucia was able to deactivate TM by trapping it in a springlock costume and flipping its off switch. To this, I remind you that the Epilogues aren’t over. The book series is still ongoing, as is TM’s story. Plus, by the time of SB/RUIN, TM is clearly awake, so it’s possible that it was reactivated by the time of Bonnie’s death.

Prior to that, Lucia briefly restrained TM with rope. It reminds me of the AR STAFF bot hanging over cables, and the weird tubelike things underneath Bonnie’s body. Could they all be connected? Could TM have learned the rope tactic from Lucia and then gone on to mimic that when attacking Bonnie?

Anyways, another important aspect of all this is TM’s connection to the Pizzaplex. We know that TM and TS share the same program, Mimic1 (it’s unclear if TS’s programming came from the original Mimic or one of Fazbear Entertainment’s copies. My own opinion flip-flops). TM is also connected to the VANNI mask and the AR world – whether you believe the theory that Glitchtrap is Mimic1 or not doesn’t matter, since it doesn’t change that The Physical Mimic Under The Pizzaplex Somehow Connected Itself To The Mask, even after the PQ ending got rid of Glitchtrap and its control over the robots. TM could also interact with the security feed and get in contact with Cassie, who was outside the Pizzaplex. Of course, none of these things are relevant to the time period we’re working with, but it shows how TM can connect itself to electronics, even long-distance, and possibly without the help of shared software. If it can interfere with radio signals, I wouldn’t be surprised if it could at least view security footage, maps, employee messages, and whatever else from the Pizzaplex.

Okay, now think waaaaaayy back to the beginning when I was analyzing Bonnie’s behavior: “He either woke up on his own with a specific purpose in mind, OR something woke him up.”

Returning to these two options with the information we have now, it turns to:  “Bonnie either knew something suspicious was afoot and wanted to investigate, OR The Mimic woke him up (purposefully or not).”

There could be alternatives, but these are the most obvious conclusions.

While what we know about GlamBonnie’s death is limited, we know even less about his personality. We don’t have any hints on why Bonnie in particular would be acutely aware of something unusual, or on the contrary, why he’d be targeted by TM. But we do know that on this occasion he was awake and later murdered, and TM is looking guilty.

Again, think back to Bonnie’s strange behavior caught by security the night he went missing; The long spans of time between very few appearances on camera, almost as if he was avoiding them, either on purpose or as a result of following something. If Bonnie was doing something he shouldn’t’ve, he probably would be sneaky about it. If Bonnie was being lured by TM with the intent to Get Him, it makes sense that it would lead him where he can’t be tracked. If it’s possible TM could access security and maps, of course it would know how to not be seen – and if it plays hide and seek, it would want to stay hidden. 

(I’ve been speculating under the assumption that TM can’t alter the Pizzaplex network, just view it. If it’s possible that it can alter the network, i.e. delete security footage, then that’d save us a lot of assumptions. If that were the case, then TM could just delete any security footage of itself, which is why we’re only left with random sightings of Bonnie on camera. The rest – the missing pieces – would fill in the blanks). 

TM may have an impressive AI, but it’s nothing near the Glamrocks’ level of self-awareness. Its actions are all motivated by the Mimic1 programming and what it’s learned/observed. It doesn’t try to escape because it has the desire to get out, but because it was not designed to be confined to a room. It doesn’t dismember people because it enjoys killing, but because it’s reacting “the way it had learned to handle all endoskeleton-like objects,” (Epilogue #7, p. 169). We don’t have reason to believe TM resents or envies Bonnie. Bonnie became a victim because he entered the crossfire of TM’s programming.

I personally believe Bonnie had suspicions something Strange was happening and began to investigate (either over a period of time, or simply was woken by TM skulking around one night, and was like “what the” and searched for the source). TM caught on and entered “hide-and-seek mode,” in which it was hiding from a pursuing Bonnie. Persistent and stubborn, as all Bonnies tended to be, GlamBonnie pursued TM all night. TM, in its previous killings, would hide, lure, then ambush. I think TM finally cornered Bonnie by luring him to the end of the long hallway behind Bonnie Bowl and finishing him off. Sunrise is approaching by this point, and the Pizzaplex would be opening up soon, so TM retreats back to the Pizza Place to avoid being found.

AC Inspection Thank you for contacting Low Budget Building Contractors. We have done a preliminary inspection and find nothing wrong with your ventilation system. The 'loud clanging', 'banging' and 'scraping' noises which were reported don't appear to be reproducable. Call us if it happens again. Invoice attached. - Keith

This might be nothing, but I want to include it anyway. The AC Inspection message from SB is most likely referring to the wind-up Music Man that chases Gregory in the vents. I think I’ve seen some speculate that this could be The Blob snaking through the vents (I’ve heard a theory somewhere that The Blob is what’s stealing from Rockstar Row). Personally, the language reminds me of the noises described in the Epilogues of TM crawling through the vents. Just skimming through Epilogue #7, the words and phrases “scraped,” “grinding,” “metal-on-metal scratches,” “thrum and thunderous rattle,” “sonorous clang,” and “screeches,” are used to describe the sound made by TM in the ventilation system.

There’s nothing in this message that dates it, so the cause could be anything, in theory. It's possible that TM used the Pizzaplex’s ventilation system to avoid the cameras while traversing, entering, and exiting the premises.

-☆-

OKAY. THIS IS THE LAST SECTION. YOU’RE IN THE HOME STRETCH –

WHY A COVERUP?

Why completely hide GlamBonnie’s existence and opt for a rebrand?

Option 1: They literally couldn’t find him. Hidden in such a hard-to-reach location, Bonnie’s body was simply never found. It doesn’t help that security logs pointed staff to Monty Golf. Left only to speculate, Fazbear Entertainment had to be ready for any possibility. Could he have been stolen? Thrown out? Hacked? Imagine if someone had stolen and hacked Bonnie, and he reappeared acting inappropriately or in any way unregulated by Fazbear Entertainment. If they’d gone ahead and replaced Bonnie, not only would there suddenly be two Bonnies, but one of them would be acting weird, outside of their control, and Fazbear would have to do something about it. No, as long as they’re unsure what happened to him, it’s easier to just have the understudy replace him. Precursory damage control. Bonnie was never a character in the Pizzaplex, so whatever a rogue Bonnie is doing or saying isn’t their fault or responsibility.

Option 2: They deduced what happened and couldn’t let word get out. Perhaps Bonnie saw something he shouldn’t’ve. Perhaps he knew too much. Easier to get rid of All the evidence, pretend it never happened, cover it All up, than to attempt damage control afterwards. Fazbear Entertainment surely knew about TM sealed up in the Pizza Place beneath their mega mall. If it’d gotten out, that’d be bad. If Bonnie lived to tell the tale, that’d be bad. Don’t even move the body, just seal up the room best you can so nobody can find him. Secure all entrances to the Pizzaplex so that Thing can’t get back in and do more damage.

Option 2 seems most likely. Clearly, he’d been found by someone – the Caution Bots found him, after all, and the room was boarded up from the inside. The only thing I can’t explain is the weird tunnel through the wall leading to the room from the bowling lane. Genuinely what is up with that. It could’ve been the escape for whoever was boarding up the main entrance, but if that was an official effort, I feel like it’d be easier to remove the wall panels and leave through the vent rather than create a new, messier entrance.

The hush-hush surrounding his disappearance indicates that some employees had a general idea of what happened (or at least that Fazbear wanted him replaced, refused to elaborate, and didn’t have an explanation).

AR Glam Bonnie Plush Dad wouldn't tell me why they replaced Bonnie.

This inventory description from Cassie tells us all we need to know: Not that her dad didn’t know what happened to Bonnie, but that he wouldn’t tell her. He knew what happened to Bonnie. Being the daughter of a Faz-Technician, Cassie was often exposed to the behind-the-scenes of the Pizzaplex. The fact that her dad refused to tell her the truth could mean any of these three things: 1) He was on very strict legal orders to not say anything; 2) Bonnie being his favorite character, dad couldn’t bring himself to tell Cassie what really happened; or 3) He didn’t want to upset the empathetic Cassie, who would’ve been nearly half the age she was in RUIN, by telling her that Bonnie was literally killed/destroyed and wouldn’t be fixed.  

Combined with the fact that Fazbear Entertainment didn’t have an official response regarding Bonnie’s whereabouts until sometime after the rebrand, I get the impression they Knew Something and had to deal with That first.

Understudy MANAGEMENT REPORT - With Bonnie out of commission, we are making Monty the new bass player. Parts and Service has already done the proper adjustments. This could be a good thing. Monty could be even more popular than Bonnie.

“Monty could be even more popular than Bonnie.”

I don’t think they were wrong with this one. Like I said earlier, we don’t know anything about Bonnie’s personality. I’d harbor a guess, though.

Bonnie, across all games/iterations, is generally characterized as a stereotypical rock musician: active, boastful, and a confident performer. The unused Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Theme Song from Help Wanted portrays Bonnie similarly, but with a laid-back hippie sorta voice. The Freddy & Friends: On Tour! web series promoting Security Breach characterized Bonnie as deadpan, casual/laid-back, and mute. Steel Wool-era Bonnie leans more into the chill, hippie-type rockstar stereotype, so I don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that Glamrock Bonnie would’ve retained some of these elements.

Monty, as shown in the book excerpts earlier, is a dramatic, guitar-smashing rockstar. Loud, hyper, destructive, eye-catching Monty. I’ve no doubt that Monty was popular due to all these traits that made him unlike Bonnie. Bonnie is “go with the flow,” while Monty is “my way or the highway.” Monty's excitement and energy would also freshen up the main band – none of the other members steal the show the way Monty does.

Their coverup works. Monty’s popularity is soaring. Everyone forgets about Bonnie.

-☆-

ROUGH TIMELINE

Construction

The Mimic is brought to the Pizza Place during the Pizzaplex’s construction.

Pizza Place sealed with concrete, teens later sneak in.

Pizzaplex construction completed.

Pizzaplex Years 1-2

Bonnie is decommissioned.

Monty becomes bass player and GlamBonnie imagery is removed.

Pizzaplex Year (???), but after Monty rebrand

The Storyteller is installed; removed 3 weeks later. Mimic1 continues to alter technology in the Pizzaplex.

Pizzaplex Year 3(ish)

Events of GGY and the Retro CDs.

Pizzaplex Year (???), but pre-SB

Vanessa becomes Chief Security Guard by recommendation.

All remaining staff are replaced by STAFF bots.

Pizzaplex Late Year 4-5

Freddy malfunctions onstage and is temporarily booted up in his prototype in safe mode.

Events of Security Breach.

PQ/Free Vanessa ending.

Post-SB

RUIN

-☆-

TL; DR (EXTREMELY simplified)

Bonnie was decommissioned within the first year or so of the Pizzaplex opening.

Any outside virus/programming couldn’t have influenced another animatronic to attack him, and Vanny wasn’t working at the Pizzaplex yet.

Bonnie was last seen wandering the Pizzaplex for several hours in the middle of the night when he should’ve been deactivated. Only spotted on camera three times, no mentions of a security guard encountering him.

Bonnie’s body is in a small room at the very end of a maintenance/storage hall behind the bowling lanes, which has been boarded up from the inside.

Due to the environment, this room must’ve been the crime scene.

The state of Bonnie’s body aligns most with The Mimic’s killing style.

Sharp claw marks

Dismembered limbs

Old, corroded metal parts around Bonnie that could’ve belonged to the Mimic

Possibly was lured to a secluded location.

The Pizza Place underneath the Pizzaplex wasn’t properly sealed, so The Mimic could have escaped and possibly entered the Pizzaplex.

The Mimic can interfere/interact with technology, so it could’ve had access to information about the Pizzaplex.

Knew how to avoid security.

Bonnie pursuing TM caused it to respond with its “hide-and-seek” style of attack, eventually luring Bonnie to an isolated location and ambushing him.

Fazbear Entertainment knew their murderous basement creature is what killed Bonnie and covered up the incident.

They didn’t want any chance of the incident getting out, which is why they sealed Bonnie’s tomb and replaced him instead of repairing him.

[madcap-nattery]

Two astronauts wake up on separate, abandoned stations in deep space, only able to communicate with each other through a text channel.

[Play Now]

This story happened because last year I read 17776, played Zero Escape: VLR, and read Annihilation in inadvisably quick succession and it gave me brainworms. Over the course of four days I feverishly drafted this weird little psych mystery thing, but only now did I finally get around to actually editing and formatting it.

Actually, if you played The Adversary and the Never-Dies Machine, you might recognize the format, because I actually borrowed that basic setup from what I had already developed for Bow/Arrow :’D

If you like character driven sci fi mysteries told through chat logs, please give it a shot. I’ll be posting it to itch.io in three parts, updated weekly.

[Start Chapter 1]

[izzyizumi]

IZZYIZUMI BLOG NOTICE

DO NOT Ever Use or re-blog / re-use / re-post my posts / gif's / edits to so-called "'THIN'-SPO"" blogs. I WILL AUTO-BLOCK YOU WITHOUT Warning. My things are never intended for such blogs.

[d10nyx]

bark like you want it !

ft. ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, pet play, true form sukuna, sexual slavery(?) sukuna has a harem p much, degradation, oral(m!recieving), double penetration, p in v, anal, creampie, objectification, size difference, biting, barking, almost soft sukuna for a second, sukuna is his own warning tbh

a/n: idk i'd bark for him.. feedback/rbs always appreciated, esp this one bcs... i felt like he was hard to write and would love any feedback on him :3 this is ONLY smut btw. not proofread.. sorry :/ jjk works now being uploaded to @puppykento

word count: 1.5k words

Sukuna's gaze flicks across the row of kneeling concubines, analysing each of their features to see which one would be most suitable for his needs tonight. As he walks alongside the row of undressed women, he stops occasionally to have a closer look at the ones that particularly interest him. His hands explore them, groping every inch of them before he's lost interest once more, skulking further down the line.

He looks at you curiously once he reaches you, all four eyes trained on your body. He kicks your knees wider apart with a foot, tilting his head.

"You aren't completely hopeless." He says as he examines you, his two lower arms keeping your legs spread as he squats down. One of his other four hands begins to roughly grope one of your tits while his final hand explores between your folds, his fingers gathering up the slick that's begun to drip from you.

“With me, pet.” He orders after a moment, giving you a slight squeeze before standing up. Pet. That was all he had ever addressed any of you as. He did not learn the names of those deemed lesser than him. Your name would never register in his mind - you'd remain another pet for him to use and discard once he was bored. You keep your gaze down as you follow after him, staying quiet. It was best to be obedient when captured by Sukuna - something you had learned after witnessing the many punishments he'd made women endure.

You hadn't been chosen before. You could feel yourself shaking slightly as you were led to his chambers. He sat on the bed with his legs spread, letting his robe fall open. Your eyes widen at the sight, a tremble developing in your hands. You'd heard the stories, but you thought them to be exaggerations.

Sukuna laughs at your reaction, clearly amused. “Impressive, are they not?” He muses, languidly stroking one of his large cocks, his eyes trained on your face. He thumbs over the leaky tip, his grin growing as he watches your gaze trail the movement.

“On your knees, pup.” He waits for you to comply before tugging you even closer by your collar - the only thing you were permitted to wear. He looks down at you, his eyes trailing your form. He slips one of his legs between your thighs, then pushes you down by your shoulder so you're practically seated on his ankle.

“Such a drippy cunt.” He teases, tapping the head of one of his cocks against your lips until you open up, pushing the head past the entrance of your mouth. “Go on, puppy. You look like a bitch in heat. Hump it and show me how badly you want your master.”

He laughs harder when you start to rub your pussy against his leg and desperately try to suck his cock. Your jaw is stretched to the limits to accommodate his girth, and all you can really do is suck on the tip.

“Is that the best you can do?” He grunts, pulling you off his cock with a look of dissatisfaction spreading across his features. “You're more of a dirty mutt than a pup, really. An entirely pathetic little thing. Can't even suck cock right. Are you sure you're one of mine? Usually I have a talent for picking sluts…”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like your very existence is an annoyance to him. He clicks his tongue, hoisting you up and onto the bed unceremoniously by your collar. “Not that it matters. A bitch is a bitch. They all take dick the same.”

He has your legs dangling off the edge of the bed, your ass in the air. He settles between your legs, spreading your folds with two thumbs. “Humans are such fragile things.” He murmurs, sounding like he's talking more to himself than he is addressing you. He fucks two fingers into your weeping hole, scissoring them open. “Need to make sure you can take me, little one.”

You hear him spit, a sudden wetness hitting your tighter hole that makes you flinch, your eyes widening. “Don't give me that look, pup. You have two perfectly good holes for my cocks. I'm going to use them.” He grunts, and then he's pushing a finger past the tight ring of muscle.

It takes a while to adjust, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as you grip the sheets beneath you. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a pathetic whine, your brows pinching together.

“Good dog.” He coos, doing his best to stretch you open. His patience wears thin after a few more moments, and he pulls his hands away from your body, stroking his cocks. “Want a treat, puppy?”

He grabs a handful of your hair and yanks your head, shaking it up and down to mimic a nod. He grins at that, pinching one of your cheeks before he's rubbing the tip of one of his cocks up and down your folds, parting them before he presses his hips forward, filling you up inch by inch.

He bottoms out with a low groan, his hand lazily stroking his second cock as he focuses his eyes on you. “Such a fat pussy, pup. Sucks me in so good…”

He pulls out so just the tip is in, but he doesn't thrust back in like you expect. You make a noise of protest, arching your back and trying to push back against him. “Such a greedy fuckin’ dog. I told you you're taking both my dicks tonight, so be fuckin’ patient while I get it in. I've torn sluts in half before, and I'll do it again.”

Your heart beats faster at his threat, and you instantly still your movements. You feel the head of his cock nudging your ass, and it's not long before he's pushing forward, splitting both of your holes open on his cock. The pain of the stretch has your eyes watering. You feel like it's hard to suck in a breath, your body shaking as the air is fucked out of your lungs.

He's brutal. He doesn't give you a chance to adjust. This isn't for you, after all. You're his pet. His property. He pounds you into the mattress, pulling you harshly into his thrusts with his grip on your hips, using you like a fleshlight.

“Speak, pup.” He hisses through gritted teeth, yanking you back repeatedly as he fucks you on both of his cocks. The nails of his fingers dig harshly into the flesh of your hips, leaving marks in the skin.

“S'good, feels so-” You're cut off as he yanks your hair back painfully, making you yelp. Your body is folded in half, your back arched almost unnaturally as he drags the upper half of your body to be flush against his while he thrusts into you from behind.

“Stupid mutt.” He grunts out, one of his free hands grabbing at your stomach to pull you closer to him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, biting down harshly. “Dogs don't talk. Try again.”

Heat creeps up your face and neck as you register his command, your heart dropping to your stomach. You bark once, as if just testing the waters. Clearly you've pleased him, cause he moans loudly in your ear and adjusts his hips so he's pounding relentlessly against that gummy spot that makes your stomach tighten up.

“Good… good fuckin’ pup. Just like that. Make some noise f’me.” His thrusts are slow and deep, knocking the air out of you each time he bottoms out. You bark again, and he speeds up, making you keen and arch into him further. You feel the coil tightening in your stomach, your mouth hanging open as he uses your cunt for his own pleasure.

A bark is forced from your lips every time his hips smack the fat of your ass. It isn't long before you cum, your eyes rolling back as you moan loudly, shaking in his grasp. Sukuna growls loudly at the feeling of you clenching around him, your walls fluttering around his cock while his other cock gets milked by your tight ass. He pins you to the mattress with his large frame as he forces his way balls deep into you, filling you with an inhuman quantity of cum.

He pulls out with a shuddering breath, cleaning himself off before slipping his robe back on. He watches your holes leak his cum with satisfaction, giving you a moment before addressing you again.

“Up, pet. Time to go.” He murmurs, patting your ass a few times. He seems to pause for a moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly as he looks at you.

“I'll have someone run you a bath.” Is all he says before he waves you off, his eyes lingering only a moment too long.

[virgincels]

STAY SOFT, GET EATEN !

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. p in v, incest, dub-con that is basically non-con idk

note. unedited cuz i got lazy omg. umm ignore typos :3 sorry my writing is so jolty lately im finding it hard to write so it’s all coming off very clunky but :3 rbs n feedback appreciated !! this is like not actually that smutty I’m sorry 💔 if u see me reusing bits from other old fics pretend it’s new

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

Your dad is hot, an indisputable fact. He’s a total babe, kinda looks like he should’ve been in Baywatch during his prime, got a rack that rivals C. J. Parker’s. Ever since you hit twelve, and the girls in your class suddenly got all boy crazy, you’ve been hearing nonstop about how cute dad is.

Sleepovers were held at yours so they could get a glimpse of him, and your dad might be friendly, but he’s clumsy with conversation, not much of a talker, so he made himself scarce. Then came the slew of questions, you think it was Ashley Graham, the one that didn’t know how to quit it. Airheaded with eyes like chipped peridot.

Hey, where’s your mom? Is she still around, I’ve never heard about her? What kinda girl does your dad like?

My dad doesn’t like kids, freak.

He might, and I’m not a kid! I mean, I turn thirteen in January. I bought a bra at PINK the other day, I even got measured, the lady said I’m an A cup.

Even my dad's are bigger than that, loser.

I’m, like, so not a loser! My mom said I could get a boob job when I turn sixteen, and by then your dad will be, like, what? Thirty?

He’ll be forty-three, dumbass.

Yeah, forty-three, that’s perfect. We can date then as long as you don’t have a mom. I did see a picture on your desk, but that’s your sister right? ‘Cause if that’s your mom, she never picks you up from school, so she’s either dead or they broke up or she hates you, right? I’m so right, aren’t I?

You’re wrong, stupid. My mom just works a lot.

Boo, I totally thought she was dead, well, whatever, if they break up by the time I hit sixteen, I’ll totally be your new step-mom.

For a lack of better words, you wanted that bitch dead. She meant well, you’ve just never met someone so out of touch, the type of girl that hands out Chanel handbags at the food bank.

A few years later, when you turned eighteen, it was Ada Wong, you had this co-dependent, whirlwind friendship that had you by the throat. She was cool, a few years older, and everyone thought she was hot. You were lame, and wanted everyone to think you were hot. What you don’t understand is how on earth it ended with her hand down the front of your dad’s pants at your graduation party. He was totally out of it too, she took advantage of a poor, drunk old man, and the worst part about it? That wasn’t what made you mad. Not that she touched him when he was slurring, tripping over his own feet, you were mad ‘cause she got to touch him in the first place.

When you tell your counsellor, I have a crush on my dad, she falters. She’s this older lady that reminds you of your Auntie Claire, they have the same button nose, and that makes it harder to talk to her. She presents herself professionally, and takes herself a little too seriously, also in the way Auntie Claire does at times. Bitch thinks she’s a psychologist. She has an office tucked right into the corner of your university’s humanities department.

“Well, is your dad absent?” She starts, chews on the lid of her ballpoint pen, the type you get in a pack of two hundred. See, if she were a real psychologist, she’d have a fancy one, with runny ink, and a metallic barrel.

“No, my dad raised me.” Your lips twitch upwards, wanting to scowl at her. ‘Cause this is your thirteenth session, and she knows how close you are to dad.

“Well, then, has your dad ever hit you?” She blinks real slow like it hurts to blink.

“What? No, never.” You’ve asked me these questions before, you stuck-up cow.

“Well, then,” Her eye twitches, you think she might report you to the authorities for being a freak, “Has he ever behaved inappropriately with you?”

The worst your dad has done is ask if you’re on birth control, only once, and he was rightfully worried. “Never, he would never do that.” I don’t know if you’ve been listening, I’m the one that wants to sit on his dick.

She taps her nail on the oak desk, popping open a button on her blouse. Some counsellor she is, mouth drying up ‘cause you have a crush on your dad. “Listen, if it’s not me overstepping boundaries, or being impolite, I’d like to refer you to a therapist.”

No fucking way. Jackpot. You’ve been waiting three months for this, all it took for her to cut the crap was an incestual confession? Although, you really do need to get that fixed, there’s this part of your brain, the cerebellum you believe, that’s been cut out and replaced by a hunk of meat that resembles your father. Whoever did it made a shoddy malpractical mess that you’re left to clean up with scarce supplies and medical knowledge.

“I'd really appreciate that.” You tell her, mustering your toothiest of grins as you pack up your shit and pass through the doorway, never to turn back to advice that consists solely of ‘talk it out’ and ‘use daily affirmations’ and other baseline shit they cover in Cosmopolitan articles you could read for free.

Therapy turns out to be no help. Not ‘cause of the content of the session, this is your first one actually, more ‘cause your therapist resembles dad. A little more on the polished side than your father, with salt and pepper hair that would look so good on him. Leon refuses though, to grow old, that is, to look anything more than thirty - he’s far past that, you think he’s looked old ever since you were born.

It’s going to be a distraction, you might leap out of your seat and fuck this man half to death if he scoots his chair any closer, if he keeps scratching his chin in the way dad does. There’s a copy of Nineteen-Eighteen-Four on the desk behind him, the one with the fabric cover to be specific, embellished by tiny labouring hands to sit pretty on the best-seller shelf in some overpriced independent bookstore. More importantly, it’s the copy that collects dust on your dad’s bedside, the one he insists to have read, but the pages still have that fresh scent to them, and not a single one is dog-eared.

There’s a ring on his ring finger, just like dad’s, and that might be a stretch, ‘cause every married man has a ring on their ring finger. Still reminds you of dad though. His is gold, and dad’s is silver ‘cause mom likes silver. You like silver ‘cause it looks pretty on dad.

He introduces himself, his way of speech is refined, and you can tell he thinks before he speaks unlike dad. Leon is clunky with words, oftentimes crude without realising. Cancellation and no-show fees, your rights, confidentiality, he runs you through all of it - the whole time you’re focused on his lips, the prominent curve of his Cupid’s bow, the double lip line that makes them appear fuller from afar. Just like dad’s lips.

The receptionist frowns when you request to see another therapist, then she begins to click, click, click away at her keyboard. She stops midway to file her nails, then she pops her gum and gives a very simple shake of the head, ponytail moving with her. You doubt the slow bitch even tried, so you make your way home, a heat in your stomach that refuses to fizzle out, an ache so deep only dad could reach it. With his dick, obviously.

Dad’s keys jingle and you hear wedding bells. You check the time, he’s home early, he toes off his shoes and tucks them into the cubby hole shelf mom placed by the door. She’d be down his throat if he left them scattered for her to trip over again.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Leon smiles kindly, the same smile that’s seen you throughout your life. The one he gave you when he first held you, the one he gave you when you fell off your bike, and he brushed the crumbly gravel off your knees and kissed the tender scrapes on both. When you graduated, and he held back tears but acted all tough about it, he smiled all the same.

“Hi, dad.” The one you give in return is meek, the apples of your cheeks refusing to raise upwards into your eye-line.

“Oh,” Dad is perceptive, he throws his jacket over the bannister, keys tucked into one of it’s unzipped pocket - they dangle haphazardly, and you’re sure he’ll forget about them and toss that jacket in the washing machine, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You shrug Leon’s hand off of your shoulder when he takes the seat adjacent to you. It’s cruel, the expression on his face sours, your heart lurches. Making him upset is your farthest intention, you just don’t know how much skin to skin contact you can handle with him.

Nonetheless, it was the wrong move, ‘cause he shuffles closer, “Hey now, don’t push me out, what’s wrong?”

“Dad, I promise, nothing's up.” You aim to soothe him with your words, but his agitation grows, your discomfort is palpable - he tastes it on his tongue, it’s the blood in the back of his throat. There’s no getting past him. “Therapy was bad.” No harm in telling a lie or two.

“Therapy,” Leon waves his hand through a nonexistent cloud of smoke, “You don’t need that.”

Here we go. All you need is a hug from dad! A kiss from dad. And you’ll be all better, sweetheart.

“I do, dad.” You glare at him, he smooths his thumb over your wrinkled brow and your heart drops to your ass. Dad needs to stop touching you before you touch him back, that’s a silent threat, your fingers twitch to grab him, mould his soft flesh into the shape of your fingertips.

“I did a good job with you,” Leon states, “My dad—“

My dad hit me, my dad threw me through a glass table once, busted my ass and made me crawl through the shattered glass and then he set wild dogs on me - your grandma just watched - I been through all that and I don’t need to go to therapy. He says something along those lines, albeit less cinematically thrilling.

“You did a very good job with me,” You nod, reassure him in a maternal tone almost ‘cause all dads are children that need to be praised, “It’s not your fault, dad, I love you lots.” Well, it is, for raising you so well, maybe he raised you too well. Or maybe you’re just a bit sick in the head, or maybe it’s his fault for looking how he looks.

“Then you don’t need therapy,” He sinks back into his dent in the leather couch, “You just need a hug, bring it in, kid.”

No, no, no. You do your best to fend him off, all for his own sake, but he draws you close to his chest, smothers you by pushing your face right into the dip. He smells good, cologne gradually having worn off as the day progressed, the slightly tangy undertone of his sweat coming through.

“And a kiss.” He coos at you, pinches your cheek, clicks his tongue in an attempt to coax you.

God, no. Don’t kiss me. Don’t do that— Mwah! Smack bang on your forehead as he tips your chin upwards, blinking down at you with sticky toffee lashes. And you, stupidly, in your lovestruck haze, pull him in to place the most disgusting, sloppy kiss on his lips - one that does little to hide your ardour for dad.

Leon’s neck almost snaps with how fast he pulls back, then he stares at you open-mouthed, and you hate to say it, but you’d kiss his lips swollen again. A man of his age, especially your father, should not be pretty or doll-lipped, but he is and you hate it. He’s your hamartia of sorts.

“Sweetheart…” Dad shambles aimlessly through his words, umming and ahing.

“Oh, god, you totally think I’m a freak, right?” You take your hands off of his chest, where they had been firmly planted, giving him a real good squeeze without even realising. “Dad, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, it just came out, you were just really close to me and I got nervous.” Now you sound like him, a lack of conversational tact is exactly what you got from dad.

“No, it’s alright, it’s okay, sweetheart, just give dad a minute.” He pats your shoulder, then he stands up, about to march on forward to grab his keys and leave. You know your dad, so you take his wrist in your hand, beg him to face you.

“Dad… I’m sorry, can you look at me?” You add a ‘please’ in the most desperate tone you can manage, brows slanting downwards as your bottom lip trembles.

Leon struggles to do so, his arm flexes when he tenses, stiffening in your grip. He sits back down when you begin to sniffle, too lamb-hearted to sit through your fit of tears. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay.” Dad rubs your back, but he avoids moving his face close like he usually would, this is his cue to kiss the tears from your cheeks, but he doesn’t.

“It’s not, dad,” You hiccup, choking on an ugly sob that manifests into an even uglier yelp, “I didn’t mean to do that, I’m just really lonely.”

“Baby,” Leon’s voice is sweet like a glacé cherry, “I didn’t know you were feeling like that, I didn’t know you were lonely.”

You are, but that’s not why you kissed dad. You kissed dad out of your own free will, ‘cause you’re in love with him. “I am really lonely, dad, I don’t know what to do.” The snot and tears don’t bother him, he wipes it away with the back of his hand. You’re his baby, you know that. So if he can do that, why can’t he fuck you? It’s ugly in the same way, he’ll wipe his load off your stomach instead, or your ass if he wants to take you from the back.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can— we can fix that, I promise.” The only thing you need him to fix is the leak you’ve sprung, plug it up or whatever. “There’s no use cryin’ about it, alright? Dad doesn’t like seeing you cry.”

His guard drops, and you’re kissing him again, harder, till he’s breathless and confused and yet unable to push you off. ‘Cause dad is so weak-willed when it comes to you. If only you’d had the guts to get to him sooner. “I won’t cry… I won’t cry if you kiss me, dad, I promise.” It’s a shitty tactic, threats, making dad’s heart jump like that - gonna send him into cardiac arrest.

Leon hesitates, softens like butter when your hands come to fist the fabric of his shirt, “Okay, just, just a kiss, alright? And mom can’t find out ‘bout this.” He stammers, cupping your face in his big hands, his fingers trembling. “And… And just one, yeah?” His flimsy assertion of dominance has your lips curving into the slightest of smiles, dad’s cute.

“Just one.” You agree, his spiky lashes cast shadows on his face, he shuts his eyes tight as your lips ghost over his for a moment, then you take his face in your hands and press them together. Lip to lip. Heart to heart. You swing a leg over his, situating yourself in his lap. Leon’s eyes open, no longer bracing as he glances down at your spread thighs, then up at your face.

“What’s up?” Leon tries, it’s hard to miss the apprehensive edge to his tone, how he burrows backwards into the couch pillows, shoulders shrinking to get away from you. His kid.

He’s not moving. Not pushing you off, which he could easily do, not calling mom and telling her you need to be checked into a ward of some kind - with others akin to you. Would be like a slumber party really, getting to indulge in fantasies that haven’t left the confines of your sick little head. Dad is looking on ahead, glassy-eyed and sad. And you kind of get it now, what you’ve heard about dad being easy back when he was younger. Not easy, but soft. Pliant against his own will, even when he has the capacity to say no, you’ve given him plenty of chances to say no.

“Dad, I’m sorry, I’ll be quick.” That’s a promise, you’re worked up from therapy with the cleaner version of dad. “And I’m sorry, we don’t have to do this ever again.” Unless you want too is left unsaid. You hope the implications are clear enough, that he’s picking up what you’re putting down, but dad is slow in that sense. He’s a hands-on type of guy.

You give him a minute, dad blinks, and there’s no explicit refusal, so you lift up to wriggle out of your jeans. Dad’s come undone a little easier, he raises his hips when you ask him to do so, and he flinches when you unzip them - fingers coming into contact with the softness of his cock through the fabric of his boxers. Leon’s not hard. It’s a blow to your already crippled ego, then again you’ve heard mom talk about Viagra to him before - so maybe it’s not a ‘my kid is groping my dick’ issue, but more of an old age issue.

The tip is velvety on your skin when you tuck your fingers beneath the waistband to tug them down, with the way he’s reclined back in his seat, his dick flops onto his stomach. Heavy and stagnant, much like dad himself. Doesn’t spring up and whack you in the face like dicks tend to do in porn, doesn’t have a mind of its own, it just sits there awkwardly.

Leon closes his eyes, you notice how ragged his breathing is and wonder if he’s getting any enjoyment out of this, or if he’s two minutes away from flatlining. To comfort him, you stroke a hand over his cheek, fingers curling beneath his square jaw as your other hand curls around his flaccid cock. He flinches, and for the first time in your life, you see dad cry. And it turns you on. The last time was when you were born, you don’t remember it, for obvious reasons, but he reiterates it every birthday.

“Oh, dad,” Your brows knit together, “I didn’t… Please don’t cry, I really didn’t mean to upset you, dad. Gosh, I’m just, I just needed to do this dad— Can you speak to me, please? I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon’s voice wavers, his body is wracked with shivers, chills prickling his spine, “I want to make you happy.” You’re all he's got, you and mom are the only speck of normalcy in dad’s life and you’ve gone and ruined it. For reasons even your counsellor couldn’t process, reasons that are unfathomable to you. A prion disease so severe that even your therapist likely fears there’s no chance. “I’m sorry.” He says finally, and your stomach hurts.

“Dad, don’t say sorry, that’s stupid.” You lift your hips once more, spitting on your palm and smearing it over his dick has done little for lube, but he’s not all that big - and you’re dripping down your thighs, it’ll be an easy fit, ‘cause dad made you. Half of you is him, and that means he’ll be just right. “It’s not your fault.” You tell him, but you doubt it lifts the guilt from his shoulders, it weighs down his tender heart instead.

Dad doesn’t think that way. He blames everything on himself. Leon’s the one that raised you, he's the one that went wrong. You don’t know how else to tell him there’s something sick inside your head, and it’s infected every single part of you.

It’s hard to guide him into your hole, the tip bumps over your twitching clit a couple of times, up and down your slippery folds as you try to line him up. Leon’s face twists when you take him in, walls breached by the tip alone, you wonder if he’s relieved to find out you’re a virgin. You’ve been saving it for dad, didn’t know the opportunity would come so soon. Your cunt squelches when you take him to the hilt, squeezing around his shaft till he hardens inside of you. There we go, so dad does like you after all? Or is this a natural response? Or is he thinking of someone else, his eyes have been closed for an awfully long time.

“Dad, will you look at me, please?” That’s the second time you’ve asked so nicely and he obeys all the same, cracking open his eyes, foggy like stained glass, just as bright too.

Two hands come to rest on your torso, Leon’s keeping you at arms length. You want dad to let you in. The rocking off your hips elicits the slightest groan from his parted lips, you grind yourself into his lap, fat head leaking and jabbing at that spongy spot deep inside. See? Dad’s made for you. Dad knows you.

“Dad,” You whimper, clammy forehead sticking to his, the tip of your nose bumping his broad one, it’s romantic you think. In the same way A View from the Bridge is romantic - to you and you only. “I love you… I love you so much.” His hips jolt upwards, dad’s sensitive you suppose, he didn’t mean to do it ‘cause his face contorts with pure, unadulterated disgust.

Shakily, you take his bigger hand in yours, he’s limp in your grip. You jam his hand between your sweaty bodies, force him to rub them against your thrumming clit. Dad does it. ‘Cause he loves you, if you didn’t get that by now. His thumb rubs figure eights into your bud, the nimble touch, along with dad’s dick right where you want it, lodged deep inside your pussy - it tips you right over the edge.

Your thighs tremble, snapping shut around his hand, and his cock slips out. He’s only got a semi, or maybe he came earlier, but you don’t know much about dick specifics so you curl into his chest, and dad holds you tight even after you totally violated the poor guy.

“Should clean up ‘fore mom gets home.” Leon’s voice is unsteady, lilting up and down, all over the place. God, did you make dad cry again, you stupid bitch?

“Yeah,” You agree, scratching the back of your head ‘cause what do you even say after fucking your dad? Couldn’t even ask google that. “Dad, do you still like me?”

“I love you,” He answers instinctively, “I’ll love you no matter what you do to me, kid.”

[sassiperere]

FRAGARIA MEMORIES: RED BOUQUET

We've finally been introduced to all of the characters and I've decided to just compile them here! HUGE shoutout to my senpai in uni who helped me with ALL of these

I'm VERY curious about everyone's faves from this Bouquet, please tell me in the tags! Mine are Merold and Sanah.

TERMS FOR SHARING THIS TRANSLATION BELOW

I figured I should let everyone know what you can do with my translations!

CAN I SHARE YOUR TRANSLATIONS OUTSIDE OF TUMBLR? Absolutely you can! If you want them on Twitter, I already post there, so an RT would be appreciated.

If you want to use them in a Wiki you are free to do so as well! You can also repost these images anywhere you want, because I genuinely believe resources are to be shared without concerns. In fact, if any fan resources project for Fragaria Memories comes up, it would be my pleasure to actively participate!

I just really really hope to be credited and linked back to my other social media because this is hard work! And my first time really doing it! If you see any reposting of this work without credits and could please notify them of my identity I would appreciate it. I don't like taking stuff down but it would make me happy to be recognized!

Hoping to do a translation blog, RB these posts there and continue from Blue Bouquet onwards over there, so I hope to still have your support!

[itspyon]

how to adapt into dtblr culture for twitter refugees

so you've decided to move here from twitter. welcome and congratulations. this post is basically a big warning that goes THIS ISN'T TWITTER, DON'T BEHAVE LIKE IT IS, LEAVE THAT AT THE DOOR

i'll be teaching you two things, how the site works, and how to adapt your behavior to tumblr ( and really, normal human being ) culture. believe me, it's not that hard and it will actually feel very productive

let's start with the basics and frequent questions

your username can be anything, don't stress about it

your picture can be anything. a lot of us don't even have dteam related stuff up on our profile

your display name doesn't have to be your name. nobody is going to see it when you post, only usernames are visible

check your settings. do it. get familiar with them. turning on and off asks, turning anon off, turning submissions off. click on your blog, go to blog settings, check things there, go to account, your muted things will be there, go to dashboard and customize that. use your settings !!!

yes, pinned posts are fairly important and they tend to be pretty extensive. name age what you post about ( a lot of people here are multifandom !), just don't overshare ( no locations no trigger lists i beg you ). they also usually have a breakdown of your tags at the end

tags

it's a whole thing. some are actually useful. some are just passive commentary

the tags you put on posts ( both when you made the post and when you're reblogging something ) are both global and hosted on your profile. it's why you'll see things like "nameofperson art" rather than just "art". using just "art" will put you in the promoted tag, in this case

you can use spaces on your tags

usually you will tag what type of post you're making ( art, text post, ask post ), and then the contents keep in mind this is how people often mute things, some people tag the current situation, people use and mute ship tags. but this is also how people find things, like the specific asks from one person to another, so "username ask" is commonly used, "irl person ( dream, dnf, etc )" is also seen a lot just watch how others tag things and copy them. nobody will get offended you took their tag formatting, most of us will appreciate properly tagged posts

you do tag when you reblog people. you use tags to comment on things. don't really use replies unless you're, saying thank you to someone or pointing out a spell mistake or asking to add an option to a poll, etc. we don't do replies, just rb your reply

quick reblog and like deets

post popularity is measured in "notes" which is the sum of replies, reblogs and likes. we don't really care much about numbers here and if you start getting crazy about it people will not like it. this is more of a talking and showing site

you can reblog without tags, feel free to

you can hide your likes. you can and should like as many things as you want. they don't alter any algorithm, since there's none. a like is a "i saw this post" notification to the poster

actually posting

people talk a lot. a fucking lot, and it's something you will have to get used to, because it's very different from twitter

there are no qrts. callouts are looked down upon. breathe. if you don't like something MUTE IT DON'T POST ABOUT IT, because no one is going to listen to any callouts. you will have to learn to live with the fact people like things you don't. this will, with time, make you feel very free

the bulk of posting here is asks, as you might notice soon. asks are fun and encouraged. just don't name drop if you're talking about drama please ?

don't be scared to send asks off anon, this is how people will find you and get to know you really. people are also more likely to reply to you

block bait anons. yes you can block anons. yes it will block every blog they make

culture time

i've said this. tumblr is unserious. drama here is approached very differently and with several less layers of panic. you will see death threats. you will see slurs ( said in non derogatory ways ). you will see jokes about serious topics. you will see people say "i didn't like this" and nobody will care

tumblr is a community of individualism. you will like your own things within the thing we share we like. you might not like dream's music, you might not find irl streams entertaining, as long as you're fucking normal about it ? nobody will care and you're free to express your opinions. people will even come ask you about it and just have a chat. we're here for the same content to some degree

tumblr is also a bunch of people who understand they like another bunch of people. that none of the streamers have stopped being human. so you might see people defend things that, maybe, you'd not have thought to defend before. maybe you're even uncomfortable seeing them defending it. this is something you will experience a lot, and you'll learn to properly deal with it as time passes

because again. no one does callouts here unless it is extremely bad. no one cares if you don't really like them. and they also accept people might and will not like them. and that is fine. and that doesn't make either person horrible. you're just different people. and you don't even have to interact

you want to make friends ? ask people things, compliment people's work, genuinely attempt to make conversation. this is not an impersonal website the way twitter is. people don't care about your opinions because they care about you, and you are more than what you don't like

the more positive and jokey and interactive you are the more people will talk to you. there's no "hitting the algorithm", there's no "engagement", it's just people talking to people. so don't be a neg posting bot, and be a person

you will learn to be less miserable. you learn to stop giving a shit and just do what makes you happy. they cannot get you here. there's no qrts. the few antis you'll find can be blocked and you'll never have to directly interact with one. don't be mean to the people in your own community, even if you disagree

again, you are more than what you don't like. learn to be what you like instead. and leave the dooming at the door

[saerins]

─── 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

+ itoshi rin x f!reader | wc 6k | content: mostly fluff, some angst, rin is so awkward, childhood friends to lovers

notes: my first time writing something for rin so i’m nervous but i hope you guys like it <3 pls i hope i didn’t butcher him >_< rbs & feedback appreciated muwah !

summary: rin thinks about you all the time, for better or for worse. problem is, he really shouldn’t be anymore. things never seem to work out for the both of you, will trying even make a difference this time?

rin knows you don’t like flowers. no wait, you like them, you just don’t like receiving them. you cried once, when the flower he plucked for you died within a few days in your makeshift vase.

rin also knows that while other girls dream of their dream wedding, you dream of a nice cosy house, a modern one with touches of japanese accents. he likes to hear you talk about it. he likes to hear you talk about anything at all, actually.

he’s known you ever since you were both little, since you were both five and just two kids in the playground playing hide and seek.

rin would always win, because you’re as clumsy as it gets and you’re not that observant. you could never find him, even if he’s right there. he likes it though; seeing you look for him, that little panicky look in your eyes when you think he’d ever actually abandon you and run off.

he played with you whenever he could—you were both neighbours after all. it was fun, being with you was fun.

you reminded him of new beginnings, like how it feels like jumping into a pool after a long hard day of training, or how the sun feels like hitting your skin on a cold winter day.

it was second nature for him—to seek you out whenever he had a hard time, to look for you when he needed a distraction, to search for you in the crowd to seek some familiarity.

but it’s easy for flimsy things to break. the both of you were just kids, and kids did childish things, like think only for the moment and not further into the future, did silly things like saying you’d marry one another with fake paper rings and forget it the very next day (rin remembers). kids also handle things in a bad way, in the way that leaves no room for the friend they pushed away.

if rin regrets anything from his past, it’s that he took sae’s departure out on you.

rin doesn’t know how to process things well. can’t decide why exactly he’s so pressed about sae’s choice of words. doesn’t know what to make of why he even plays soccer. is it just because of his brother?

he doesn’t fucking know.

rin’s sorry.

it isn’t your fault his brother found a different path. you had nothing to do with it. you and those brownies you cooked for him. he’s sorry that he let them fall to the ground and just stormed off.

that was what, three or four years ago? you’d moved out by then, and the both of you had never spoken since.

if he’s being honest, he misses your presence. maybe it’s the fact that you were his manifestation of a safety net, someone that he could fall back on, someone he could lean on.

maybe he’s just being an asshole.

now he’s seventeen and probably even more of an asshole. if anything, sae’s departure left a bitter taste in his mouth that he wasn’t able to cleanse.

but he’s lucky you’re you. you’re you and that means you don’t hold grudges and you’re still the kindest person he’s ever known.

“rin?”

he stops his hand in mid motion, the key between his fingers dropping onto the wooden floorboards below. rin can’t seem to function anymore—he knows that voice. all too well.

it’s the voice that made him excited as a kid, it’s the same voice that comforted him whenever he fell short of perfect, the same voice that haunts his dreams sometimes at night, even now.

rin turns around and sees you there, at his front porch, smiling all awkwardly and chuckling nervously, your hands in your pocket because you never know what to do with them when you’re uncomfortable.

“hi,” is all he manages to choke out because he’s still a little stunned and his key is long lost and forgotten on the ground.

“hey stranger,” you grin, and his heart beats faster and faster as you get closer and closer.

the both of you are no longer kids, and it’s so painfully obvious now in front of him. he can’t stop fucking staring even if his inner voice is screaming at him to.

“i thought you moved away,” rin manages to say, and because he’s really curious as to why you’re even here, in this place you’re not supposed to be, talking to someone you haven’t spoken to in years.

“i’m, uh, here just to visit my family,” you stutter out, and rin wants to call you out on it so bad, but he can’t do that without exposing himself.

how could he possibly tell you that he knows none of your family is left here in the neighbourhood because he’s asked everyone who used to be in contact with your family? how can he possibly say that without exposing himself for going through your social profiles just to find out that you’ve moved out to another city with your entire family?

so, what are you here for then?

“hey, you wanna, uh, go eat dinner together? or something? later?” you’re so awkward rin could die. rin’s so awkward he could just kill himself.

the silence is deafening and it’s not that he doesn’t want to have dinner with you, it’s just that he has soccer training in the evening and he’s still in shock from the fact that you’re here in the flesh and—

“it’s okay, forget i asked, i was just—”

“no, i mean,” rin trips over his own words and the two of you are just two stupid idiots standing on the itoshi family’s porch doing stupid idiot things. he takes a deep breath, “where should we eat?”

that smile you shoot him is deadly and he wants to keep it forever. if that’s even possible. but he’s really awkward with his feelings and he doesn’t even know what he feels for you. all he knows is that he wants you to stay here again, be within reach for him.

“pick me up at six on your bike?” you nod over to his bicycle, and he blushes so hard because despite getting countless valentines from other girls, none of them have the same effect on him as you do.

rin thinks he should shake his head and say no and pretend like you don’t exist again. he shouldn’t go on this pseudo date with you.

yet he does. he picks you up where you said you’d be, at a hotel near the heart of the city. he’s on his bicycle, just like you asked of him, and you definitely dressed for the ride, comfortable in shorts and a tank top. you’ve gotten from cute to so so pretty and rin finds it so damn difficult to tear his eyes away from you.

when you get on the back of his bicycle, you put your hands around his waist and he can actually feel how fast your heart is beating. rin’s is too, but he’s grateful you probably can’t tell.

also at your request, he takes you to a spot he chose—which is nothing extravagant because you’re both still broke students who haven’t earned your own money, but he thinks you’ll like it anyway.

after getting some cup noodles from a nearby convenience store, he pedals over to the playground the both of you used to spend ages at when you were kids. the place where you used to play hide and seek with each other.

it’s a place of significance. at least, to him. he wonders if you even remember this place.

“nice choice, itoshi rin,” you say, and rin has his answer. “i missed this place.”

and rin missed you, but he isn’t going to say that.

“i’m surprised you remember,” he tells you, choosing to sit down on the swings. you follow and sit on the only other one beside him, your cup noodle hot and ready in your hands. “how’s kyushu?”

you slurp up some of your noodles, and rin thinks you look beautiful just like this anyway. “it’s okay, made some friends so that makes it more tolerable.” you’re shrugging like it’s no big deal, but he can tell by the faraway look in your eyes that there’s more to it.

“tokyo’s better, huh?” he isn’t much for small talk, but he can’t help himself—it’s been far too long without you, and he wants to feel close to you again. it’s as though after everything that happened—sae moving abroad, you moving away, rin feeling lost—it’s like he doesn’t really know how to be your friend anymore.

nodding your head, you turn to him. “much better.”

and rin can’t help but think that there’s a deeper meaning to your answer. but he doesn’t press.

maybe he should’ve, because when you switch the topic, he finds he doesn’t like what he’s hearing.

“anyway, i’m only here for a day,” you tell him, going back to your noodles. “i fly back tomorrow.”

some part of him wants to ask you why you’re even here. he wants to know about the you now, about how much has changed in these few years, what you like now—do you still like hot chocolate in the winter, do you still get colds easily, do you still think about him after all this time?

“are you… going to come back for college?” because if you still wanted to go to university in tokyo, you’d have to move back here. rin thinks he’d like that.

you’re a little taken aback because from what you’d heard from your old friends, rin had become someone they barely recognised; cold, blunt, more like his brother than himself. but in front of you now, you feel like the rin you know is still in there.

but this is where it gets hard.

“actually…” you trail off because you don’t really know where to start. “i got into a university in america. my mother got a job there and she wants me to go with her.”

you don’t even want to look at him right now. you don’t really know what you want to see. some silly part of you wants to see that he minds, that he’ll make a big deal out of you going away somewhere even further than the other side of japan. but if he doesn’t, if he looks like it doesn’t affect him at all, then you don’t think you can handle that.

“oh.” ever the best at giving a non-response, you’re not surprised.

it’s silent for a while, and the two of you are just eating your noodles, and it’s so suffocating that you want to bolt and run but that means you probably won’t ever get to see rin again and you don’t want that.

your body is screaming at you to do something, to say anything, to savour whatever time you have left with rin now properly—but you can’t.

beside you, the gears are turning in his head. rin’s noodles are already gone and he isn’t even aware his chopsticks are grappling around for nothing but soup.

america? that’ll mean you’re at least twelve hours away and he can’t even imagine what that’ll mean for your friendship. or whatever the fuck this muddy waters is.

rin wants to say something, anything—but what? don’t go? when are you coming back? are we ever going to be at the same place at the same time again after tonight?

he’s conflicted between his possible feelings and his selfishness. so he resigns to not saying anything at all. all that’s left for the night is hearing the wind blowing past your faces and the creaking of the swings, very much like how he envisioned a bad goodbye to go.

that night he gives you a ride back to your hotel despite your insistence that it’s late. because who do you take him for? did it mean nothing to you that this might be the last time?

“so, uh, i’ll see you around, i guess,” you say as you step off of his bicycle, after a trip that seems way too fast. rin already misses the sensation of your arms around his waist.

he thinks it’s a stupid sentence. realistically, in every single way he can think it’ll play out, it ends with the both of you drifting apart anyway, and he finds himself wishing you never came back.

which is untrue. which is the furthest it could possibly be from the truth. but rin doesn’t want to think about that right now.

“okay then, goodbye,” rin decides, because he’s not about to get his own hopes up for nothing. if you’re about to vanish, then maybe it’s high time he gets it done.

rin steps on the pedal, but then you stop him, voice clear as the first day he met you. “rin, wait!”

you’re not sure why it slipped out, but it did.

“what is it?”

his eyes are cool, calm, a dead teal that stares right through you. you’re almost intimidated because you’re not sure just what he’s thinking of you right now. he must think you’re a freak, showing up like this and dropping a bomb that he may or may not care about.

“um, nothing, it’s just- is there anything else?”

some part of you wants him to ask you to stay in tokyo. maybe the both of you could find a university together and stay in close proximity, just like when you were kids, just like how you liked it.

just like everything you missed.

and now the two of you are staring at each other, knowing yet not knowing everything that’s going through one another’s mind. but it gets lost in translation because neither of you can find the words to say.

rin blinks at you, and you can’t even read him if you tried. “no, nothing. is there something you wanna say?”

you shake your head, smiling through it. “no, nothing. goodbye.”

you’re back through the hotel double doors before you know it, and rin’s left to watch your silhouette fade away.

for the first time in his life, he feels like he’s lost something precious that he’ll never find again.

life goes on.

rin graduates from high school and so do you. the texting stopped, and that much he expected. better to cut the cord sooner rather than later, even if rin wished for otherwise.

he rides on a full scholarship to university, and from the online grapevines, he hears that you’re doing the same. you’re smart, so he’s not surprised.

this is the right thing to do; both of you have your own lives to concentrate on. some stupid crush doesn’t matter. and yes, rin has already conceded to the feeling because he can’t explain this any other way.

his frustration that comes from your separation, his anger when it comes to being helpless, his endless regret from not saying anything that night—it’s only because he wants you.

“i hear y/n’s doing good at her new school,” rin hears his mom cooing from the kitchen. he sighs. of course she did, yours and his moms are both close. yet another channel through which he can get updates on you, warranted or not.

“yeah?” he pretends not to care much, but he’s hanging on her every word.

“yeah, it’s valentines’ day around the corner too, i hear she has lots of guys lining up.”

kill him. kill him right fucking now.

“good for her.” good for you he’s not there to stare daggers at all the guys ogling at you. good for you he’s not there to commit bloody murder.

“i think so too, ah she’s all grown up,” his mother chatters on, completely oblivious to the torment she’s subjecting her son to. “i hear she’s having her first date next week, i heard he’s a model too, did she talk to you about it?”

you must’ve played it off to your mother that you and rin are fine. rin sighs, tired of the thoughts running through his head. as if soccer wasn’t tiring enough already.

“don’t know, maybe.”

just like his feelings for you, and his willingness to act on it.

two years into university and it isn’t that hard for him anymore.

actual lectures and assignments take up half of his time, and the other half is reserved for soccer. with teammates like isagi yoichi and bachira meguru annoying him even outside of practice, rin doesn’t even have much time to think of you.

until he’s forced to.

“what about you, rin? is there anyone special in your life?”

bachira tuts, “isagi, he’s always buried in books and practicing soccer, it’s obviously a no.”

rin’s annoyed, half because what bachira said is true and half because isagi made him think of you. it’s been a while since he knew what was up with you. you’re probably doing well, probably thriving in that environment, probably all in love with your boyfriend—that stupid yukimiya kenyu that you accepted for valentine’s last year.

he carefully extracts himself from isagi and bachira’s bickering, feigning that he’s looking through the aisle for books except what he’s really doing is scrolling through his phone and hunting for your profile.

what other way is he supposed to get updates? definitely not from you, because you’ve been so fucking radio silent since that night.

all that rin sees that day is a story posted to your account. just a backdrop of the view in your city with the words some things just aren’t meant to be.

you’re right. some things aren’t. including the both of you. so rin tucks his phone away in his pocket and goes about his day, half happy that it sounds like you’re not with yukimiya anymore, half concerned that this is what the both of you became.

somehow he’s here. he’s right fucking here and it’s him this time that’s going to surprise you. unintentionally. or intentionally, if you argued that he agreed to come in the first place.

“isn’t this place so beautiful?” his mother’s words are lost on him. he’s too busy thinking of you.

his mother’s here to visit your mother and by extension he guesses you’ll be there. it’s supposedly the summer break anyway.

and you really are there, on your front porch this time, freezing up when you catch sight of rin walking up your driveway.

nothing can describe his relief when you actually walk up to him and talk to him, because a part of him was expecting you to slap him for some reason.

“still watching horror movies for fun?” you ask him when you’re finally alone together, away from the ruckus of both your moms.

you missed him, he and his teal eyes and his absurdly longer fringe and his awkward demeanour. he’s a long shot from the person you knew as a kid. he’s taller, more muscles, more stoic, handsome. you were too shy to look at him properly that night in tokyo, but you can now.

“i don’t really have time for fun.” rin turns away, a little horrified you remember as much about him as you do. you’d been asking him things you remember from back when you guys were five. “how’re things here?”

you hum in contemplation, like you’re considering your words, and rin looks at you this time, admiring the way you look in the sunlight, the smile stuck onto your face, the voice that he’d never get tired of.

“it’s fine, school’s great, boyfriend’s great, everything’s… great.”

boyfriend?

“that yukimiya guy?”

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. he didn’t mean to say that. fuck. you’re gonna know he stalked you. he doesn’t even fucking follow you, he has no good excuse for knowing that.

you blink once, twice, confused and then getting bashful from the realisation. “um, yeah. things were rocky at first and then it got better so…”

rin is internally strangling himself. he needs to stop having thoughts about a taken girl. he needs to stop wondering what you taste like, what you look like in the mornings when you just wake up, what you’d sound like when you’re sleepy.

“that’s… good.”

the two of you are awkward to bits and he wishes he was someone different right now.

the day ends with nothing substantial. rin couldn’t talk much after he hears you’re still with yukimiya. you couldn’t even stay much because you had plans with him anyway. who’s he to stand in your way? rin’s just an old friend from the past. that’s all. there’s nothing more.

that’s what he thinks. until that same night when he’s all packed and ready to go for the next afternoon’s flight. all because you called him out of the blue. he’s amazed you still have his number.

“hey, rin.”

from the first moment you opened your mouth, he can tell you’re crying. shit, why are you crying?

“are you okay?” because you’re probably the only person in the world who can tug on his heartstrings like this. for being the only person in this world he has feelings for.

you’re forcing a laugh, like you’re not sure what to say. rin doesn’t really know either.

“am i not worth anything?” your question takes him off guard.

doesn’t take a genius to know something probably happened between you and yukimiya. and it doesn’t take much for you to get rin bolting out the door.

“where are you?”

“home,” you sniffle, and you must hear him getting into a cab, “i’m fine, you don’t have to come—”

“i’m coming,” he tells you, firmly, and he can almost tell you’re smiling from the other side of the line.

rin’s heart is racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins. he’s not sure why, but he’s ached to get closer to you since forever, and he passed it up the last time, the previous time you met in tokyo.

his heart’s still racing when you let him into the house, when it’s all dark and unfamiliar and you’re so close to him he can smell the shampoo off your hair.

apparently yukimiya never got over his first love, and you’d caught him locked in a kiss with her right before your dinner.

he’s not good with these situations. at comforting people, at being so close to the girl he likes that he’s trying his very best not to fucking kiss her right now. how does he tell you that you’re good enough, right now, when you keep rambling on and on about how you think you’re not? he really wants to shut you up but he can only think of kissing you and maybe that’s not a can of worms you want to open right now.

besides, if he does that, you might look at him as something temporary, a crutch you need right now but not for the long run and call him crazy but if he’s going to try this much for you, he doesn’t want to be the rebound.

but god fucking damn it, he’ll kill himself if he chickens out now.

you fall asleep after crying your guts out, and rin’s barely said ten words to you all night. he carries you to your room, puts you down on your bed and he resists placing a kiss on your forehead even if you won’t know it.

there’s no time left here for him, he’ll have to go back home tomorrow afternoon and you’ll be worlds apart once again. tonight may have been just a fluke; you probably just needed someone and rin was a safe bet.

he writes something down on a rough paper sitting on your desk and leaves it there before he goes. it’s irritating, how much you’re making him think, how much you’re making him flip flop between various moods.

one moment he decides to leave you alone and the next moment he doesn’t want to leave your side. there’s just something about seeing you so heartbroken that he can’t forgive.

and how kind the world is, to serve the guy who broke your heart to rin in a silver platter. he’d recognise that hair and those glasses anywhere—yukimiya kenyu.

“who’re you?”

rin doesn’t respond, only pushes him away. “if you know what’s good for you, leave.”

“what are you talking about?”

“i know what you did to y/n.”

yukimiya sighs, “look that’s what i wanted to talk to y/n about. i wanted to do this properly, to talk it out with her properly but then my ex was the one who—”

“shut the fuck up, i don’t care.”

yukimiya looks like he wants to retaliate, like he wants to argue back, and it would’ve probably turned into an all-out brawl if your mother didn’t rush out of the house at just the right time.

rin doesn’t bother with anything else after that. he leaves even though your mother tells him he can stay. frankly, he’s not sure he can stand being in the same room as yukimiya without giving him a punch.

the next morning comes and you haven’t left any messages. rin’s already back in japan for a while when you decide you’re finally ready to call him. but he’s heartbroken from thinking he was stupid to leave you that note so he rarely pays attention to his phone.

you end up having to leave it on his voicemail instead.

you said to call you if i wanted to try and… i do.

whatever yukimiya had come to say to you that night, it probably didn’t work, because rin does hear your voicemail. he hears your voice saying that you want to try, with him, and he thinks he may have been dreaming for a while.

but then he plays it over and over and over again.

he’s a few years late, but better late than never, he thinks.

you have two more years before you get your degree, and rin’s not about to get in between that. what he does do is pay you a visit from time to time because he hates this goddamn physical distance between the both of you.

it starts with the both of you talking to each other over the phone, the painfully awkward conversations turning more and more bearable. after a while, you’re the one getting him out of his shell, purposely teasing him all the time, getting reactions out of him.

he stays over at your apartment near school whenever he visits. you share the same bed for the first time and somehow it’s not uncomfortable. he lays beside you like he’s meant to be there. and you fall asleep so fast whenever he’s there, like he’s your damn lullaby.

distance starts to feel like nothing for the both of you, because it never wanes your feelings. even when he’s in japan and you’re halfway across the world, it doesn’t feel like you’re very far.

besides, he likes how it is—you chase your dreams, he chases his. the future can wait. the uncertainties can come later.

they come faster than he bargained for.

you’re nearing graduation while he’s nearing the end of his current contract term with a japanese club, but you’ve scored a job with one of the hottest startups in america. which means you’re going to be there.

for a long while.

“take it,” rin tells you, because you’ve called him to tell him this because you don’t know if you want to. but he can tell, like he always can when it comes to you. you want to take it, and he’s the only factor that’s stopping you. because before now, you’ve been thinking of coming back to tokyo and working at one of the bigger firms here.

looks like that plan’s not going to pan out though, because rin will kill himself before he becomes the reason that you’re not being the best version of yourself.

“but that means…”

there you go, hesitating again.

“we’ll figure it out. we did it once before, we’ll do it again.”

you chuckle in relief because somehow, itoshi rin has become your rock. he went from being some stoic and inexpressive human to being your voice of reason.

“you’re right, you’re right,” you concede. because yes, he’s always right somehow.

so you accept the offer, signing yourself away for another five years.

“what does that mean for the both of you though?”

you sigh. you’re not sure. rin hasn’t said much beyond what he did during that phone call nearly a year back, and he hasn’t come to visit for a few months now so you can’t really tell what’s going on in his head.

long distance sucks.

“i don’t know, mom,” you confess, “i don’t want this to be the end. but i can’t see a future where the both of us are always in different countries.”

your mother doesn’t say anything much after that, it’s not like she has any personal experience on the matter.

you think about it all throughout your finals period, all throughout your graduation transition. you’re not sure that you and rin can just make it through this by just winging it like how you’d always been. and you think maybe rin is just full of it, maybe he’s just as much in denial about this as you are. he hasn’t even been texting you as much nowadays, not after the news.

your phone vibrates on your table as you’re idly staring out the window. it’s a week to graduation.

a text from rin.

meet me after your ceremony next week, we need to talk.

and the anxiety kicks in.

rin shows up at your graduation ceremony like he said he would. he dresses up nicely, white dress shirt and black pants—simple, classy, handsome. you can spot him even from where you are, up near the stage.

yeah, you’d been nervous ever since he sent you that text.

it didn’t help that he didn’t talk to you much up until today, when his flight landed and he’d told you about it even though he knows you have his flight details in your handy little app.

when you run over to him after the ceremony, you find quite a funny sight before your eyes. never in your life did you think you’d ever see rin looking sharp as ever in a white shirt and pants only to be carrying what looks like a bouquet of—not flowers but—nuggets on sticks and chocolate.

rin smiles sheepishly when you get to him. “you don’t want flowers right?”

yeah, you’re in love with him. dorky, stupid rin with his abstract ways of showing love. you love how he remembers details like this since way back when you were kids. you love his awkwardness and his acts of service. you love him and everything he has and all that he doesn’t.

“thanks, i love it,” you gush, taking the bouquet from him, accepting your parents’ offer to help take a picture of the both of you.

they take a ton of pictures.

in one of them, rin kisses your temple and you think you might melt. in another, you kiss his cheeks in return and he’s a deep shade of red. those are before the last picture where he turns you to face him and presses a kiss on your lips, earning a few whistles from the people around you.

you punch him playfully on the chest for that. you hear him chuckle and that might be your favorite sound ever.

rin surprises you too, because the next thing you know, he’s dragging you along with him, running to his car parked by the curb; you’re wondering how he even had the time to rent it.

“where are we going?”

your gown is long discarded into the back seats and rin only offers you a smirk in return. he’s not telling, and you roll your eyes and let it be.

whatever it is, you’re excited.

maybe it’s the fact that you had been thinking the worst up until this point. or maybe it’s the fact that he has his hand on your bare thigh. hell, it could even just be the fact that you’re sitting in a car with the prettiest guy you’ve ever met. but your heart is beating out of your chest and for the first time, you feel like this can be nothing but good news.

rin proves you right, because he takes you somewhere unfamiliar and then tells you why exactly he’s been distant the past week. he takes your hand and leads you through the front doors of what he now calls “our house”.

everything you’ve ever told him you wanted in your dream house; wooden overheads, small koi pond out back, a beautiful rooftop garden with a wooden porch swing.

everything.

he made it real. he made your dream house without you asking. he’s telling you he’ll move here if that’s what it takes to be with you. he tells you he loves you more than he can ever imagine loving anything else at all. he says that he’ll always be with you, and this time he doesn’t want to be apart to do it.

he asks you, “will you try to make it work with me?”

as if he even needs to.

if anyone asked you back then if you thought rin was capable of any of this, you’d say no. because the boy you knew at five is passive, quiet, not the kind to make declarations like these.

yet here he is, almost twenty years later, promising to put you first and make this last because he’s sure this is what he wants.

“itoshi rin,” you slowly call his name, roping your arms around his shoulder while the both of you look at each other and only each other as you stand on the staircase landing. “what would you have done if i said no?”

because this is all extravagant—rin put his everything into this. dug up all the memories of your dream house, ran himself haggard just to get all of this done on time, and who knows what else because he kept all of this from you?

rin has a straight face, beautiful teal eyes rolling to the side as he contemplates. “guess that was never an option in my head.”

“you’re so stupid,” you tease, pressing a kiss onto his soft lips and relishing in the fact that this is just the first kiss of many to come.

because he’s now here. here with you. and he’s here to stay.

“guess that’s why i need you around to take care of me,” rin teases back, biting his lower lip and smirking at you.

you jump up and he catches you, your legs crossed behind his back as he carries you to the kitchen, setting you down on the countertop.

“so, itoshi rin,” you say again, suppressing a grin. “does that mean you’re gonna make me your wife one day?”

rin sighs and rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “okay, trouble, dial back a bit now. one step at a time.”

he’s lying through his teeth, a ring passed down through his family for generations already nestled neatly in the hidden compartment of the nightstand in the bedroom. he’s lying—but you don’t need to know that. not yet.

you’re all trouble, and all beautiful and all his and rin is going to marry you someday.

because he may be dumb in a lot of ways, may be a little awkward and terrible in most situations and not the friendliest guy out there. but somehow you chose him and you always did and you always will so he’s not going to let you regret that decision.

so before you can make a comeback and expose him for really wanting to marry you, he kisses you to shut you up, and you know anyway.

because you’ve known rin since you were five, playing hide and seek in the playground. you never won because you could never find him. but you think now you have; you’ve found him and he’s not going anywhere. not anymore.

“i’m never gonna let you leave me, itoshi rin.”

he chuckles, “i’m all yours, trouble.”

[moncherellie]

water polo player! abby

a/n: hey!! i know i said id be posting for ellie first but this thought hasn't left me for a month. i love the though of this oh my god i am feral. thanks for reading! rb or comment to support a lil fic author :) also i'm gonna be referring to water polo as a super gay sport and that's because it is xoxo i mean high contact with buff women. like.

-content/warnings: 1.4k, mentions of contact sport violence, smut scenes (strap, riding abby, nickname 'beautiful', semipublic sex in a locker room, fingering, oral (both receiving), gn reader but has a pussy, mentions of roughhousing in water/ drowning (not really drowning but yk)

men dni.

water polo is one of the most intense sports- it's high contact, rough, with a high probability of being punched, getting a black eye, etc

but when you're as buff as ms abby anderson here, it's not as big of a deal

there aren't really many set positions in wp, but the most important one is center- placed front-and-center of the goal, they're the person everyone looks to to get a good shot

center has to be dependable, strong, and fast

abby is perfect! her drive is amazing (ahem ahem) and she's constantly swimming like crazy to get into position so her team can rely on her

she started in high school, learning the ropes and getting to know the sport

got crazy good, and was definitely a very proud varsity athlete. she knows she's good, so why shouldn't she flaunt a bit?

im gonna be honest she absolutely wore her varsity jacket for way too long during freshman year in college

she joined her collegiate team (possibly on a small grant/scholarship) and met the most amazing team

it's hard to be queer in sports a lot of the time, but her entire team is queer/allied!! she has a space to be herself which she really appreciates

she blossoms on that team

every girl at her college absolutely drops their panties for her im not even kidding. its not even that fun to her because she just wants someone to love, not just a hookup

((that doesn't mean she rejects them all though))

the pretty center draws crowds to the natatorium

and that includes you, of course

you're a friend of the goalie and you're not all that into sports, but once you hear that the hot girl you've been thirsting over in org. chem is there?? it's all over, goodBYE

you are seated right in the action, front row of the bleachers, cheering in school colors, pretty eyes glimmering in the bright sun, sweat drops dripping down the front of your shirt

abby is fully focused on her game but when she's benched she gets a liiiiiittle distracted ngl

like i said though, she's mostly game face

but after a win? she feels like she's never lost. she's pure confidence and she decides to keep the streak going and see if she can successfully get your number

it's slightly awkward because when abby gets closer she sees that wow you are so much more attractive than she first thought when she had chlorine water in her eyes

so she just doesn't ask you out lolol she bails and bugs the goalie about you for the week leading up to the game, asking who you are, if you're coming next time, if you like this or that

her hands are so large and strong from gripping that ball... just imagine what they could be used for !

her thighs are absolutely massive- she has to stay above the water somehow, and the kicking she has to do has sculpted her into a thunder-thigh goddess

eating her out is insane because she fucking clamps down on your head with her thighs LMAO

broad shoulders that you can hold while riding her

strong shoulders that you grip and squeeze onto for dear life every night before a game as she plows into you for "good luck"

-the room is filled with the rhythmic slapping of her skin against your thighs as she grips your hips and bucks up into you.

"taking it so well for me, huh? my little good luck charm..." and you can't say anything. you just whine as you feel every muscle in her body working overtime to treat you just right

the veins in her forearms throb and pop out as she bounces you up and down, touching and squeezing and groping everywhere she can. she looks up at you cheekily, biting her lips and grinning. "there we go, beautiful, look 't you go"

"i'll be sore tomorrow" she says. it isn't a complaint. she says it's her favorite workout

yeah she says she's done but she's also finger fucking you in the locker room during half-time

-"sorry coach, i'll be quick, i promise!" abby lifts herself out of the pool with pure upper body strength, muscles tensing and water dripping off her like some kind of lesbian wet dream. when she promises haste, she means you'll be quick, because you know the drill. you're already amongst the rows of lockers as abby pushes you against them, sliding past your underwear and shoving her fingers in. her thumb is on your clit, middle and ring fingers finding your g-spot immediately and going at it relentlessly. "think you can do 5 minutes for me, beautiful?

-you can because she won't accept anything else. you're cumming all over her fingers, groaning at the overstimulation as she fucks you through it. when you're done, she pulls out, inserting her fingers into her mouth and cleaning them. you shoot her a playful dirty look as she jogs back out the locker room door

-"thanks for the pep talk, babe!" girl.

she wins every game and says it's because of you

it's sweet, but she's just that good of an athlete

but if you met her because you play too? oh get ready for a whole 'nother world

you're her defense during practice, in the trenches with her and jumping over her shoulders to make sure she doesn't get the ball

but she'll do petty shit to fluster you, like turning and kissing your shoulder and holding your hand in the middle of wrestling for position like ???

-"anderson!" the team captain reprimands. she gives a cheeky smile and puts her game face back on, pinching your thigh underwater where nobody can see

water polo players' love language is straight up drowning people. like the coach yells for everyone to meet him in the corner of the pool and instead she's fucking barrelling toward you, wanting to pull you under

when you're waiting to practice throwing the ball into the goal, she'll slide under the surface and tug at your ankles to pull you

when you come back up, she's giggling like a child and acting like it was another teammate

-"abby, i know it was you, you idiot!" you say, grinning

despite not really having jerseys like in other sports, abby will have you wear her team merch with logos

you wear last year's team shirt to bed, her flannel pants to class, her two-piece tops when you go to the beach with her

you go crazy for her when she's in her polo suit. they're tight so that players can't get grabbed, but it's tight in all the right places

it showcases abby's broad shoulders and slutty waist, curving around her chest and tastefully contouring her back muscles

thank god for this sport, you think

she always complains about how the suit rides up her butt, giving her a slight wedgie, but it gives you perfect access to her tight ass

smacksmacksmack

-"can you hold off for one minute, babe?"

-"no."

it's like there's no person attached to that ass. and she's just as obsessed with yours dw! she uses those big hands to grasp your entire cheek and land a harsh slap! on there that makes you jump. she just smiles n laughs

water polo! abby who takes you out to dinner after games and ends up stealing your food because "ohmygodbabeimsohungryyoudontevenunderstand"

it's like she's never eaten

speaking of eating... (im sorry)

she will throw your legs open when she eats you out. if you try to shut them she'll use the full force of her forearms to pin your thighs down and dig her face deeper in your pussy, sucking and licking like a woman starved

who wrote that. i didn't. anyways..

you put her hair up in a fishtail braid for her !! then she'll ask you to put her swim cap on and give you a cute smile when you screw it up

-"i fucked it up! sorry!"

-"babe it looks great" while she's tucking all her shorter hairs into the bottom of it

if her team is winning by a lot, she'll mess around a bit and point at you after she scores a goal, and you roll your eyes and your face feels hot because she's so ridiculous

but you do feel a lil special.

anyways water polo abby mi amor :3333 take me in the locker room

[vigilvntes]

Vigilante Hotline - Adrian Chase x Reader

A/N: hi. my brain works in mysterious ways and i had this idea earlier on when i responded to an ask and now here we are, three hours later with a silly little vigilante fic. it's literally just text interactions, vig's texts are the ones that end with 🧜‍♂️ (obviously). but yeah. i had a lot of fun writing this, and i'll be SO happy to write more if y'all want it?? idk. anyway enjoy i guess!

Warnings: mentions of groping/non-consensual touching (grabbing ass, etc), creepy men, mentions of violence/injuries, language (are we surprised), and just vig being generally unhinged as always. (let me know if i've missed anything!!)

Word count: 2.9k. oops.

Summary: You text in to Vigilante's 'Vigilante Hotline' after a bad encounter at the club.

likes, comments and rbs are very much appreciated <3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You've heard of it, of course you have. It's the town's worst kept secret. The little side hustle that Evergreen's favourite local murderer-slash-vigilante (who's conveniently named Vigilante) runs at the weekend, when the clubs and bars are busy and the creepy assholes come out to play, preying on and harassing unsuspecting victims who, by the end of the night, are probably too drunk to even remember their faces when they wake up.

The cops know about it, too. They've made weak attempts to shut down his operation over the last couple of months, but really he's doing them a favour. They're already in over their heads with calls when the Friday night crowd hits the town's nightlife, so why not just let him operate under their noses? At least, for now. Until they can apprehend him.

So, yeah. You know of it, but you've never utilised it before, because truthfully you've never really had a reason to. You like to party, but your nights out are usually spent with your girlfriends, keeping a close watch on each other and avoiding interactions with men who look like they're bad news like the plague. It's a system that works, one that keeps you out of trouble and away from bad pick-up lines and hands where you most definitely don't want them to be.

Tonight is different, though.

Your friend bailed on you at the last second, a family emergency, and you were already dressed up, so you decided that instead of wiping off your makeup and changing back into your sweats, you'd go out anyway. What's the worst that could happen?

You soon found out that the worst came in the form of Brett Lucas. A guy you knew in high school, someone you haven't spoken to in years. He found you at the bar, used the shittiest lines you've ever heard, and then bought you a drink. You decided to entertain it, because if he was willing to fund your night, then why not? You kept your hand firmly over your drink while he made derogatory jokes about other women and commented on your body and your dress. When he asked you to dance, you agreed, hoping you'd be able to lose him on the crowded dance floor.

That didn't happen, though. Instead, he got a little too touchy-feely, kept his hands firmly on your hips and pulled your body close to his until he got brave enough to slide them on to your ass and squeeze. Hard. You freaked out, told him to back the fuck off, and instead of showing any remorse, he cussed you out. Called you a fucking slut and told you that you're a bitch for leading him on and making him think he had a chance at getting into your pants.

Now, you're standing just down the street from the club, staring at the oddly professionally made poster that's been flimsily taped to a lamppost, a little picture of the all-too familiar masked man that you've seen on the news and wanted posters right in the middle.

Vigilante Hotline

Have you been a victim of a fucking creep in a club who just won't leave you the fuck alone?

Did the guy at the bar use his worst pick-up line and then immediately assume that you're into him and it's okay to touch you without your consent?

Do you wish you could fuck them up without having to face the consequences yourself?

It's your lucky day, because I can fuck them up for you!

Text their name and/or a description to the number below and I'll make them wish their mom swallowed!

(This part is just to cover my ass so, if I accidentally beat up or kill the wrong person... my bad!)

You chew down on your bottom lip, looking between your phone and the poster. You've never really been a vengeful person, you've never wished harm on anyone or caused harm to anyone, but in this moment, it's tempting. You're a little bit tipsy, irate and unsettled. The one night you decide to go out on your own, and this happens? It's a little too tempting.

But is what happened enough to contact a guy who's known and wanted for murder? Is what he did enough to warrant the beatdown of a lifetime?

You sigh to yourself before slipping your phone back into your purse, deciding that it's not worth it. But as you begin to walk away, you remember his loud, jarring cackle whenever he cracked himself up at his own shitty jokes. The way his eyes never met yours, always trained on your chest or your thighs. His gross, sweaty hands roaming all over your body before they went to grope you on the dance floor, thinking you wouldn't react because you were surrounded by other people and it'd be too embarrassing for you to make a scene.

No. Fuck it. That asshole deserves it.

You spin around quickly and pull out your phone, adding the number to your contacts and quickly typing out a message, sending it before you can even give yourself another second to think it through.

'Hey. First time texting in. Need some help. Brett Lucas. White blonde dyed hair. Awful beard, doesn't match his hair. Around 5'9. Wearing a pink shirt and black jeans. Got handsy with me. Grabbed my ass on the dance floor. Don't kill. Just rough him up a little, please.'

You don't even have a minute to breathe before your phone pings. Fuck. Alright. He's fast.

'Sick. A first time user. Happy to help. Where can I find him? 🧜‍♂️'

'He was in Dazy Nights, downtown. You know where that is?'

30 seconds pass. Your phone pings again.

'Yep. Got it. Thank god for GPS. Don't worry, first timer. I'll fuck him up the ass so hard his he'll wish he'd never even been born, as advertised. Not literally, though. I'm not gonna actually fuck him up the ass. That'd be weird. But not because I'm homophobic. My dad is gay. More because he's a creep and he touched you inappropriately. 🧜‍♂️'

"What..." You mumble under your breath as you read the text, an incredulous giggle escaping you. This guy, whoever he is, is seriously fucked in the head, you decide. A little funny, too. But you can't complain too much. You contacted him, you made the choice to text his number and incite some indirect revenge. So you just shake your head, and text back.

'Thank you. I appreciate it. Again, don't kill. Just get him good.'

'Noted! No problemo. But if you ever do need me to kill, don't hesitate to ask, first timer. Seriously, I'm so down for it. Guys like that deserve it. 🧜‍♂️'

You decide to cut the conversation there, sliding your phone back into your purse. You feel a little sick to your stomach as you walk yourself home, guilt and regret stalking you the entire way, following you into your home and crawling into bed with you.

But as you lay there, wide awake, you remind yourself of what he said. Guys like that deserve it. And maybe he's right. Maybe this is for the best, maybe next time fucking Brett will think twice before making unwanted advances. Maybe you've saved someone else from the suffering the same fate as yourself at his hands.

That thought helps you sleep a little easier.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

Monday rolls around quicker than you'd have liked it to, and all you've been able to think about over the weekend is that short conversation you had with Evergreen's own Vigilante a few nights ago. You spent all of Saturday morning re-reading the messages. Saturday night was spent in front of the TV, with some rom-com you've been meaning to watch playing as background noise while you thought about the messages. Sunday, you tried to distract yourself. You went out for brunch with a few friends, but as soon as you made it through your front door, your mind wandered right back to him and that silly little mermaid emoji that made his threats of murder seem a little lighter.

You wonder if he actually did it; whether he made good on his promise to fuck him up so badly that he'd be wishing he was never born. Part of you hopes he did, that he managed to find that fucker before he made it home and gave him a beating he'll never forget. The other part of you hopes that he missed out on the opportunity, if only to subside the quiet, yet nagging, guilty conscience in your head.

Work is a welcome distraction from the weekends events. Deadlines that need to be met, lunch with your co-workers, and your micro-managing boss that never seems to leave you the fuck alone when you're trying to do your job. It's all incredibly exhausting and boring, but at least it gives you the chance to take your mind off of what happened at the weekend, and the masked vigilante that's been invading your thoughts all weekend.

You haven't thought about it all day, until you pull up to the grocery store after work, and you see him. Brett.

He hasn't seen you, you're safely locked away in your car, but you can see him. He's standing outside the store, cigarette in hand, talking to a guy who you can only assume is one of his friends – he looks like he's just as much of an asshole as Brett. From where you're parked, you can see the shiner of a black eye on his face, dark blue bruising that extends to his forehead. There's numerous cuts and scrapes on his cheeks, and it's looks like his lips have been completely bust up.

It makes you feel slightly ill, looking at him, knowing that you're the one behind this. But at the same time, you can't help but smile to yourself, feeling weirdly... satisfied.

You grab your bag and pull out your phone, unlocking it and scrolling through your texts until you find the chat with the contact you've named 'VH'. You stare at your screen for at least a minute, re-reading the short conversation from Friday night over and over again. You want to text him. Hell, you've found yourself wanting to text him again all weekend, and you can't quite seem to place your finger on why that is. What would you even say to him? 'Hey, thanks for doing at great job at fucking up that guy's face, I really appreciate it'?

With a sigh, you lock your phone, trying to kick the urge to converse with a vigilante to the curb. But before you know it, you're typing in your password again and sending him a 'Hey'.

You keep the chat open, but you make a point out of looking away from the screen, hoping that if you don't look, he'll reply faster. Minutes pass by, and you're slightly disappointed by the absence of the jarring pinging of your notification bell. Then you remember that he probably has a life outside of being Vigilante. He's most likely just a normal guy, with a normal job and friends and family, he probably doesn't spend all of his time checking whatever burner phone he uses to run the hotline.

Just as you're about to lose hope that he'll respond, your phone pings.

'Woah, hey. First timer's a second timer already? Did you get yourself into trouble just so you could talk to me? 🧜‍♂️'

It pings again, a few moments later.

'For the record, that was a joke. If you're in trouble again, I'm sure it's not your fault and I'm more than happy to help. Though I gotta remind you that I usually only do this hotline stuff on weekends, but I'd be more than willing to extend my hours. For you. What can I do for you? 🧜‍♂️'

You feel your face heat up, a grin beginning to creep across your lips as you read the two texts. 'For you'. That's oddly sweet. He's oddly sweet. You know what he's done, you know he kills people. You've heard the whispers around town, stories from the people who've been lucky enough break the law and survive one of Vigilante's attacks. Yet you can't help but be taken in by how... charming he is. Sure, this is only the second conversation you've had with him, but he's been so kind. Funny, too, in his own way.

The rush you get from texting him is intoxicating, and it only makes you want more. So you type out a response, and hit send.

'Nothing! I didn't get in trouble again. I wouldn't want you working overtime for me. But I did wanna talk to you. Just to say thank you for what you did for me. I saw Brett. You got him good. Gave him a real shiner of a black eye.'

Just a minute later.

'HA. Yeah. You should have seen it. He took a real beating. He cried like a fucking BABY. Begged me not to kill him. I made him apologise for harassing women, too. It was HILARIOUS. You were right about the beard, btw. Definitely makes him look even more of an asshole🧜‍♂️'

You're surprised to see a video loading up on your screen.

'He definitely didn't mean it, life or death situations call for desperate measures I guess. But at least you can laugh at him and his stupid fucking face. 🧜‍♂️'

Although you're hesitant to press play, you do so anyway. There, on your screen, is Brett. Beaten and bloody, begging for his life, and apologising through his tears for being a creep. Saying sorry for using bad pick-up lines, and objectifying women's bodies, and... groping asses on the dance floor. You freeze up when you hear that, a wave of panic washing over you. Does he... does he know that you're the one that sent Vigilante after him? Fuck. You didn't even consider the possibility that he'd put two and two together and figure out that it was you who texted in. You have to know if he knows, if Vigilante mentioned anything specific about why he went after Brett.

'You're right. That's funny. But I need to ask you something.'

'Anything! 🧜‍♂️'

'Does Brett know that I'm the one who texted you? Did you mention anything about me or what happened?'

You chew on your bottom lip as you await a response, and when you read his reply, you're more than relieved.

'Nah. I didn't say anything. I wouldn't. Vigilante-client confidentiality, and all that. He was the one that mentioned names. A whole list of them, actually. Kinda concerning how many women he named that could've been the one to contact me about him.🧜‍♂️'

'Okay. Cool. I guess I just never thought of the consequences of texting in. I didn't consider that maybe he'd know it was me. Had me kinda panicked for a sec.'

'Don't worry, I made it clear that if he ever tried to approach or contact you or any of the other women he named, I'd find out. And I'd kill him for it. You're safe. I got you. 🧜‍♂️'

For what feels like the hundredth time in, you find yourself smiling down at your phone as you read his text.

'Thank you. I appreciate that :). Hopefully you've taught him a lesson. Maybe he'll stay home when the weekend comes around. I think he'd be doing everyone a favour.'

'Hopefully! Listen, I gotta buzz. Work stuff. Not Vigilante work. I only do that stuff at night. Like my actual job kind of work. But I'll talk to you later, first timer. 🧜‍♂️'

'Yeah, of course. Sorry for bothering you while you're at work. And thank you, again.'

You take a deep breath before sending another text.

'My name is (Y/N), btw <3'

'First timer has a name? Fucking sweet. Obviously I know you have a name but you never told me, so in my head I've just been calling you first timer. But now you're (Y/N), which is cool. So talk later, (Y/N)! 🧜‍♂️'

'<3 🧜‍♂️'

You throw your phone on to the passenger seat, like it's burning hot to the touch and it's just scalded you. Did you... did you seriously just send a heart to Vigilante? And did he seriously just send one back? Wait, no. The heart isn't the biggest problem. You just told him your name. Your real name. What if he finds you? What if this whole funny-charming-kind thing is just an act, and you end up bleeding in a dark alley within a month?

"Fuck..." You mumble, leaning your head back against your seat, wondering what the hell you've just gotten yourself into. Wondering if you should just block his number and never think about him again.

It's a stupid idea, getting involved with someone like him. One that could leave you hurt, or dead. Anyone would call you crazy for it. You probably are crazy for it. But that's not enough to deter you from reaching for your phone and grinning down at it when he texts you later that night.

'Hey. 🧜‍♂️'

It's a dangerous game, but one that you're more than willing to play.

[elms-art-gallery]

"Are you tired of having an identity? Want to kill yourself, but too scared to do it? Being known, having to be your own person, it gets so irritating! So we introduce a new fun and fulfilling way to live your life! Kill your ego!"

(rbs appreciated, i worked very hard on this one!)

[bubble-dream-inc]

Lemniscate (the place between sleeping and awake)

a chance encounter with your superior during a very lonely holiday season leads to an interesting conversation and an insight on yours and Ghost’s relationship.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 4,8k

a/n: i had to repost this bc tumblr was being fussy and hiding it oops. also i was listening to so handsome hello by woodkid while writing this so there’s my song rec for the day. i am down bad for this man someone help me! thank u loml @deafeningcat for being the best beta reader ever, always <3

warnings: explicit talk about death, war, trauma and violence, suggestive, profanity, ghost being ooc, sex as a coping mechanism for ptsd, heavy antimilitarism, angst to fluff, slight prey and size kink if you squint, non intentional liverpool slander, reader is part of 141, soap calls you "bonnie" once but otherwise no gender especified for reader, reader thinks they can fix him and is sorta emotionally dependent so its kinda toxic idk, intentional repeating of words, christmas/holidays ambience. MDNI

The puddles rippled under your boots, and right there under the faint street light which reflected the light drizzle of rain darkening the already pitch black night sky, you remembered how much you hate the holidays. Sure, it felt nice not having to worry that much about being ambushed or shot or killed for once, but you’d be lying if you said you looked forward to having time off from work. Having spent the last few years constantly living on edge, running solely on the primal instinct of survival for weeks on end had you addicted to the adrenaline, and you forgot what it’s like to be completely at ease a long time ago. 

You felt your skin dampen under your clothes in the humid air. You haven’t bothered with an umbrella; you have been through worse. Liverpool was never your cup of tea, the sky was too gray and the wind felt like tiny needles attacking your skin on the rare occasion it wasn’t raining, and in moments like these you missed the scorching summer sun from your hometown. But again, could you really call it home? That thought had been lingering in the back of your head as an ugly reminder of one of the shittiest parts of your job ever since a few days ago when the base you were stationed in was filled with the sound of rambunctious laughter and the smell of cheap cigarettes and beer, all of it a reflect of a mission well done. The intel was useful, the danger was dealt with, and your teammates could not be more grateful the timing was just right so that they could go spend some time off with their families for the holidays. You weren’t really thinking too hard about it, too absorbed in your teasing banter with Gaz, until Soap turned to you.

“What about you, bonnie? Where ya spendin’ your holidays at? Going home?”

You had shaken your head no with a chuckle, swallowing the bad taste the word home left in your mouth and masking your discomfort. Having all their attention on you as your team mates waited for your answer wasn’t inherently bad, but you did have to ignore Simon’s piercing stare from across the group, focusing only on Soap and trying to not give in to your instinct of looking back at your Lieutenant. As the years went by, you’d found out that was just the way that he was, and you had to learn how to differentiate when he actually wanted for someone to be scared by his constant, terrifying eye contact, and when to know he was simply looking in your general vicinity. Not that it worked that well, of course, since just his massive presence and the low timbre of his voice could make anyone’s fight or flight instinct blare sirens in their head, and yet, at some point you realized you liked it. You felt like a prey under his gaze, and the fact that it both terrified and excited you was intoxicating. 

“Nah. I’m heading to Liverpool, i think, as usual” 

Being in Liverpool for you was far from pleasant, but a few years before you decided to go there for your time off just because it was closer to the base you were stationed in and you had nowhere else to go, and it became a tradition, even if it sometimes felt like self punishment. It certainly seemed like it, you thought as you wandered aimlessly through a quieter part of the city, occasionally passing through a group of tipsy barely-of-age kids, or a happy looking family going back to the comfort of their cozy homes together. It made your chest ache, but the loneliness got duller after so much time being surrounded only by the 141 members and having to watch so many people you knew die on the front lines. 

“Do you regret it? Joining the military?”

You had asked Ghost one day after you two had to get holed up in a dingy safe house, trying to pass the time while waiting for exfil. He had stared at you for a few seconds, silently, and you wondered if you had crossed a line by asking something way too personal, but in a moment he was back to staring at the worn out coffee table in front of the couch you were in. 

“No. I did what had to be done at the time.” 

While somewhat cryptic, you accepted his answer without prying for more, but after a few seconds he looked back at you, not going unnoticed how his eyes looked a bit more tired than usual. 

“Do you?”

You remember sighing.

“Everyday. War is hell.” 

He only hummed in response, putting an end to the conversation that had barely been started, but your mind dwelled on your answer. It seemed like ages ago when you were a starry-eyed private, having been fooled by the military propaganda promising you’d be a hero, but that resolve quickly broke a few months later in your first mission, and you certainly didn’t feel like a hero after taking someone else’s life for the first time. 

Lost in thought as you walked, you almost paid no mind to the man in your path that was leaning towards a lamp post and having a cigarette, if not for the fact that even from a distance you could see he was massive. There was only one person you knew that seemed as tall as that, and that was your-

“Lieutenant?” You squinted, being pretty sure you couldn’t mistake your towering 6’4 masked superior over someone else, and he acknowledged you with a look. If he was surprised to see you, he didn't show it. “Liverpool sure is tiny, huh? I thought you were from Manchester.”

“I am.”

His answers were rarely something other than short and dry, and he knew you knew better than to pry into his own personal reasonings, even because you also had no real reason to stick around that city and yet there you were. Still, the laidback-ish atmosphere of being between missions made it easier for you to act a little more daring than usual, treading lightly as you questioned him, unable to hold back your curiosity. Alas, you found yourself hypnotized by the way Simon’s full lips wrapped around his cigarette as he took a slow drag, waiting for you to say something.

“Heading somewhere?” Your voice sounded foreign even to yourself, and you didn’t know whether to blame the cold, the awkwardness of feeling like you were bothering your superior on his time off, or the way just being by his general vicinity made your chest ache with a feeling you hadn’t quite been able to name yet, but you shrugged all of it off and focused on trying to act as normally as possible.

“Not really. Are you?”

“Not really” You mimicked his words, smiling faintly and wanting to imagine that you actually saw mirth in his eyes. “Lookin’ for a pub that’s still open, but I'm not having too much luck with it.” You paused, unable to stop the next words that came out of your mouth. “Care to join me?”

Ghost pondered your bold request for a moment before putting out his cigarette by stepping on it and nodding with his head for you to lead the way. His way of communicating with so little words made you uneasy at first, but nowadays you’d find it endearing. 

And that’s how you ended up in a beaten up looking pub near the port, sitting side by side with Simon by the bar, acutely aware of the bartender eyeing you two warily. You weren’t sure if he was angry for the fact that the bar actually had customers, which meant he couldn’t go enjoy time off at home, or if he was intimidated by Ghost. Maybe both. It was an otherwise cozy little pub, the warm lighting and the low ceiling made you feel slightly comforted by your surroundings, even if there were only three other customers around and the air smelled of burnt oil and deep fried food. You tapped your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar while waiting for the grumpy bartender to bring your beer, comfortable with the silence between you and Simon. When it arrived, you watched with a side eye, trying to be discreet, as he raised his mask slightly to take a sip of his bourbon, even if you knew he had noticed you.

Ghost’s face was somewhat familiar to you. Less than his body, admittedly.

There were a handful of times you had seen him without his mask, but you had barely committed its features to memory since it had mostly been in the dark confines of his quarters - which made you think how nice it must be to have a rank high enough to have your own room - and in times where staring at his face was not the first thing on your mind. It didn’t matter anyway, knowing he really was handsome after all under the balaclava didn’t change how your chest would tighten at the sight of him way before you dreamt of seeing his whole face.

Being alone with your superior was hardly foreign at this point, after so many years and everything you had been through together, and while you had never said it directly to him, his company was enjoyable. You remember clearly; It had happened the first time during mid summer after a mission gone particularly wrong in Somalia. One hour in the shower later, scrubbing your skin raw, you still felt dirty and grimy, as if you believed you could let go along with the blood-dirtied water the screams of all the civilians you had heard and the image ingrained into your brain of all the innocent people lying dead on the streets, massacred without a second thought. You tried showering, smoking, drinking, going for a walk, talking to your fellow team mates - all of them who looked just about as shaken as you were - but nothing could get your mind off of it. Mid walk, you had rounded a corner inside the base and locked eyes with Ghost, who was coming from the opposite direction, and, for reasons unknown, something instantly changed in the air between you. Sure, you had flirted a bit and perhaps given some indication of your attraction towards him before, but at that moment maybe you looked more distraught than you thought, and in only a split second after the very sudden eye contact, a non-verbal agreement was set, and quickly you found yourself glued to his broad chest, his hand lifting his mask just enough so you could connect your lips in a messy and aggressive kiss as he guided you to the door of his room. There’s no way to tell how long you were there for, but as you felt him blindly in the dark to hug his neck while he was inside you for the nth time, you were grateful he didn’t comment on your sobs that you now allowed to flow as freely as your tears, and, in turn, you didn’t comment on how tender your huge, scary superior could be, holding your face gently and whispering praises, comforting you the best he could. 

It became something akin of a habit. At first it was just fucking to destress or to not have to deal in a proper way with all the trauma that came with your line of work, but then you started to linger. His touches became gentler, his big hands would stroke your skin instead of just gripping it hard enough to bruise, and you found yourself staring at his strong and scarred back one morning as he slept somewhat soundly beside you. Your hands itched to trace them, and at the moment you decided you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, literally, with your superior more often, it was when you also realized you were fucked. To the others, surely it looked just like a very unethical and paperwork-worthy sexual tension, but you weren’t stupid, and not a teenager anymore, so you couldn’t find any excuses for the lingering glances and touches, how you started worrying more for him in battlefield, and you didn’t know if it was comforting or terrifying for you to think that he probably realized what was going on inside your head whenever he looked back at you, even if his hardened and unreadable gaze never faltered. Some nights, you’d find yourself alone in your cot wondering if you were imagining it all or if the longing you felt for his reciprocity was too delusional, and the thought made your throat ache in the worst way possible. You knew it was a bad idea, but you were unable to restrain yourself from finding your way back to his bed more often than not - and whenever he’d open the door for you when the base was already dead silent, realizing he also seemed glad to see you made all of your rational thoughts go out the window. 

“Quit the starin’.” 

Oh. Right. You were still looking at him. You muttered out a low sorry and looked down at your cup, well aware of Simon’s gaze burning holes into your face. So much for not staring.

“Why don’t you ever go home?”

There’s that word again. You wondered if your experience with feeling so stateless after fleeing from the place you used to call your own such a long time ago was that uncommon between soldiers, and suddenly the beer in your tongue didn’t taste that bitter anymore. 

“It was just a place like any other. I’m afraid there hasn’t been anythin’ for me there in a while, so i guess i don’t really got one anymore.” 

But again, you did wonder why Simon was all the way over to Liverpool and not Manchester, and a part of you selfishly hoped you weren’t alone with the gut wrenching feeling of not belonging anywhere but your base. Not that he’d ever admit to something like that. Simon was not the kind of man to say his thoughts clearly, or with words, for that matter.

“No family? Friends?” 

Chuckling dryly, you’d let yourself linger a bit longer on Ghost’s sudden interest in actually knowing you more than physically if his bluntness didn’t amuse you in a bitter way.

“People realize really quickly how hard it is to keep relationships with someone who’s gone for months on end, and could very well be dead in a ditch the next time you try to call. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

Simon said nothing in response, but his gaze on you seemed to soften a bit. Experiencing him outside of the battlefield was the kind of thing that would surely give you whiplash, years of military experience and living through horrors beyond comprehension would, of course, make him have a dangerous and reserved aura 24/7, but watching him let loose just a little bit and allow himself to be minimally vulnerable through his gaze and casually, softer spoken words were a new sort of fascinating. He was never the kind of person to ask things out of politeness, no, he was brazen and direct, so his genuine curiosity in you made it difficult to calm your already palpitating heartbeat. 

Under the lights of a very dimly lit pub in East Liverpool, you were seeing not Ghost, not your Lieutenant, but only Simon Riley. You came to the conclusion you really liked this side of him. So, you decided to take your chances and prod a little bit more.

“What about you, Lieutenant? Where is home for you?”

“Classified.”

You chuckled, and a tiny, barely-there smirk formed on his lips before he hid it with the rim of his bourbon glass. It was worth a try.

You lost track of how long you were sitting there, in silence, just listening to the static-ish audio of the shitty television on the corner of the bar or the idle chat of other patrons, occasionally muttering something to Ghost, but it all felt superficial. You wanted to jump him, to strip him bare, not of his clothes, but of all of him that was a façade, and lay down every word left unsaid. Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted him to let you care for him the way he cared for you. For every time he’d wordlessly patch up your wounds in a dirty alleyway, push you out of a sniper’s line of sight or bark orders for you to get to fucking safety, you wanted to help him through each nightmare (that he thought you didn’t notice it plagued his nights more often than not, leaving him restless the next day), and hold him close when the throes of carrying a whole team and an entire life of trauma on his back became too much to bear on his own. You felt like a fool, pining over a man who made no effort to hide how little he trusted people.

Soon enough, the pub grew quieter and more devoid of people, and at some point you and Ghost decided the bartender’s gaze was way too unwelcoming, as he clearly wanted to go home, so you wordlessly decided to go back to your aimless wandering. A few of your old army colleagues wouldn’t hesitate to pull off their military card to get what they wanted, whenever and however they wanted, but just the thought made your stomach turn in disgust. Your blood stained hands didn’t feel like the ones of a hero that deserved to be pampered. 

“Why are you still here anyway?”

He had asked you a few days after your conversation in that dingy safehouse. You had found yourself brushing shoulders side by side together after you went out for a smoke in the base, running into him leaned against a parked truck, lost in thought. For some reason, the question made you feel ashamed to meet his eyes, even if his tone wasn’t accusatory; just curious.

“I feel like it’s too late for me. I’ve seen too much. There’s nothing else I know how to do at this point.”

Your tongue felt like lead inside your mouth. A part of you longed for an early retirement so you could live a quiet and monotonous life somewhere in the countryside, but you also knew most people with your lifestyle wouldn’t live enough to see retirement.  Alas, deep inside you felt like it was impossible to not grow restless if you were to live a life free of the adrenaline you embraced as a vice. It felt hypocritical, suffering over the consequences of your own choices, but God knows you’d leave in a heartbeat if you weren’t already too far deep in. You’d suppose becoming a soldier had its good sides, though, even if just the idea of finding any comfort in your work made you uneasy. Surely you’d never have met the 141 otherwise and, consequently, made them your little dysfunctional found family. You’d hold onto that for the sake of your sanity. On your side, Ghost hummed, acknowledging what you were saying, and maybe you’d find he could relate to your feelings, somehow. 

“It’s difficult to let go of a whole life of violence.”

His words had stuck with you, as wise and cryptic in a way only he managed to pull it off.

Outside, the drizzle seemed to have gotten a bit stronger in the last few hours, but neither of you cared enough for it. It didn’t feel that bad compared to the storms that rained over you in open fields or the mud you’d have to crawl across to stay hidden sometimes. You’d feel pretty stupid if this little rain actually got you sick, but that was a worry for future you. It didn’t even cross your mind to ask Ghost if you were heading somewhere, you just followed him blindly, analyzing him in silence and noticing he looked good in civilian clothes, the plain black hoodie fitting him perfectly. From the little distance you walked besides him, you could notice he was smelling good, a mixture of cologne and his natural musk which you were already very well acquainted with.

The street was clearly in a commercial district, and it felt even quieter than the one you were before. All the stores were closed with only a faint night light illuminating a few of their interiors, and you appreciated the faint smell of the sea by being somewhat close to the port. 

You enjoyed the stillness of it all and the lack of people to make you jealous with their normal, happy lives. 

Subconsciously, you barely noticed that you ended up scooting even closer to Simon as you walked, happy he didn’t seem to mind it. 

Suddenly, he stopped mid-walk, and you became hyper aware of how much you were staring at him. God, you felt like a creep. After a second, he spoke in a murmur, not turning to look at you.

“Since when?”

You waited for him to elaborate what he meant, but it never came. Chuckling nervously, you peered up at him, confused.

“Since when…what?”

Finally, he turned to look at you with something indescribable in his eyes. It made you feel small, like he wanted to devour you, but it also made your heart leap in your chest, like he wanted to devour you. 

“I know how you feel about me. You’re not very subtle about it. I’m not bloody stupid, kid. ”

Your head snapped towards him at his harsh words, even if his low voice and gentle-ish tone didn’t quite reflect the true nature of them, but any witty reply you had died down once you saw how his eyes were downturned in unease.

Oh.

Oh.

You realized what he’s talking about, and turns out your late night musings were right - at least part of them. Simon leaves no opening to figure out by his body language what the bringing up of the topic means to him. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he will reject you and reprimand you for being unprofessional (as if loving him was more unprofessional than fucking your superior). Maybe-

“I’m…not sure.” You admit, refusing to meet his steely gaze. “It just…happened. Stopped being just casual sex a while ago.”

His silence makes seconds feel like hours. You try to control your labored breathing by listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain that’s back to drizzling on the store awning you’re both under. A part of you wishes the rain would suddenly get so strong it would break the awning and drag you away with the current from Simon’s soul-crushing silence. You feel stupid, foolish.

Fool, fool, fool-

He closes the distance between your bodies. Having never paid much detailed attention to the rare occasions when gloves didn’t adorn his hands outside the bedroom, you suddenly notice how much his palms feel a pleasant kind of rough and calloused when they don’t carry the intent of ravaging you, so big against your face as he gently cradles you. Of course, he knows you’re a soldier, not some porcelain doll to be easily broken, but God knows how much seeing him hold you as if you’re something precious makes your once-labored breathing come to a halt altogether. His eyes are soft, half lidded, and uncertain on you as he murmurs out sorrowfully.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.”

For the first time ever, you feel like you’re the only person who’s ever seen Simon Riley look scared. You don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting you or the other way around.

Instinctively, your own hands gingerly go to the top of his in a light caress, and you fight against the urge to close your eyes and breathe in his musk as you lean into his touch. This up close he also smells faintly like cigarettes.  

“Maybe not.” You admit, and you hope he can notice the way you look up at him with hearts in your eyes and willing to wear your own on your sleeve. “But I want to find out.”

He doesn’t really smile - he almost never does - , but his gaze holds a promise in it, a vow. One of his hands leaves your face to hike up his mask, and you expect it to stop just below his nose, as always, but he keeps going until it rests on top of his dirty blonde hair, making your breath hitch once again. You were wrong about him; you didn’t need to strip him bare, no, you realize he’d do it for you if you asked. A long time ago you decided you didn’t give a shit about how his face looked, but you made sure to take a good look at him, finally committing his features to memory, acknowledging his trust in you and also how much you really were a fool by underestimating it before. The stubble on his jaw feels coarse under your fingertips, and you indulge yourself by lightly tracing the scar on his lip the way you wanted to do with all of his marks ever since that morning. It occurs to you that even when the hookups turned into something more, you had never seen him so vulnerable, and it sets an equally giddy and unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, but you weren’t about to question his resolve. Taking the reins - as he always does - his lips are on yours in an instant, and you swear you’d die happily at that instant.

The way he kisses you is something new, slow and passionate, as if trying to savor every piece of you at his pace and communicate what he doesn’t know how to put into words. You’d kissed before, sure, but it was always animalistic, an aggressive dance filled with wanton growls deep from his throat and your involuntary whines whenever he would bite your lip - a gazelle in the jaws of a lion - and in the occasions sex was tender, it was most likely because something bad had happened, and you’d hide your face in the crook of his neck so he could pretend not to notice how much you needed it - him -  to cope and how much his touch kept you grounded; you’d like to imagine yours made him feel something of the sorts as well. Simon Riley was not the type of man to engage in raw emotional affairs without getting something out of it. And yet, as you close your eyes to hug his neck, bringing his large body impossibly closer to yours, you feel like he is finally giving all of him to you in the rawest way he knows how to. Of course, you’re not teenagers, and with the way of life you lead, emotional attachment can make any soldier feel dreadful for their future, so it would be foolish to expect a full on love confession in the rain, but, if anything, you suddenly realize you can feel Simon’s heart beating fast on his chest through your own, and that is enough for you, making you smile against him. 

When you separate, there’s still minimal distance between you two, the air around you feels lighter, and you surround yourself in affection by the way Simon looks down at you adoringly. Any outsider would be quick to say he has the look of a stone cold predator, and he is as unreadable as they come, but once you start dealing with the true man under the mask - even if only figuratively -, you realize that his eyes are truly the window of his soul, and any words left unspoken you’d die to uncover are visible in his dark hues the moment he looks at you. A few blocks away, a clock tower strikes midnight and you spare the building a look from where you can see it.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.” You murmur, knowing full well religious holidays are neither yours or Simon’s thing. The irony of it all is lost when he huffs out a small noise of amusement and distances himself just enough to extend his arm for you to take, his gaze never leaving your form. You could point out he hasn’t really lowered his mask yet but you enjoy the view too much so you might as well indulge in it while he doesn’t remember to do so. His bicep is thick and strong under your fingers as you grip him gently, and he nods forward beyond the awning.

“It stopped raining. Let's get going.”

[jocelynships]

POV: You’re Baron Draxum, and these four teenage turtles and their annoying but strangely cute, adoptive human sister just ruined your plans for the 5th time this week.

And they are mocking you as they escape

Wow. Just wow.

(Blonde character is a self insert, RBs greatly appreciated!)

Anyways I’ve been working on these pieces for a THOUSAND YEARS a whole ass month. They’re done. Finally. Oh my god. Oh my GOD

Anyways I needed to draw Joce and the turtles mocking Draxum after they fuck shit up. It’s fun. Very fun. However Huginn and Muninn were hard af to draw. But still fun.

I put too much effort into these, I know.

Here’s the second piece without the speech bubble:

[d10nyx]

LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE - JOEL MILLER

ft. joel miller x puppy hybrid!reader

a/n: i'm actually very proud of this fic ngl to you guys. been wanting to write for tlou for the LONGEST time and... you know i had to make my debut w joel :3 first time trying to dive into writing more than just smut, so lemme know what you think !! rbs and feedback always appreciated !! thank you @ama-szn for betaing x

cw: 18+ content, brief mention of sarah and guilt, grinding, p in v, creampie, grinding, slight cockwarming, praise, puppy gets used a lot... joel being snappy and a mild asshole at times, tail play???

word count: 4.1k words

Now, Joel isn't always the smartest guy around. He has a tendency to get a little blunt, to put it nicely, and he isn't the type to do charity work. Being nice has never done him any favours, so he sees no point in acting all buddy-buddy just for the hell of it.

In saying that, he's starting to think he has a problem collecting strays. It started with Ellie, and now he's starting to see a habit forming when he comes across you. By all accounts, he should have left you in the corner of that beat up store. You'd been a good enough distraction to the Clickers with your incessant whining that Joel could have snuck by undetected.

Well, like he said, he's got a stray problem — and it's hardly good manners to leave a girl in trouble when he can help out. He aims his pistol, frowns as you flinch at the sounds of the shots as he takes them down. Lucky for the both of you, there's only two of them, but he still uses way more ammo than he'd like.

Joel has to double take when he gets a good look at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he crouches in front of you. He has half a mind to put a bullet through your skull, but something about the way you look has him hesitating. You're a cute enough girl, a little scruffy looking, maybe, but cute nonetheless. That isn't what has him staring at you like you're some kind of exhibit, though.

"You got... are those fuckin' ears, kid?" He tries to keep his voice low, not only 'cause you're shaking so hard you're practically vibrating, but he doesn't want to find out if those Clickers had any buddies nearby. He tenses up slightly when he notices movement behind you, his brows furrowing as he squints to get a closer look. "Don't tell me that's a tail you're hidin' back there."

Your ears perk up slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes flicking over his face as your whines die down. You lift the tail, showing off the dirt-ridden, matted fur before letting it flop to the floor once again, tilting your head to the side.

"I'll be damned... Now I'm seein' things." Joel is almost sure that you're a hallucination, or maybe he's finally snapped. He reaches out, pokes the tip of your right ear. It's hard for him to stop himself from frowning when the fur is soft and warm underneath his fingertips, the thing twitching under his touch. They sure don't seem fake. He isn't seeing things, you're real and you're sitting right in front of him. "Can you talk, girl? I'm startin' to feel like a crazy old man, here.”

You blink at him slowly for a moment, like you have to think hard about his words. You nod your head softly, your eyes not straying from him. Your voice is quiet when you reply, breathless and shaky. “Y-yeah… I can talk.”

"Well. That's somethin’.” Joel lets out a breath he didn’t realize he'd been holding in. There's a moment of relief that washes over him in a wave. At least he isn't going completely insane, unless he's hallucinating your voice, too. "We gotta get movin', girl. The gunshots would've gotten every infected for miles gatherin' round, we don't have much time before they come sniffin' around here to see what's goin’ on.”

You nod once again, pushing yourself to your feet. He can see your features a little better now, and he tries not to let his eyes linger on that tail of yours for too long.

You don't seem like much of a talker, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. At least you won't go yapping at him when he's gotta concentrate. It wouldn't do either of you any good if he went and got killed because you couldn't keep your trap shut. You're probably the quietest stray he's managed to pick up. Ellie can talk for hours when she gets going, which...is most of the time, if he's being honest. You're more cautious than she ever was, though, watching him carefully as he stands and takes a look around the room to gather supplies.

Joel checks back on you, not missing the way you're shivering. He frowns, taking off his jacket before holding it out to you. "Here, put this on.”

You don't take the jacket, or so much as answer him. His frown deepens, and he lets out a frustrated sigh, pulling the jacker over your shoulders. “It's just a damn jacket. It won't kill ya.”

The way you stare at him is starting to get unnerving, so he turns away from you to continue throwing anything of use into his backpack. Store's already been raided, though, so he seems to be left with the scraps. Just his luck — scraps and strays. All he ever seems to get.

“Thanks.” You end up saying softly after a moment, and when Joel looks back at you again, that little tail is wagging and you're wearing his jacket properly. He catches himself smiling, so he's quick to turn away, grabbing the map from his backpack before zipping it up. He's always had a thing for pretty girls in his clothes, but he's not gonna admit that.

“Don't mention it, kid.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

It's been about a week since Joel first saw you, and he's doing his best to keep his distance. You seem to settle in fairly nicely in Jackson — or, at the very lease, you fit in well enough with Ellie. Joel's having more than enough conflicting feelings around you to last a lifetime, and you're just a pup. You're already having to adjust to a new environment, you don't need someone like him confusing things.

That doesn't mean he can't watch you from afar, though. He's not sure he'd be able to stop himself if he tried. He can't help but watch as you and Ellie play together, noting how much brighter and happier you look since that day he saved you. Your tail wags so fast it's a blur behind you, your fur soft and fluffy now that it's been washed and brushed out.

Joel likes you more than he'd care to admit. He's already got enough people to worry about, between Tommy and Ellie, and everyone else in the damn community. He doesn't need to add you to that list.

Problem is, Ellie's gotten to know Joel, and she still hasn't grown out of being a little shit. As soon as she catches him sitting a little ways away from where she's playing with you, she decides it'd be real funny to throw the stick right at him. Joel barely has the time to catch the thing before you're on him, practically tackling in an attempt to get it from him.

“Alright… alright.” His tone comes out a little harsher than intended, and he can't help but feel bad as you shrink back, those fluffy ears pressing down against your head. Your tail stopped wagging, too, and you're giving him that kicked dog look. Makes him feel like a monster.

“Shit, I didn't mean-” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose after he sets the stick down, patting his lap for you to come closer again. He reaches out, scratching the base of one of your ears with a small smile. “You're alright, girl. Just… easy, yeah? No need to jump all over me.”

That seems to placate you enough, and all seems to be forgiven. You nod and lean into his touch, that cute tail of yours picking up tenfold. There's something oddly soothing about petting you, so he decides to indulge you a little, leaning back against the porch railings as he sits on the steps.

It isn't until he notices your droopy eyes and the way you're slowly inching closer to him, practically curled up on his lap, that he realizes the sun is setting, and he wasted most of the day with you. He can't bring himself to mind.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

What is it they say about stray dogs? You feed them once, and they're yours? Joel can't recall, but he's sure he's somehow managed to adopt a little pup with how you cling to him. He tried locking you out of his room one night, and he couldn't sleep with the way you clawed at the door, whining and whimpering to be let in.

You sleep with him now, and he can't say he dislikes the warmth your body brings when he curls up with you every night.

He's got his arm curled around your waist, that fluffy tail of yours resting between his legs and still somehow wagging as he spoons you. He can't help but rub little circles into your stomach with his thumb, his nose pressed against the nape of your neck. For a moment, he finds himself wondering how receptive you'd be if he started kissing the skin there, letting his breath ghost the spot where your baby hairs rest.

That's a dangerous line of thinking, one that he quickly snaps out of. He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes to try and get some rest. You must sense that he's tense, cause you start wriggling around in his arms until you're facing him.

“Joel?” You breathe out, nuzzling his neck with your nose. He can feel your breath on him, and he grits his teeth not to make an audible sound as you lick at him. It's supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it has him squirming for a whole number of reasons.

“I can feel you worryin’, pup. You ain't gotta stress about me.” He murmurs, gripping your hair gently to pull your face away from his neck. He can't focus with your tongue on him like that.

“You look sad.” You whine, pulling against the grip of his hair to keep licking at him. He knows you're just trying to cheer him up, but it's really not helping the way his dick is starting to swell. It's not your fault, you don't know what you're doing to him, but he feels sick letting himself get turned on by your innocent actions.

“Just - go to fuckin’ bed, alright?” He snaps, tugging you away hard enough he knows it probably stung a little. His mouth grows dry, an apology on the tip of his tongue as he watches you retreat, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“C'mon, girl. I didn't mean that, I just…” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, his features etching into a frown. “Look, just… c’mere, alright? I'm sorry.”

He shifts so he's lying on his back, doing his best to make sure you don't press up against him when he's in this state. He holds an arm out, and you come rushing forward, tucking yourself against his side. You really are like a dog, always running back to him. He doesn't like how it makes him feel.

His jaw tenses as he shuts his eyes, trying to block out the guilt festering in him as he feels wet tears against the front of his shirt. He can hear your quiet sniffles, but he has no idea how to comfort you, so he doesn't.

Joel does what he does best — pretends the issue isn't there. He scratches behind your ears until you drift off, but sleep doesn't come for him that night. He spends the rest of his time staring at the ceiling, waiting for the morning sun to come through the widows before he carefully removes himself from your slumbering form.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, tucking the covers around your body before he leaves the room. What he needs right now is a cold shower and a little hunting trip with Tommy to keep his mind off of things.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

The first thing he's greeted with after returning from his supply run is a sobbing pup. He didn't expect to see you so worked up — barely giving him enough time to dismount his horse before you were clinging to him, ears pulled back on your head and tail limp as you cried into his chest.

“Hey… hey, now. What's the matter, girl?” He whispers, dropping his bag to the floor so he can hug you back, one hand sliding down your back to scratch the base of your fluffy tail. “C'mon, now. I wasn't gone for that long, was I?”

“You didn't say bye.” Your words are muffled against his chest, that whiny tone still in your voice, but he can see the way your tail starts moving at his touch. Makes him feel a bit better about leaving you so suddenly. “You always say bye…”

“I didn't do it on purpose, sweetheart. You were sleepin’.” He says with a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as you pressed against him. Felt like you were trying to become a part of him with how desperately you attempted to get closer.

“But… you were gone, and… I didn't know where you went.” You whisper, hands gripping onto his shirt tight enough that the fabric stays wrinkled when you let go in favor of hugging him.

“Doesn't mean I was leavin’ you. Just had to get some supplies.” He replies, even if it's technically a lie. It can never hurt getting some more stuff, but a group only went patrolling the day before he left. He did need the time away from you, to clear his head. He just couldn't let you know that.

“And, hey. I was thinkin’ of you the whole time. I even got you a lil’ somethin’.” He says after a moment, grabbing your shoulders to pry you off of him. He ignores the ache in his heart at your little whine in favor of unzipping his bag, holding something up and squeaking it.

Your eyes light up at the sound, and he really can't help the smile that spreads across his face at the sight. He throws the squeaky ball and watches you chase after it, laughing when you return with it in your mouth, biting down over and over to hear the noise.

“There we are. That's my girl.” He murmurs, ruffling your hair before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you against his side. “C'mon, let's go and find Ellie. We got some catchin’ up to do, don't we?”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Joel must be getting soft with old age. That's really the only explanation for what's going on. He's letting you sit on him like you're a damn lapdog all because you looked like you wanted a cuddle.

You look so damn cute, too. That tail of yours is going to be the death of him. Joel's heart does not flutter when you smile all prettily at him, nor does it flutter when you rub your face against his neck like you're trying to get his scent all over you.

No. Joel's heart is as cold as ice. He doesn't get warm, fuzzy feelings from cute puppy hybrids, and he certainly doesn't clear his throat to stop himself from saying something unbelievably sappy and embarrassing.

“You comfy there, darlin’? Like havin’ me take care of ya?” He murmurs, not missing the way his breath catches in his throat when you hum in agreement, licking at his skin. You don't seem to notice, so he doesn't mention it. Small mercies.

Maybe it's the whiskey, or maybe it's the way your warmth seeps into him and makes his heart race that has his brain malfunctioning, but he can't stop himself from saying what's been on his mind the past few weeks.

“You're such a pretty girl…” He whispers, nuzzling his nose against your hairline before pressing a gentle kiss there. His hands slide down to your waist, giving you a little squeeze. “So fuckin’ pretty. My pretty pup, ain't ya, sweetheart?”

That tail picks up again and he chuckles, sliding a hand down your back to scratch the base of your tail, tuning in to the steady thump, thump, thump of it slapping against his thighs. He gives your tail a little squeeze, stroking his hand over the fur.

“Ain't no hidin’ how you really feel with a tail like that.” He says with a small laugh, eyes locked onto the way your tail moves as he leans forward, pressing kisses down the side of your throat. He grins against your skin as your tail starts wagging faster, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh.

“Yeah? Y’like that, puppy?” He coos, the hand on your tail shifting to grab your ass, giving the plump flesh a little squeeze. The feeling of it has him groaning, his cock already starting to fill out. It's been a long, long time since he's gotten laid, and he'd be lying if he said he hasn't been having some conflicting feelings surrounding you as of late.

All he gets is a whine in response, your body shifting just a little closer to him. Joel grabs your hips, pushing you down against his lap so he can grind up against you, a grunt spilling past his lips. He glances back at your tail, rutting against you with more force when he sees the steady wag, the sight of it making his cock twitch with interest.

“God. Good fuckin’ girl.” He breathes out, rocking you against him for another minute before it gets too much for him. He can feel you soaking the fabric of your shorts, and he’s starting to get a little dizzy with all the blood in his body rushing south. He’s so hard it hurts, and he can’t help himself as he tugs off your shorts and underwear in one tug, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking his boxers down just enough so he can free his length from the constricting fabric.

You’re so wet he can sink into you in one thrust, holding you steady as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, panting softly as he takes a moment to catch his bearings. He presses his lips to the skin there, trailing kisses along the column of your throat. You’re so wet and tight and warm, and it's a struggle for Joel not to blow his load early with how much you’re squeezing around him.

”Pretty, pretty girl. You’re doin’ so well.” He murmurs as he starts to thrust up into you, the sounds of your little gasps and moans making his head spin. His grip on your hips tightens so he can guide you up and down his length, helping you move with every drag of his cock. The room fills with slick sounds as he fucks up into you, his head tilting back as he lets out a breathy moan.

He leans forward to kiss you, swallowing your whimpers as he slides his tongue into your mouth. The taste of smoke and whiskey lingers between the two of you, his teeth biting down on your bottom lip to give it a little tug before he pulls away, running his tongue over his teeth. He starts to bounce you on his cock, grunting as your walls flutter around him as he pounds into you. He reaches around to grip your tail, tugging on it to encourage you to keep riding him. His fingers play with the fur there, the upper half of your tail continuing to wag where it’s free from his hold.

”Makin’ such a mess, sweetheart. Soakin’ my jeans.” He huffs, grinding his tip against your sweet spot before he pulls you up by the tail, leaving only the tip of his cock in before yanking you back down with a groan. You’re so wet you’re dripping all down his shaft, soaking his balls and making the fabric bunched up beneath them wet with arousal.

”Gonna make you cum for me, pup. Then I’m gonna fill you up. You want that, girl?” He grits out between thrusts, brows pinching together as he watches you nod eagerly. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning too loudly as his words make your cunt clench around him, trying to milk him dry.

”Alright, alright. I got you, doll.” He lets go of your tail, grabbing your hips to bury himself to the hilt inside of you. He adjusts the both of you a little so he can make you grind against his pelvis while keeping him nice and deep. He rocks your hips, making you grind your clit against his happy trail, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment at the friction the movement brings.

”Shit-“ He hisses as he feels you tensing around him, your orgasm sending him over the edge right after you. His jaw clenches as he shoots ropes of cum deep inside of you, his body slumping against the couch when he’s left spent and twitching inside your needy cunt.

”Just…” He starts after a moment, hands moving to rub up and down your back gently, coaxing you to lean against him. “Stay like this for me, yeah? You did good, pup. Such a good girl.”

He relaxes when you snuggle up to him, his softening cock nestled deep inside of you. There’s something oddly comforting about it, and it’s not long before he’s got his face buried in the crook of your neck, slowly dozing off as he runs his fingers through the fur on your tail. He thinks he could get used to this. He’s really starting to like having you around.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Joel's gotten into the habit of leaving you with Ellie when he has to go on those long patrols. He's never sure if he's gonna make it back, and there's no one in the world he trusts with you more than Ellie. He knows if something went wrong, the two of you would look after eachother, and that's enough to lessen the gnawing anxiety building in his chest whenever he has to leave.

Last thing he expects to see when he pushes open the door to his room is you and Ellie sleeping all curled up on his bed. It catches him off guard for a moment, but it's not long before a small smile breaks its way onto his face. He brushes some hair out of Ellie's eyes and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, giving you a small scratch behind the ears.

He sneaks his way out of the room, settling himself on the couch. He knows his back’s gonna be protesting the sleeping arrangement, especially after slumming in the past few days on the ground, but he can't find it in himself to care. He curls up awkwardly, letting out a grunt when his too-big frame can't fit fully on the couch.

Despite his discomfort, he feels content for the first time in a long while. He hasn't felt this kind of happiness since Sarah. For once, the thought that he could be happy without her, no matter how much he mourns her, doesn't fill him with dread. The guilt is still there, the thoughts of 'what if', but he lets himself feel them. He knows they're never gonna leave him, and there's no point trying to force them away.

He never wants to forget Sarah, to replace her. There's always gonna be a massive space in his heart that's taken up by her, and there's no one that's gonna change that. But for once, he thinks he's happy with the little family he's got. The strays he's collected. He knows he can honor her memory by doing his best to survive, act like a dad she could've been real proud of.

Joel isn't a very religious man, but he knows he'll see his daughter again, one day. He cries himself to sleep that night, but for once the sobs that rack his body aren't filled with dread. It isn't him giving up, sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

They're tears of exhaustion, yes. But also relief. Hope. He can start again, live his life how he should've been these past few years. Really live, instead of just forcing himself to keep pushing through. Not just for you, but for Ellie. Tommy, too.

His family.

[virgincels]

CAROL OF THE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader x dante (dmc)

tags. i made them brothers, cucking, threesome, age gap, size kink, ass play, leon eats his cum so incest, cum eating, creampie, p in v

note. SORRY FOR BEING LATE AGAIN i have been tweaking :3 but um whatever! ignore typos or i’ll detonate :3 feedback n rbs much appreciated !!! ooc bc dante is literally a well-meaning old man but i have to make him sleazy for porn without plot purposes sorry!! i also cut the smut short bc. bc i wanted to get this out so sorry if it’s jolty 😭

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

Your love for Leon, much to his dismay, is no match for your pursuit of cock. His poor girl, you suffer from this awful disease at such a young age, the kind that tears a family apart - wandering hands they call it. In Leon’s terms, it would be something more akin to cock-driven. That’s your motivation, and if you see one you like, you’re gonna get it. Fuck, you’d do rocket science on the spot for a nice, fat cock. Unfortunately, it just so happens to be his older brother that you’ve set your eye on. And Leon’s older brother is the most shameless asshole since, like, god, Mark Antony? That guy was obnoxious, right? Fucking his best friend’s wife and all.

Dante is that obnoxious but amplified tenfold, if you can even imagine that. He’s got a big mouth to match his stature, and, you guessed it, he’s got one hell of a dick stuffed into those tacky leather pants. And you’re taking a very obvious gander at what sort of goodies he’s got tucked away. You’re playing footsie with him under the table for fuck’s sake. Leon can tell by the way you’re slouched too far back in your seat, but it’s mainly ‘cause he dropped his fork and when he lifted the table cloth, he found your foot rubbing along Dante’s inner thigh while his fingers toyed with the frilly cuff of your sock. Bringing you home for Christmas was a mistake. You’re too precious to give up and too hard to reign in. He should just store you away in a jar of some sort, poke a few holes in the lid so you can breathe, a bird cage perhaps, or maybe a crate?

Knowing you, you’d manage to get your paws on Dante either way. A cage would be no problem, just slip it right on in through the gaps! A makeshift gloryhole if you will. Honestly, he’d prefer you to pick Vergil over Dante, at least the guy has it all together, at least he’s not a washed up loser who can’t pay his bills, at least he’s not Dante. You’d think as the younger sibling you’d turn out better, right? It’s like baking a cake, the first time it’s shit, and the second time it’s better. Not soft in the centre, not burnt to a crisp on the sides - just don’t work like that around here. Instead, Leon’s parents had the stronger, taller, hotter, bigger one first, then little Leon to top it all off. Little ‘cause he’s 5’10 with insoles only.

Oh yeah, you can ask around town. Leon Kennedy? That guy’s decent, nice face, nice smile, nice guy. Dante? One that walks around like his dick is weighing him down, fuckin’ pornstar face, can tell if a girl likes him when she’s got her ankles behind her head – yeah, I know him, he broke my parents marriage up, and he fucked my sister, and my auntie, yeah, the one that came over for the holidays. I don’t really mind ‘cause he gave it to me after too! Oh, no way, I couldn’t do that with Leon, he’s more of the settle down type, don’t you think?

No one has actually said that and yes, he is more of the settle down type, but Leon has had his fair share of flings, and contrary to popular belief - missionary is not the only position he knows. He knows how to put a girl on her knees, no stranger to it. Maybe, just maybe, his dick is the problem. It’s not small, not quite big, it’s adequate, or perhaps it’s inadequate and that’s why you’re offering to wash the dishes alongside Dante. Leon hasn’t seen Dante do a household chore since 1976, that’s when Leon was in the womb if you didn’t know. Meaning he hasn’t ever seen Dante do a single chore, not even pick up his own underwear the fucking slob. And don't even get him started on you. The girl who struggles to get the vacuum working when Leon’s not around, then you do it half heartedly for five minutes before complaining about your back aching.

He’s pacing outside the kitchen like a guard on duty, listening in on your conversation with Dante, it’s absolutely thrilling. Leon couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time, he just loves to hear his girlfriend flirt her way into his brother’s pants.

Oh, your hands are so big, Dante! Wow, they’re so much bigger than mine. My goodness, Dante, you could pick me up, like, sooooo easy! I wonder what else is big! Has your hair always been that colour? No, that’s so not true, Dante, doesn’t make you look old at all! It suits you, don’t look a day over twenty. Duh, of course I’m joking, I like ‘em old anyway. Do you babe? You should go ahead and suck his old man cock, sure Dante wouldn’t mind, and it’s not like Leon has any say. You’re young and fickle - this is what he deserves for dating a girl your age. What more do you know than dick?

“It’s okay, he won’t wake up,” Your voice is muffled in his ears, distant despite you being less than an inch away from him. He shifts, feels around for your warmth, clasps an arm that’s way too jacked.

Leon’s brother is remarkable really, he turns over after a struggle with the bedside lamp, sees Dante’s teeth gleaming, your little hands splayed flat across his chest. He’d go at him, make a feast of it, he wishes for the tearing of Dante’s throat to be biblical. God, Kane and Abel have nothing on them. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” His digs his nails into hardened muscle.

“Please, baby,” You beg him, beg is an exaggeration, from you it’s a command. Like, not Oh, please, Leon! May I suck and fuck your brother while you lay beside us? More of a Please, shut your mouth and let me have this, Leon. I haven’t had good dick ever since I started dating you.

He falters, “No, babe,” Leon shakes his head, lip curling upwards in both disgust and wonderment at the boldness of your request. “No, are you crazy?”

“C’mon, Leon,” Dante pouts, and it’s disturbing to see a grown man with no upper lip do that. “She just wants to have a little fun.”

“Don’t— don’t get involved, this is between me and her.” His attempt at assertion is only met with amusement.

“Leon, please?” You bat your lashes. Beat. His heart hammers in his chest. Then Leon closes his eyes like a good boy, he’s always been great at taking orders. Whatever. Fuck his brother to your heart’s content.

“He not treatin’ you right, sweet thing?” Dante murmurs into your neck, his thick fingers parting your slippery folds, rubbing deft circles on your twitching clit.

He grits his teeth so hard they squeak. Leon treats you perfectly well. Surely, saying otherwise—

“No, Dante,” You pout up at his brother, a small hand curled around his wrist as he pushes his fingers knuckle-deep into your slick cunt.

Stupid bitch. Leon has never been inclined to call a woman a bitch, total lie, but Claire told him it’s not appropriate, and Claire is usually right about most things. Not right now though, girls are fucking brutal.

“No?” Dante coos, “My little brother can’t please his girl? Can’t get this little cunt soaked?” There’s a wet smack, and you gasp.

“Don’t do that.” Leon can’t help himself, it’s like he insists on making a fool of himself. “She doesn’t like that.”

“Do it again.” You plead, “Dante, please, feels so good.” The crooked smile Dante gives him is humiliation at its finest.

He draws his hand back, spanks your cunt, the fleshy part of his palm mashing against your clit. “You don’t even know what your girl likes.”

“I do.” Leon’s chest aches, his dick aches even more, feels like it’s about to over-inflate and pop.

“Bet you like it rough, don’t you, babe?” Dante asks, presses his nose into your neck, licks a stripe up your jugular.

“She does not.”

“Yes.” You nod crazy like a dashboard bobblehead.

Dante raises his brows when he glances sideways at Leon, “He’s not givin’ it to you is he? You want him all up in your guts, baby, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, god, please,” You whine, clit thrumming beneath Dante’s fingertips. “Want it here.” You bring Dante’s hand to rest on your abdomen, “wanna feel you here, please.”

“Dirty little bitch,” Dante coaxes an orgasm out of you with his fingers alone.

“Don’t speak to her like that.”

“I’ll speak to her how I want,” He retorts, “She likes it, ‘s why you’re gettin’ me all wet, isn’t it, baby?”

“Mhm,” Your eyes follow his every move, and Leon has never seen you so enthralled during sex. He’s used to you laying on your back like a dead girl, legs over his shoulders, letting out the occasional grunt of discomfort.

His head dips low, the sheets are long forgotten, crumpled at the foot of the bed. Dante’s big hands spread your cheeks apart, licks into your cunt, flicks his tongue over your clit— and you moan like you never have before. Back bowing off the bed, covering your mouth with a balled-up fist, chest heaving.

“That good, baby?” Dante hums, his teeth scrape over your clit when he pulls back the hood, and you squirm.

“So good, so good— ‘s so fuckin’ good, god!”

Alright, can’t be that good, now you’re just putting it on to piss Leon off. You’ve never sucked his dick well enough for him to moaning like that. Then again, his dick doesn’t have a million nerve endings. The sounds Dante is making are downright lewd, unnecessary even, you’re dripping all over his face, his chin wet and shiny with your pussy— then he makes the jump. A move that’s bold even for a dude as outrageous as Dante, his pink tongue follows the natural trail from pussy to asshole. Licks the puckered rim till you relax, and there’s no resistance from you whatsoever. You’re just letting this grimy bastard eat your fucking ass? Even Leon hasn’t gotten that far, not that he’s asked, not that he’s ever thought about it - something about the second hole just feels wrong.

Dante spits on it, manages to get his thumb in nicely, then he sits up, leaves you empty. “Just a little girl takin’ big things, aren’t you? How am I s’posed to fit in this tight cunt without breaking it?” He tilts his head to the side, eyes droopy like he’s drunk on pussy juice alone. Probably is. Shit is potent. Especially when you’ve been nose-deep.

His brother only smiles, gives a pointed look to Leon’s dick straining against the fabric of his boxers, the sticky wet patch. “That’s why she wants cock so bad, huh?” Leon is not small. His dick is just right, it’s fine, it’s sufficient. There’s nothing wrong with it, but he cups a hand over his bulge to hide it from Dante.

Dante shucks off his pants, and yeah, Leon really is the little brother in every sense. He might as well just kill himself at this point, there is no winning against a dick that fat. Shit’s so big it’s hanging downwards, so heavy it can’t even hold itself up. Some big fucking balls to level it out. Jesus, is he seriously admiring his brother’s dick right now? Listen, it’s just got some real weight to it, and Leon has to say he’s impressed. Only seen this breed of horsecock in porn.

“Gosh, Dante,” You’re lovestruck, cockstruck, a trembling hand reaches forward to cup his heavy balls, then wrap it around the base, and it’s honestly so big your thumb and middle finger struggle to meet.

“Don’t throw her around like that, oh my god.” Leon frowns, catches your head from knocking against the headboard when Dante manhandles you onto your front. “Just be careful.” If you told Leon he’d be watching his brother fuck his little girlfriend from behind with a thumb in her ass, he’d say, yeah, sounds about right. Some shit that would happen to a guy like me.

“She can take it.” Dante says, then he’s sheathed inside with a single glide of his cock, no resistance whatsoever. You’re that wet. Dripping down your thighs. God, he’s never seen you get so worked up. “Can’t you, babe?”

“Yes, please, just give it to me please, Dante,” Now that’s begging, not that shit you were doing earlier. “Wan’ it so bad, please, might die, Dante.”

“Alright, okay, baby, only ‘cause you asked so nicely.” He snickers, wraps his arm around your front and then fucks into you so hard the bed rocks. Headboard hits the wall. Stuff you see in movies. God, his poor girl, you’ll be ruined once Dante’s done with you.

“Oh my god, oh my god, Dante,” You mewl an endless string of expletives, arch so your hips push back onto his fat cock, and your eyes roll back into your head, and there’s spit trickling down your chin— Holy fucking shit. It’s like watching a porno play out. Hell, it might very well be a porno. C’mon, where’s the camera, is this Dante’s new side gig? Is this keeping his lights on, his fridge full, his water running? Wouldn’t put it past him.

Once he creams your hole, Dante’s quick to spread you apart with his big hands, you’re still gaping. “Go on, Leon.” He says very simply, smiles the way he always does when he suggests something outlandish. “Clean her up.”

Leon’s never eaten pussy from the back, it’s impolite. Crude. That’s the general consensus, right? And Leon’s a feminist, he’ll eat a pussy that sits itself on his face, he’ll snuggle up between a thick pair of thighs - but from the back, oh, it’s just obscene. Still does it though. Eats his brother's thick cum from your hole, sucks on your swollen clit, laps till there’s nothing left that’s dirtier than his own tongue. Then he goes to bed with a hard dick and the taste of his brother’s cum in the back of his throat. He’ll sleep it off.

[boopshoops]

HEY U.

MOOTY GANG AND FOLLOWERS

I hope ya know i care u and appreciate u 💛

I know i don't say it nearly enough- plus i have a hard time reaching out to say so, tending to wait for others to come to me (which is a habit i'm working on SOB)

BUT I CARE U NONETHELESS. You're all very talented. I love seeing you in my inbox, i scroll through and read every notification, comment, and tag, and i could not be more grateful. It never fails to make me smile. Sometimes I don't quite know what to say so I struggle to rb or comment- but please know I hold admiration for you either way. I like hearing about your days, ocs, creations, and more.

I have a hard time expressing it, so I wanted to put it here.

Much love 💕💕💕💕💕