#Jimmy doesn’t get a drawing

[angelic-waffles]

Some character sprites from some weird ass game my dad has from the 90s abt mouth wash or summ

[lunarcrown]

Jimmy J- Giggles vs Skizz Rizz

[queenarsinoethepoisoner]

I’m back again with redrawing peoples thumbnails! This one was a bit of a struggle, cus of Timmy being a ghost. I do plan on drawing some grian and ghost jimmy moments soon

[sadagios]

Icarus, and the Sunflower

A Desert Duo/Scarian AU about an avid player meeting his favorite, comfort character in a death loop video game.

I can’t write a fic, nor have time to draw comics like i used to, so we are doing bullet points on a tumblr post

PART ONE: BEFORE THE ALPHA TEST

2.1k words below the cut

SOME BEGINNING NOTES: - This AU is only character shipping, and references a lot outside the life series events (evo, hermitcraft, empires, etc). This is not meant to ship the CC’s themselves and if anything alludes to it, it is purely unintentional. - This is not canon-compliant ermmmm i do what i want and i will put every idea i have into this - Tags for this part? Game dev AU, Grian is whipped for Scar, some characters are real and some are fictional, this is only the prologue, absolutely not beta'd i only have one impulsive braincell

A. Gria

Gria is a single man in his late 20s; he works at a game company called E.V.O. Games (Entertainment Virtual for Everyone). He was an architecture graduate who dabbled in game dev in his spare time during his undergraduate studies. Although he didn’t pursue that path, he utilized his skills in level design. He used to work in several indie game companies, one of which was a company founded with friends, before he was hired by E.V.O. Games. He was excellent at his job, and his ideas and inputs always improved whatever project he worked on. Because of this, after a few years, he was promoted to creative director.

His latest project was “The Evolutionists’ Portal,” a 3D pixel-style puzzle game in which the player has to navigate the world to find portals hidden in each level, and these portals progress the game. With each portal traveled into, the world becomes bigger and more complicated, making each portal harder to find. However, with multiplayer, this task is easier through working together (and doing fun shenanigans together).

It had a buggy release, especially for multiplayer, but it built a decent player fanbase; the story itself was short and simple, but it was replayable thanks to its multiplayer mode.

For visualization, it’s 3D with a top-down perspective like “Pokemon Diamond/Pear/Platinum” but has gameplay similar to “Stardew Valley”

Gria and his team get along well, and he is quite close to some of them:

Martyn: an audio engineer. This is the first game he’s worked on since he was first hired in the company.

“Big B”: a VFX artist. He and Gria joined the company around the same time and bonded over stressful deadlines and annoying seniors when they started out.

Jimmy: the project manager. Although Gria takes a lot of joy in teasing him, he is hardworking and great at keeping everyone in check with the calendar. Out of everyone, he is the one Gria is closest with. He also works on another game by the company called “Empires.” 

Pearl: an environment artist. She joined the company a bit later in the development. It is her first time dealing with pixel graphics but she did it incredibly well. She also works on “Empires” with Jimmy.

“Empires” is a free-to-play fantasy open-world action gacha RPG. It is the biggest game of the company and their title game. 

For visualization, it’s just “Genshin Impact” and “Honkai: Star Rail”.

Recently, there was a buzz around that their game, “Empires”, will have a collaboration event with another big name. Gria was too busy and overworked to take notice of this, though. 

The fruits of his labor later came as game nominations for “Best Multiplayer” and “Best Audio Design.” Gria was happy their work was acknowledged by players worldwide, even if they didn’t win.

B. Hermitopia

After so long, Gria finally took a week off. It was foreign to have no obligations for even a day. He doesn’t use this time to travel; instead, he sits at home and lurks on the internet to keep up with gaming news and updates. He uses the username “Xelqua” with a red macaw as his profile picture.

He stumbled upon a “Redstone tutorial” post by the user ”Potatonutshell”. Curious and intrigued by how such a complicated contraption is possible in a game (and bored out of his mind), he asked this user what game it was for. Potatonutshell briefly, and over-excitedly, DM’d Gria with a huge wall of text about this game called “Hermitopia 6.”

In the beginning days of his break, Gria spent time messaging this Potatonutshell fella, named “Mumbo.” Mumbo named himself after a character named “Mumbo Jumbo”, who is one of the most skilled “redstoners” in the game. He related heavily with the character and took a lot of interest in the redstone circuitry game feature as he is a programmer in real life. Gria thought the game was interesting, but not enough to install a 36 GB game for $39.99. He changed his mind when Mumbo told him more about the game, especially its base-building mechanic.

“Hermitopia 6: Hermit Civil War” is an open-world fantasy action RPG known for its base-building core mechanic. It is the sixth game in the franchise, and each game starts in a brand-new world. The player and the lovable NPCs are called hermits, a band of humans, fae, hybrids, and other species who live together on an island and work together to live a sustainable life amidst the hostile creatures that roam the world. 

For visualization, it’s like “Skyrim” with “Baldur’s Gate 3” graphics and dialogue UI.

Gria planned to try it for a few hours, only humoring his new internet friend, until he met this beautiful NPC named “Scar Goodtimes” — a human-vex hybrid with scars all over his “handsome face and carved body”, as Gria would personally describe him. He was also a builder who lived near Gria’s very odd underwater base. Throughout the remaining days of his break, and his weekends after that, Gria played Hermitopia 6 religiously.

Scar calls him “GRIAN”, which was a typo error — Gria pressed enter early in the name selection screen and he didn’t realize it until Scar first mentioned his name 3 hours into the game. He can’t be bothered to fix it, though (and he's grown fond of it.)

Gria continued to play the game in his free time, slowly falling in love with the game as he kept on playing. He also kept talking to Mumbo, who he fanboyed about the game with. He found out that Mumbo lived close by too, so they hung out frequently and bonded over the game.

Gria: I genuinely thought you had a big mustache, y’know, like Mumbo Jumbo. Mumbo: I do too! It’s... it's there! [he shows his very faint mustache] It's there! Gria: sure.

Xelqua started off as a lurker, to an active Hermitopia fan account. He was interested in the base-building aspect of the game and shared his designs online.

Hermitopia is not a dating simulator. There is no romance mechanic in the game. Anyway, Gria installed (and tweaked) a romance mod because no one can stop him from flirting with his fictional vex boyfriend.

Mumbo: Grian, if I hadn't met you personally, I would've pictured you as a crazy Scar fanatic. Gria: Wha— How— I’m not crazy. Mumbo: You downloaded a romance mod just to flirt with Scar and commissioned an artist to draw a scene from it, and now you have it framed on your bedroom wall. So, Grian, I think that’s crazy behavior. Gria: … I do what I want, Mumbo!

Gria's love for the game and Scar grew more as another hermitopia game was released (Hermitopia 7). Then, he, as Xelqua, became a notorious name because of a supposedly harmless poll about the sexiest character in the game. He was known as the insane Scar fan.

He's got every Scar merch, though there isn't much Hermitopia merch released in general. However, if someone posts about a new Scar fan merch, a certain username might appear in their notifications, like a hound trailing a scent. Haters and trolls are also dragged to hell and back because, if they aren't regretful after being berated by this insane man, they will not be able to surf through the web in peace as long as Xelqua holds a grudge. 

As insane as this Xelqua person is, Scar had become a popular character within the fandom, compared to his old status as an underrated sweetheart without much attention or fanfare thanks to Xelqua constantly (for years without missing a day) talking about him. Xelqua also organized or helped some Scar fan events and constantly supported merch creators with hermitopia merch (especially if it involved Scar.)

User Xelqua, about Scar: He is my little sunshine, my precious sunflower. He might’ve killed some men, but he was hot while doing it.

C. The Collaboration Event

Back to Game dev stuff, Gria isn’t open about his current obsession with his coworkers. When the collaboration event with the “Empires” games was finally announced, two representatives from the other company came to visit. “Skizzleman” has been a writer for Hermitopia since the 3rd game. A character from Empires, Gemini, will become a new character in the next Hermitopia game, and there will be a DLC that will add a new small map with many biomes and new materials. In Empires, Hermitopia characters will be featured in a limited-run gacha banner and a limited-time story event. 

Now a Hermitopia fan, Gria tried to interview Skizzleman about the game (while making it not obvious how obsessed he is with it). Skizzleman was the one who wrote the lore for “Impulse” as well as most of his dialogue throughout the games.

Another representative for Hermitopia, the lead designer Joel, came to visit for the collab event. He is a fanatic of Empires and a diehard “Shadow Lady” fan, which is why he is so excited to work with E.V.O. Games for the collab.

Accompaniment art for this here: link

Gria was never into gacha games, but with a mix of Pearl and Jimmy convincing him to try the game they worked on (not to mention the fact that it is free-to-play), and showing him an initial sketch of what some hermitopia characters will look like in the game (this isn’t allowed, but Jimmy and Pearl found the thought of their serious coworker playing a gacha game amusing), he finally caved. Little did they know, showing a topless concept art of Scar is more than enough to reel him in.

When the collab update was finally released, Gria grinded Empires just to get Scar. He practically paid his own salary back to his company just to get Scar to max level and his additional skins. (He loved his new “HotGuy” skin the most)

With the release of “Hermitopia 8: Moon Collision” and the introduction of co-op multiplayer mode, Gria invited Pearl to play with him with the excuse that they're only going to see how Gemini looks in the game. Gria successfully got Pearl hooked on the game.

D. The Watchers Studio

Before Gria properly applied to a game company, he developed small-scale games with his high school friends. They called themselves “The Watchers.” He met them in a small art club and they bonded over their favorite games. Gria’s favorite game growing up was an old zombie game with a title he can no longer remember.

One of their unfinished games was “The Life Game.” It was a battle-royal death game where the players had to gather resources and have limited lives.

Two of their old friend group recently reached out to Gria to catch up. They said they wanted to work on “The Life Game” again and wanted to ask Gria if he wanted to join again. Of course, Gria already had a job himself, so he declined. However, he hung out with the two and checked in with their progress, nostalgia hitting him as they relived their old game ideas.

The two invited Gria to do an alpha test and asked him to invite any friends who might find it fun. Gria invited Jimmy, Pearl, Martyn, and Big B, as well as Skizzleman and Joel who he’s been acquainted with. He also sent an invite to Mumbo, who was unfortunately busy with his job at the moment. 

To Gria’s surprise, the two had turned their game into a VR game. All seven of them played in a medium-sized studio, and although the game was fun, it was nausea-inducing, especially for Joel. They all lost to the Computer-AI characters, which concluded their Alpha Test.

After the meetup, the two lent them their CD copy of the game with the VR Headset they used (which was suspiciously generous of them).

Skizzleman liked the game a lot and asked if they could do it again sometime, which Gria relayed to his two old friends. Pearl shared the same sentiment but is too caught up with work which makes her unable to join their next session.

The gang kept discussing the game they played and its potential to become a hit with a little more polish. This made Gria feel proud of his old team and his past self, reminding him of the time he was passionate about making games despite his lack of experience. 

With limited coding knowledge and a little help from Mumbo, he made a server to host “The Life Game” online instead of LAN. He sent copies to Mumbo and Pearl in case they’d join later. According to the two, the game had more improvements to it since the last time they played it, which was months ago.

Gria had a small voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea— well, he did get a bit sick in the last session, but everyone had fun. So, he ignored the warning bells and hit “Join World.”

This marks the End of PART ONE: BEFORE THE ALPHA TEST Next Chapter > PART TWO: UNFIXABLE ERROR

ENDING NOTES: I've been brainrotting and hyperfixating on the idea for a while now, and I don't know how to let it all out so I'm going to try out this format. Hopefully I could add more to this! Thank you if you've read this far into the post. :) Made a spotify playlist too in case anyone is interested (I'm still working on this though)

[birdyisthewordyy]

Hiyayaya, I leik ur work >< I hope it's alr if u can do my request ^^

An au where Pony Express shuts down and the crew finds better things to do with their life rather than being in that stupid shitty company— and then some random ass afternoon they randomly see the reader, doing the most mundane things like just shopping or eating food. And yk it's kinda weird seeing them after a few years!

Yes, I need some crew x readers

a/n: OH MY GODDDD I LOVE THIS ASK SO MUCHHH YES?? I’m literally foaming at the mouth

Tulpar Crew x Ex coworker! Reader

Curly

You were never exactly close with Curly on board

You were a little intimidated by him

He liked you though

He thought you were very competent

So when he sees you 3 years after Pony Express kicks the bucket, he’s more than happy

Walks in and shouts your name with no shame

Sits down across from you and chats it up

You talk about mundane things like life on the Tulpar, your families, life since Pony Express disbanded, and so on

He gets roped into the conversation

And your eyes

And the way you talk

“Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

Cue weekly meetings

Jimmy

Jimmy despised Pony Express

You were just another person who he had to deal with

So when he sees you walking down the street, he doesn’t try to get your attention by any means

Puts his head down and hands in his pockets

Doesn’t help

You see him

“Jimmy?! Hey!”

You run over and say hi enthusiastically

Like you missed him or some shit

He doesn’t hold up his end of the conversation…like at all

“Yeah, yeah. Uh huh.”

You talk about how you didn’t like Pony Express either

You hug him when you go

He doesn’t like how it makes his chest feel tight and weird

Swansea

A lot like Jimmy, but this time he has an actual reason to hate Pony Express

He’s grown to hate it over the years and was thankful when it finally shut down

But it raises the question: where does he go from here?

Applies for a lot of bodyguards jobs and the like

Finds you working at a club he applied to be the bouncer for

In a less than ideal waitress uniform

Doesn’t stare though

He’s a gentleman

Or is he? Wink

He and you don’t talk but you recognize each other

And give each other “Good to see you” glances

He liked you on the ship

You were one of the few people who knew how to do anything

So it’s always to see a… you

Daisuke

Daisuke…

He went back to living off his parents

Just for a bit, he swears

He finds himself going out more to fun places

Imagine his surprise when he sees you at this amusement park out of town he’s visiting

“(Name)? (Name)!”

Runs right up to you

You walk with him and talk about life

Actually you don’t really talk much about Pony Express

Despite that being how you met

He knew that you had more to you

He wanted to know!

Tries to win those rigged games to impress you

Buys you cotton candy

You come home with him and you watch a movie

End up crashing on the floor

He missed his buddy

Anya

Anya gets sick a lot (again I am projecting)

Funny enough she has to go to the doctor a lot

Nurse seeing a nurse

And that nurse happens to be you

You were both nurses in Pony Express’s crew, but while she was assigned to the Tulpar, you got a different ship

She knew your name though

You take her vitals and give good small talk

You have to draw her blood

She hates this

But you’re damn good with a butterfly needle

She doesn’t feel a thing

She likes how you talk her through it

Makes her feel safer

You exchange numbers and promise to get a coffee together sometime

She leaves with a smile on her face for once

And antibiotics because she’s got another virus

Poor Anya

[verstappen-cult]

Having an argument with Max, sounds exhausting. Especially when both of you are stubborn, but guess what? He'd willingly beg for forgiveness if you are still upset with him and avoiding him as a result of the argument

“I can’t do this anymore.” You whisper, shaking your head and taking a step back. 

That is what finally makes Max stop dead in his tracks, mouth hanging open with whatever he was going to say next. 

You’re tired. You woke up less than an hour ago and the first thing you and Max did was argue. And you really didn’t want to start the day this way, but neither of you backed away. Things escalated quickly and you just can’t do it anymore. 

“What are you talking about?” He sounds desperate, his chest heaving. Max clenches his fists by his side, like he wants to reach out. 

You turn your head away, eyes filled with tears. “I’m gonna go see my mother. We’ll talk later.” 

Max feels paralyzed, he can’t seem to do anything but watch you leave. 

*

It’s past eight when you get home. 

The first thing you notice is that the house is lit only by candles. A lot of candles throughout the house. 

Max is nowhere to be seen, Jimmy and Sassy are the ones greeting you by passing between your legs. You bend over to pat their heads and give them a few ear scratches. 

The more you walk into the house, the more your heart breaks. There on the table is a big bouquet of your favorite flowers along with a small card with the word ‘sorry’ written in Max’s handwriting waiting for you. The table is also set with the chinaware you only use on special occasions, and a few more candles. 

When you turn around you see Max curled up on the sofa, your favorite weighted blanket —the one you use when you’re feeling down and Max is away for work— around his shoulders. He looks so cozy, you want to curl up next to him, but you are still a little hurt and angry from the argument you two had in the morning. You’re thinking about what you both said to each other when Max stirs, eyes trying to adjust to seeing in the dim light. 

“Hey,” You say as a greeting, trying not to scare him. 

Max turns around immediately, surprise crossing his features. “You’re home.”

“Yes? Sorry I didn’t say anything but mom wanted me to help her with gardening.” You shrug, leaving your bag and keys on the table next to the couch. 

“I didn’t think you’d come back.” His voice is barely a whisper, but you hear him anyway. Max exhales deeply, clutching the blanket tightly around his shoulders. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry.” He blurts out, shoulders slumped. Max shuts his eyes tightly, like he’s in so much pain he can barely have them open. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I should’ve listened to you—I’m really sorry. I don’t want us to argue like that again, I felt horrible because I love you and I promised myself I would never do something like this.” You let him talk, to spill everything he has inside of him. “After you left—I wanted to go after you but I knew you needed time. But it made me remember how my dad used to talk to my mom, how they would yell at each other while Vic and I hid in our rooms.” You are already moving towards him, even before you hear how his voice breaks. 

You sit by his side, leaving some space between you two, hands itching to reach out and touch him, to draw him closer to you and hold him. 

“I don’t want to be like him.”

“You’re nothing like him,” You move closer, taking his hands with yours, thumb caressing the back of them. “Don’t you ever dare to go there, okay? You will never be like him, Max. Do you understand?” 

But he doesn’t look at you, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Max, this is not the first and it’s definitely not going to be the last argument we have. But if we talk about it, if we give ourselves some time to think things through like we did today—this doesn’t mean you are a bad person, or that you are turning into your dad.” You cup his cheek with one of your hands, caressing his cheekbone as you look into his stormy blue eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” He says again, tears in the corners of his eyes. You smile softly at him when he begs for your forgiveness again. 

“Can you forgive me too?” 

“Darling, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well, you’re wrong there.” You sniff, already feeling the tears wanting to stream down your face. “We were both wrong, don’t take all the blame.” Max opens his mouth to refute, but you shut him up with a kiss. It’s chaste, full of promises, and leaves you with blood pounding in your ears. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Max nods, gaze fixed on your lips. “Yes,” He directs his gaze back to your eyes, and you can see so much regret in them. “Do you forgive me?” 

“I don’t know,” You tease him by pretending to think about it. “it depends on what you made for dinner.”

A grin spreads across his face and he’s standing up in a second, tugging on your sleeve. “It’s definitely gonna make you forgive me.” He says, pulling the chair out for you to sit. “And if this doesn’t work, I have many other ways to make you forgive me.”

[noirsdoll]

-> pretty please? bonus!

all aboard! | the dinner party | room for three

pairing: curly / wife!reader / jimmy

words: 4.4k

tags: rape, threesome (f/m/m), painal, double penetration, light cucking, curly and reader are married, jimmy went to jail, mentions of jimmy's abuse towards anya, homoerotic codependent friendship, half of this is porn, no crash au

notes: this is more of a bonus chapter than a third one just cuz i think curly and reader's dynamic switches up a lot with the introduction of jimmy... there's a lot going on here LMAO i hope you like it!! i wanted to touch more on the similarities between jimmy and reader w this one!

read it on ao3

Jimmy’s walking, talking, “Get Out Of Jail Free Card” is pissing you off.

“No, we’re not letting him stay here!” You exclaim and for the first time in your relationship, this is real anger. He can’t be serious.

Curly pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and sighs, the other arm rocking your newborn. “It’s only going to be for a month at most. Just till he gets back on his feet.”

Your jaw drops. “We have a kid, Grant. And Jimmy’s a convicted sex offender.”

“He wouldn’t do something like that, not with a child.” Curly cups your cheek, his gaze blindingly warm. “Jimmy’s learned his lesson.”

You stare at him in bewilderment. You’ve found it, Curly’s hard limit and it’s for Jimmy of all people. The guy who’s best known for sticking his dick in anything remotely concave.

You were hoping you’d have a few months of peace before this happened, not for your husband to go behind your back and pay Jimmy’s bail. Curly can soothe you and fuck you all he wants, you are not forgiving him for this.

You bury your face in your hands. “Alright. Fine. Fine! But if he tries anything I’m kicking him out.”

“We’ll be fine, honey. Don’t be so negative.” Curly hands you your kid. “I think you gotta change him.” He stinks.

Jimmy stinks.

You know for a fact that prisons have showers and soap, so he has no excuse. You may be biased, however, considering he’s going to be sharing this beautiful house with both you and Curly.

It feels like he’s smearing his filth over your clean floors— the first thing you order him to do is take a shower. Thankfully, Curly agrees, kissing your hair and bidding you farewell for the day like he always does. Jimmy makes a face and says nothing, heading for your bathroom.

As the shower runs, you take the time to cook yourself some food. Instinctively, you find yourself glancing over your shoulder more than once. Down the hall, to the bathroom right across from your son’s room. You know he wouldn’t, Curly said he wouldn’t, but that doesn’t stop you from worrying.

You have a life that you need to put before your own now, a life that needs your protection. This was all for your kid at the end of the day. You ignore the anxiety festering in your gut, turning back to your cooking.

Eventually, Jimmy plops down onto a chair at the kitchen table, wearing Curly’s pajamas. His wet hair falls in strings. The silence drags before he speaks. “You look pretty good for just having a kid,” he draws out slyly.

“Thanks.” You don’t look at him, off put by the compliment.

You hear the telltale creak of him leaning back in his chair. “It’s a nice life you got, huh? Curly’s treating you well?”

“Well, he’s my husband. Of course he should.”

Jimmy just scoffs, about to say something more before he’s interrupted by your baby crying. Instantly, you turn off the stove and take down the hall. Finally, an excuse to get away from him and his thinly-veiled jealousy.

Unfortunately, Jimmy trails after you, pretending not to follow you while also clearly doing so. He catches the door when you go to close it, bullying his way in. “Am I such bad company?”

“No.” You think Jimmy is closer to head lice than anything likeable, but he can be personable at times. You pick up your baby, shushing him, gently rocking him. Jimmy’s looming behind you, against the wall by the door.

He grimaces at the sound. “Does it shut up?”

“He’s hungry,” you say, eyes only on your crying baby. Every heart-wrenching wail tugs at something so innate inside you. “Could you leave so that I can feed him?”

Jimmy grins. “And miss out on a show? Why would I do that?”

Your face crumples in disdain. But he’s clearly not leaving and you’ve got a kid to feed, so you just turn away from him, back to your son’s cradle. The air doesn’t feel intense, it feels stifling as you lift up your shirt, bringing your baby’s crying mouth to your nipple.

There’s this weird pressure in your chest, one you’ve never felt before. The short, subtle crawl of ice down your spine. Unsafe, you feel unsafe. Why, you don’t know, but that pressure builds, sharp and nauseating.

The silence drags, you focus on your kid, making sure he properly attaches, that he’s actually drinking. When he’s full, you pull back and tug down your shirt. On impulse, you look behind you.

Jimmy’s gone, like you just imagined him. A ghost.

Dinner comes and goes. You’re changing your son’s diaper as Curly and Jimmy talk in the living room. You can hear their laughter and lively conversation through the walls. Swaddling your kid, you pull him into your arms.

You sing him a lullaby, rocking him to sleep. Alone in this room, you can still feel Jimmy. That moment is etched in your brain. It clings to the walls of the room like cigarette smoke on drywall.

The door opens and you jump. Fortunately, it’s just Curly. He comes up behind you, big warm hands sliding over your stomach and waist. He kisses your temple. “How are you feeling?”

You lean back into him. “Exhausted.” You rub an eye with your free hand.

“Yeah, I bet.” His voice rumbles against your back, lulling you half to sleep. “Jimmy and I are going to head out to the bar for the night. We’ll be back before it's late.”

That wakes you up. You turn to face him. “What? But you just got home and I missed you all day.”

Curly just smiles as if you’d said a joke that was half amusing. “I haven’t seen him in months. We’re only catching up.”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. This would be the part where you flare up, raise your voice— to make yourself seem bigger like you’re encountering a bear on a woodland trail. Instead you shrink, finding yourself at home with something you never have before. You just stand and say nothing.

He kisses you quickly. “Bye. Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say back, but the door has already closed behind him.

Being a woman is easy.

You can ask a guy to beat you up during sex, only to turn and show your bruises to a cop and you’re believed. Easily. Instantly.

Jimmy thinks it’s unfair that you and him did the same thing, and he was robbed of everything while you lost nothing. You have it so fucking easy: Curly’s dick in your mouth whenever you want it, cushy house, hot water. The type of things a woman like you takes for granted.

He sees the way you look at him. Someone who’s filth, someone who’s nothing, and someone who’s beneath you. He’s not beneath anyone, especially not a dumb slut. You’re the one on your knees scrubbing the floor, at the sink washing dishes, and raising a kid of all things. You’re a servant, no, a service to Curly. Jimmy wonders if you know that.

It’s even worse that it's so goddamn boring in this house. Seeing you walking back and forth past the living room with various cleaning items and Curly’s lacklustre TV subscription is his only entertainment.

He decides to take matters into his own hands. Jimmy follows you from behind, wondering if you can’t sense him or if you’re purposefully ignoring him, but he finds out pretty quickly that it’s the latter.

Curling a strong arm around you from behind, he grabs one of your tits, pulling you back into his chest. Are they the reason why Curly likes you so much?

Instantly, you go straighter than a stick, stuck in disbelief before you start to squirm. “What the fuck are you doing?!” You try and put up a good fight, but he’s got a tight grip on you— like a baby’s hand wrapped around your finger.

You elbow him in between the ribs and it almost gets him. Almost. Pain flares in his side, but he knows better than to give up now. “That wasn’t very nice. I was just curious if these were his favourite part.”

His other hand scoops up your chin, pressing the back of your head up against his throat. “Curly said to make myself at home, so surely you don’t mind.” Jimmy can feel your chest heaving, your breath wild. You’re a cornered animal, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Get off of me,” you say, your voice muffled, but you are too perfectly ensnared in his grip. Your words mean nothing when he’s kneading your flesh in his calloused hands, tugging up the hem of one of those stupid dresses you always wear. Another aspect of Curly’s barely hidden fetish, he’s sure.

Jimmy makes sure it hurts when he pushes in. He hopes you tear. That way you’ll lose what makes you important to Curly— the stepping stone to everything else falling apart for you.

You look over your shoulder at him and your expression is not one of fear or pain, but anger. You look livid, clipped nails digging into the carpet fibers as Jimmy shoves your face onto the floor.

But eventually you get wet as he opens you up, filling you in his favourite form of entertainment. Seeing you give up, seeing you enjoy getting used by his ‘filthy’ cock that you thought was below you.

You coat his dick in blood and cum when he pulls out of you, spilling over your ass in harsh white streaks. A ruined mess, your true colours have been revealed, the crimson muscle under your skin. You are just a woman, dumb and docile, nothing but what a man can make you.

And he leaves you there so he can go take another wonderful hot shower.

Lying beside Curly, you feel yourself break.

In the dim light of your bedroom, you have nothing to occupy your senses but your thoughts. And you have so, so many of them. Each one winds around your brain in a tortuous loop.

After Jimmy left you there, you didn’t know what to do. Your joints cried out, you sat up and just stared at a spot on the floor. The sound of the shower running filled your ears like an incessant buzz, it carried with you all day. And here it is now. This fog, this emptiness that you can’t shake.

You smooth your thumbs over your nails, worrying your lips till you taste blood. Never have you let yourself fall into your head like this, you feel shackled to that moment, forced to replay it over and over.

You shouldn’t be so absorbed in this. It was nothing. He’s just fucking bored. Letting this affect you, ruminating on this, it makes you no better than her.

For a short moment you debated calling Anya, to talk to her about it. You imagine picking up the phone and flat out telling her that Jimmy raped you— and what? What happens then? What could Anya— a dimwit who finally made it into med school through pity alone, do for you?

You wipe your eyes to try to hide the tears brewing there. This is all because of Jimmy. He has the nerve to do this under your household. You have Curly under your beck and call, you’ve assured yourself that that would be the case. This won’t slip through your fingers. You’ll get him kicked out, Jimmy failed to pass the terms.

You feel Curly’s arm wrap around your stomach, tugging you back into his chest. His warm breath fans over the nape of your neck, murmuring listlessly. “Why are you crying?”

Fuck, he noticed. You wipe with more insistence. You need to tell him. Sure you have no proof, but you can twist your words like you always do. Blame it on Curly, braid his heartstrings and play them to your favour. This will be easy.

“Jimmy, he… he…”

Fuck, you can’t speak. Why can’t you speak? This has never happened. Words usually come so easy to you, but right now they’re all crammed down your throat and you’re suffocating on them.

“I know you don’t like him,” Curly says, “but he’s my friend. I can’t just throw him out onto the streets, right?”

You stay silent. Right, of course, they’re friends. And how could Jimmy get off his feet, get a job— do any of that, when he has a criminal record? You should’ve never agreed to this. You should’ve said no. You are competing with a relationship that has stretched on longer than the time you’ve known Curly.

“You both need to learn how to get along,” Curly sighs, burying his face in your shoulder. “Get some sleep. Don’t think about this.”

You nod, more to yourself than him. Jimmy will get bored. This will end.

It will.

Why are you making excuses for him?

When Curly asks about the new bruise flowering on your side, you say you bumped into the counter. You don’t tell him that it was Jimmy. When Curly and Jimmy drink together in the living room after dinner, you spend it in your son’s room, fawning over him and making yourself sick.

There’s no telling when Jimmy will snap and you will become the subject of his entertainment for the hour– when he will split you open and call you filthy things that you are slowly being conditioned to like.

You feel like a hostage in your own house. Your son’s room has become your only safety. No longer do you feel self-assured, confident, and capable, rather, you feel as though you are nothing but a victim. That you are a compliant puppet to the men around you.

It needs to stop.

Today, Jimmy shoves his fingers down your throat and you lurch forward with a gag. His unclipped fingernails drag against your wet tongue and you feel your unimpressive breakfast rising up your throat.

And god, his fucking grin. It’s a show of malice and a couple of crooked teeth, the obvious reaction as he takes a victory lap with your subservience. Globs of thick saliva drag down from your lips and onto the floor.

He always fucks you when your son is sleeping and there’s enough time for your holes to return to normal for when Curly uses them the following evening. You feel so sapped of your energy. You don’t even fight or say much of anything anymore. You’ve lost.

You know what’s happening before you even feel it. He bends you onto the couch and slides his spit-soaked fingers against your ass. You prickle up, going rigid as he forces one finger past your pucker, then a second. Jimmy doesn’t actually care about prepping you and after a couple pumps he replaces his fingers with his cock.

It’s the same sharp drag every time, although now it hurts twice as much. He must get off to it, seeing you in a crumpled, folded heap of holes. His hips smack against yours with ease.

He curls his body over you, looming like a shadow. The cushion beneath your face is wet with tears and drool. You feel like you’re suffocating— he doesn’t even moan. You’re not even doing a good job of whatever he wants from you.

Jimmy calls you a slut, a whore, and all of the other degrading names in the book. He’s sure to let you know what you are and once the slide of his dick starts feeling less like molten lava in your veins, you begin to moan along with it. You fucking hate yourself.

Then, the front door opens.

You didn’t tell Jimmy that Curly got off early today. You were hoping the sight of this would be enough to deter Curly from Jimmy, that’d it be enough to compel Curly to kick him out. If he won’t believe your words, you have the visual proof.

Jimmy doesn’t even look scared, much less worried. He tugs you up into his lap, your back against his chest and your vulnerable body bared to Curly’s gaze. You try to cover yourself, but it’s no use.

“Sweetheart… what?” He looks between you and Jimmy, his expression darkening.

“I didn’t— he made me–,” but Jimmy wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes so hard your eyes bulge out of your sockets. You flounder as Jimmy grinds his hips into you.

“She’s a glutton for it.” Jimmy’s voice feels far away, like you’re in some sort of corporeal third person. “You haven’t been fucking her right, huh?”

Curly’s lips form around a myriad of words he tries and fails to say. “I have been,” Curly says, his eyes wide in disbelief, reeling, “she went behind my back, with you?”

“Don’t blame me. She was begging me for it.” Jimmy can’t stop moving his hips. He can’t even take a break from fucking you just to talk.

“Please, no—,” you gasp. Curly’s eyes flit to yours and then down to your blushing cunt that's currently dripping slick down onto Jimmy’s balls. He can see the way your ass is stretched around his cock.

Curly’s so red you think he might overheat. One hand slips lower, not-so-discreetly adjusting his bulge as he stares at both you and Jimmy in heartbreak.

And Jimmy, being the gentleman he is, scoots forward on the couch, indirectly rocking up into you in a thrust that makes your eyes roll back. “Are you getting turned on by this?” Jimmy laughs, “then use her.”

Jimmy slides his sleazy fingers down and parts your sodden lips, showing it all off to Curly. The man averts his eyes like he’s never seen it before, as if he hasn’t dragged his tongue over every inch of your skin in his own form of worship.

“You like watching this? Fucking cuck.” Jimmy digs his thumb into your windpipe and you worry you might actually turn purple.

He curls in on himself like he’s intruding. “I can’t— not while you’re—”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “She’s your wife. What, you don’t want her anymore?”

The patheticness that drew you to Curly is becoming a thing of annoyance to you. But for once, you agree with Jimmy— having Curly here with you might erase the pain of Jimmy’s lack of preparation. Curly would be gentle, he would be so good to you, same as he always is. You plead with him as best you can with your eyes. If you can’t rid yourself of Jimmy, at least you can make it better for yourself.

You watch as he reluctantly undoes his pants, tugging out that fat cock you love so much. Before you know it, he’s pressing the head to your cunt and pushing in. His eyes are on you and only you. You’re finally able to ignore the way Jimmy’s hip bones are digging into your ass.

Curly caresses your jaw with his fingers, watching carefully to make sure he doesn’t hurt you, because sometimes he doesn’t know his own strength. It feels habitual, you can almost ignore everything else happening around you. You and him, just you and him.

“What are you fucking her so slow for?’ Jimmy plunges even deeper into you. “You think a slut like her deserves that?”

Curly’s eyes shoot away and then he’s staring at Jimmy, his brow furrowed in thought. It’s usually your job to tell him what to think— you would if you weren’t being stuffed and suffocated from every side.

He picks up speed. You’ve never had him at this pace before, and you’re stretched so full that your hands fly out for purchase, nails skating along Curly’s bicep.

He’s not even looking at you, the pretty tendons of his neck arched so he can look at Jimmy. Your husband fucks you with his careful instruction.

Jimmy bullies himself deeper and deeper. Curly follows suit, your hips all clash with the sloppy sound of your wet cunt and skin.

You squeeze around them both as your heart stammers with pure panic. Jimmy’s fingers are digging into your throat hard enough that spots are appearing in your vision. You tap his arm like he’s got you in a wrestling hold you can’t get out of— Jimmy makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat as he lets go.

Then he slaps you.

Curly winces like Jimmy hit him too, but he doesn’t say anything. The strike burns against your skin. You’re not even given a moment to process before Jimmy’s pistoning right back in.

You’re so wet that it’s all you can hear— maybe wetter now. Your head tips back to rest on Jimmy’s shoulder and you try to catch Curly’s eyes with your own.

“Grant, Grant—,” your nails dig into his biceps to get his attention. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, spreading you open, and Jimmy’s rubbing your clit like he couldn’t care less about it, missing it half the time.

Curly glances down at you, fleeting. “Yeah, what is it, baby?” His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows curling upwards as he continues to fuck into you.

Your body shakes with each thrust, neither of them are letting up. “Slow down, please.”

“You’re gonna listen to her?” is Jimmy’s immediate response, “thought you were the man of the house.”

A multitude of expressions lilt over Curly’s face until there is a sudden understanding. One of their many secret conversations, you suppose.

Then Curly matches Jimmy’s pace and you feel like you can’t breathe, blackened tears streaming down your face. At least he has the decency to actually rub your clit. Your hips squirm as you try and fail to wrench yourself away from the overstimulation.

He keeps hitting that spot in you over and over again, their cocks meeting inside you with each belligerent thrust. Jimmy’s fingers dig into your waist, his teeth caught on your earlobe as he says the most demeaning things he can come up with, making you whine and squeeze tighter around them both, walls fluttering and a pitiful ache in your stomach.

Then there’s this sudden anger. At yourself, mostly. Curly doesn’t have the backbone to stand up for himself, much less you. That’s why this is your fault. You let it get out of control and you’ve let yourself get conditioned to enjoy being defiled.

You’d only had one plan when you learned about Pony Express terminating its employees— secure your future. That future was Curly’s baby in your belly, being well off under his roof. You were willing to take on every responsibility that came with it if it meant a good life for you and your family. But now you’ve clawed yourself out of a gaping pit just to dive headfirst into another.

Jimmy was the variable that ripped that all to shreds. Him and Curly have something, something that goes beneath their skin, that they share in small glances when you slip up, a camaraderie, one that has spanned longer than you’ve known either of them and has only grown further now.

And then the worst happens.

Jimmy wraps one slender hand around the back of Curly’s neck, tugs him down, and then he’s kissing him. Curly’s eyes fall closed and he makes a keening noise so deep in the back of his throat that you wonder if it’s innate. Jimmy just looks at you, eyes wide open, unable to fight his grin as Curly slots lips with him like an obedient dog.

Your chest sinks even deeper into that pitfall, you can only watch, staring as Curly pulls away, a string of saliva between both their lips. And Curly has never looked at you like that. Yes, his eyes have welled up with admiration and reverence, and he has said just as much to you, but it’s never been this. Like he’ll die if your lips never meet again.

Curly glances at you, and it’s like he’s asking for permission, like you’re some sort of spectator when they’re both fucking you. You can’t believe him, you can’t believe this is happening right now. It’s not fair.

And before you can protest, before the rage can spark in your chest and burst into flames, Curly’s thumb catches your clit just right and you’re cumming.

You’re dragging them both in deep, half-crying out as your orgasm grows spots in your vision. It’s dizzying, all-consuming, and you’re half worried you might pass out.

Curly sucks in a sharp breath and he blows his load right after, Jimmy following too. No one pulls out, you all lay there, catching your breath. There’s a thin layer of sweat on your skin, your bodies all feel sticky as they’re pressed together.

Curly does what he always does, ducking his head to rest his forehead against yours and murmuring praises. He pecks your lips, but all you can feel and taste is Jimmy.

It makes you sick.

The following few weeks are a blur. You become what you’re meant to be, what you’ve been fighting— a shell of your former self. Looking back at the power you once held on the Tulpar, where you were free of the systems of Earth, you should’ve known that their return would throw everything off-kilter.

The white walls of the bathroom grow suffocating. The first time you did this on the Tulpar, there was buzzing excitement thrumming through your veins. You wanted it so badly. It was all you could think about. Every time you and Curly locked eyes, you had envisioned it all, what his reaction would be, the first thing he’d say.

But now? You stare blankly at the positive pregnancy test, an obvious result of yours and Jimmy’s and Curly’s ongoing entanglement. You’re numb more than anything. It was going to happen and so it happened, simple as that.

Though a tiny question tugs at you, somewhere in the recesses of your foggy mind— a curiosity that you don’t want the answer to knowing either option is now equally just as horrible to you.

Who’s the father?

[raining-anonymously]

i really really appreciate how much the mouthwashing gameplay emphasizes that curly is still a feeling human person after the crash. he reacts to every single thing that happens around him. he makes decisions. he changes his behavior as the game progresses. these subtle details are everything to me. he’s not a prop.

CW for discussion of medical abuse, forcefeeding, torture, gore, autocannibalism, basically everything curly experiences in-game

“he doesn’t want to keep still any more.” our first line in curly’s presence. anya doesn’t say “he won’t keep still anymore,” she says he doesn’t want to. this diction provides a sharp contrast to jimmy, whose only acknowledgment of curly’s desires comes up when he puts words in curly’s mouth, while anya observes curly’s body language to extrapolate what he actually wants and needs. she considers him a person, just as the player is meant to; jimmy does not.

the progression of the pills scenes. in the first one, he’s in about as little pain as we see him. he just chokes it down.

in the second pills scene, anya is late on giving him the pills and he’s clearly in great pain, crying, tossing and turning even though that probably just hurts him more. i do think the way the crying can be heard through the entire ship is jimmy’s auditory hallucination, but it was loud enough to wake jimmy up from the lounge. when jim actually does give him the pills, curly briefly resists, but after that first hit, he cries out in pain and then gives this strangled “huh?” before the beating continues. he cries out a couple more times before realizing jimmy wants him to be quiet, and he stops crying out, lets jimmy give him the pills, and sobs quietly before going silent.

in the third pills scene, curly seems to be trying not to make noise or resist. he still sobs after the pills go down and falls quiet after.

after anya’s and daisuke’s deaths, curly lies so still and quiet that i’ve witnessed multiple players be shocked that he’s still alive when his chest moves.

and the infamous laughter… that’s definitive proof that curly isn’t just reacting to stimuli like pain (which would not make him less of a person, for the record) but actively observing and thinking about the events around him.

when jimmy picks curly up. despite the fact that having his burns pressed against another person would be excruciating, curly does not react. just breaths hoarsely and keeps his eye locked on jimmy — until he ends up on the table surrounded by the corpses. then, and only then, does his breath get panicky, and he starts to cry softly.

cutting the leg. my goodness, those screams. incredible voice acting, first of all, but it really stands out to me that it isn’t a terrifying, inhuman scream. it’s very human, very desperate and pained, mixed with heaving, awful sobs. and afterward? curly’s so shaken that he’s visibly moving his jaw on his own as he gasps for breath. and the look in his eye…

in the force feeding scene — which, in my mind, was a hallucinatory version of real events — curly is silent and still. he only moves or cries out when he’s forced to via vomiting or the wheels turning (though the latter is likely imagined). he doesn’t react to anything else. doesn’t even hold up his head. but he gives these pained cries when the wheels turn, and this draws awareness to how he’s being treated as a prop here with intention. he’s being dehumanized, reduced to an object, but we as the player are painfully aware that this is a person. he’s not reacting more because he’s shutting down from all the trauma he’s experienced.

and i have a lot in my head about the juxtaposition of curly POV scenes with jimmy interacting with post-crash curly scenes. they’re often perfectly timed to remind you that the person on the cot, on the table, or in your arms is the same man who you were a minute ago, and vice versa.

just. man. mouthwashing emphasizes curly’s humanity at every corner, and that makes his story so much more horrifying.

i really like this game and i really like that it displays a disabled character being dehumanized by the player character while also emphasizing to the player that this is not right.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (2 - Liar! Liar!)

Chapter Summary: You wake up one morning compelled to say the truth and nothing but the truth. Wanda seizes this opportunity to ensure everything remains under her control. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Darcy finally discover what happened to Agent Monica Rambeau. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Manipulation

A/N: Billy is my favorite twin, if that isn't obvious already :P // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It doesn’t require a calendar to track the days here in Westview.

It's the kind of repetition that settles over suburban life, where dates fade into insignificance and days blur into a seamless loop, distinguishable only by the changing seasons. But even the current season—fall—is as predictable in its passage as ever, like storybook weather in its perfection. The birds are always chirping, the sun rises promptly at 6:40 every morning—never a minute early or a second late—and it never rains. Just endless clear skies, day after day, until the sun sets at five.

You've been chewing on this odd feeling ever since you and Wanda arrived in this part of New Jersey, but today, there's something extra. You can't pin it down, just that it's…there. Today feels different—more than usual—and you didn’t really get it until breakfast, when your mouth slipped past your usual tact with the kids.

“Mommy, do you like it?” Tommy asks, his eyes big and hopeful as he holds up a crayon drawing of what looks like the family standing outside a perfect little house. 

Perfect. Honestly, you’re getting pretty tired of everything being so perfect around here.

“It's...very colorful,” you start, the usual praise ready on your tongue, but what comes out instead is, “Though it's kind of all over the place, isn’t it? Maybe you could try to stay inside the lines a bit more.”

Speaking aloud is like sending an email: once it's out there, it's out there for good. Even so, an email would have been the better option. At least then, you could just hack into Tommy’s account—if he ever figures out how to set one up—and erase your blunder for good.

Could having a magical wife somehow save you from this mess?

It’s too late though. Tommy's face crumples, and Wanda doesn't seem keen on throwing you a lifeline, just a dirty look from across the table as you sip your morning coffee.

“But if you’re going for an abstract—” you start, but your son is already sulking off to his room. 

Billy digs into his cereal, blissfully unaware. Wanda, on the other hand, looks as if she's ready to rip open a portal to another realm and hurl you out of this one.

That can’t be good.

“You really upset him,” she says, arms crossing over her chest. “He was so proud of that drawing.”

“I know, I feel awful about it,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.  Seeing your genuine remorse, Wanda eases up, giving you a moment to stew in your guilt before she comes back to the table with a stack of pancakes.

“Here, eat up,” she says, setting them down in front of you.

You pick up your fork, cutting into the stack. They look perfect—golden brown, with the butter melting just right. You take a bite, and before you can stop yourself, the words are out.

“They're a bit dry,” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words. But once you start, you can't seem to stop. “And this maple syrup... it tastes kind of artificial.” 

Wanda gasps. “Excuse me?”

“Shit—”

“Language, Y/N!” she snaps, but it's too late, the curse is already out there, floating in the air like a bad smell. 

In the next moment, something strange happens—your lips tingle, and suddenly you can't feel your mouth. Alarmed, you touch your face, finding smooth skin where your lips should be. You try to protest, but only muffled noises emerge. Fear surges as you point frantically at your face. You attempt to scream, but no sound comes out.

Seeing your flustered pantomime, Wanda’s face goes from angry to horrified. With a wave of her hand, your mouth is back in its place, and you’re gasping, both of you staring at each other, not believing what just happened. Meanwhile, Billy is giggling, clapping his tiny hands together, and gleefully repeating the S-word you accidentally let slip earlier. 

You and Wanda just continue to stare at each other in shock, but then you glance at Billy, his innocent delight completely oblivious to the fact he’s saying something he shouldn’t, and you see the corners of Wanda’s mouth start to twitch. A moment later, she’s laughing unabashedly, and before you know it, you’re doing the same. 

Despite the peculiarities of your life here in Westview, you don't think you've ever been this content. Before Wanda, the idea of having your own family—your own kids, two no less—seemed unthinkable. You never imagined you'd have a wife, a house in a quiet suburb, or hear one of your sons swear for the first time. Westview is far from normal, but then again, so is your family. As you watch Wanda's laughter taper into soft giggles, you think it's impossible to love her any more than you already do.

Wanda made this all conceivable for you.

“Sorry, honey,” you say, though still a bit shaken by the ordeal. “I didn't mean to be so rude.”

Wanda looks even more remorseful than you feel—which makes sense, considering she did erase your mouth, however briefly.

“And I probably shouldn't have... you know, removed your mouth,” she murmurs, guiltily picking at her cuticles.

Admittedly, it was terrifying—one of the scariest experiences you've ever had. You certainly don't want a repeat. It makes you slightly wary of your wife, but your love for Wanda outweighs your fear. Standing beside one of the most powerful beings in the universe takes courage, and you've built up plenty over the years together. You're made for this—for her, for this kind of love.

“Apology accepted,” you say, mustering a weak smile.

Wanda's face floods with relief, then quickly contorts into worry. “What’s with you today?”

“I can't seem to lie,” you confess, realizing there's no easy way to skirt the truth. “I don't know what's happening, but I just can't stop saying exactly what's on my mind.”

She stares at you, confused and a little hurt. “What do you mean you can’t lie today? So, you’re usually lying?”

Before you can smooth that over, Billy looks up from his cereal, fixing you with that stern look that’s pure Wanda. “Mommy, lying is bad.”

Wanda’s gaze softens as she looks at Billy, then back at you, the seriousness returning. “Billy, why don’t you go brush your teeth and check on your brother? Your mommy and I need to talk for a little bit.”

“Okay, mama.”

Billy scampers off, and you feel your stature shrink under your wife's gaze, suddenly feeling every bit the child.

“What’s this about not being able to lie?” Wanda asks once it’s just the two of you.

You shake your head. “Look, it’s not that I usually lie, but today, I can’t even if I wanted to. It’s like a—a truth filter permanently switched off.”

Wanda takes a few moments to mull over your words. “Oh…” she starts, sounding half-convinced. “Maybe it’s stress,” she throws out after a beat. “You’ve been working really hard lately, haven’t you? Perhaps your mind is just overwhelmed and you need a mental day off.”

You had thought of that, but the whole situation seemed too weird for such a simple explanation. Then again, maybe seeing shadows where there aren't any is just another stress symptom. So you let it slide.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can call in sick next week,” you mumble, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect of a break.

Wanda comes around the table and cups your face in her hands. You let her pinch your cheeks together, feeling both stubborn and a bit sorry for yourself. It's silly, but all you want is for Wanda to coddle you and make you feel better, not to dish out logical reasons for why you’re not yourself today. 

“Well, if you're stuck with the truth, let's have some fun with it,” Wanda says.

You swallow hard, aware that any question she might ask now would either please or upset her—and there seems to be no middle ground.

“Uhm, honey, I don’t think—”

“Do you love me?”

You smirk at her; that’s an easy one. “More than anything else.”

“Only me?”

You laugh at her silly follow-up. This reminds you of the early days of your courtship when Wanda was a bottomless well of need. You didn't mind at all, knowing she needed to hear it as often as you made her feel it. Initially, you were a bit bothered, wondering if your actions weren't speaking loudly enough for her to trust you. Eventually, it became less frequent, until the question turned into a statement—You love me—to which you responded with your own: You love me too. Since then, it quickly became how you say ‘I love you’ to each other.

“Only you. I'd sooner die than love someone else,” you confidently tell her.

Her smile in return is a beautiful riddle—a riddle you can’t figure out. 

“Wanda, I—”

“Do you like living here?”

“Sometimes.” The words slip out before you can think, and you're relieved to realize that your feelings about Westview are honestly not all negative. “It’s a nice town. Quiet and cheap.”

Wanda's face does something subtle. You can't quite read her reaction, but it's clear she has more questions when she doesn't park on your answer, instead moving on to something else. 

“Do you... do you remember how we got here?"

You blink at her. Initially, the question seems a bit absurd. But as you try to formulate a response, “Of course. We got married at…” you stall, your brain blanking on the when and where of your own wedding. “...then we moved into this house last…”

You try to pin down the date, but it slips through your mind like sand.

“Wanda?” A laugh escapes you, but there's a nervous edge to it. “Why can’t I remember any of the details?”

The last thing she says before flicking her wrist is, “Because you’re not supposed to.” But even that slips away, scrubbed clean from your memory by Wanda’s sweeping hand.

–

“Jimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I found her.”

Jimmy hurried over to the tight corner of their camp where Darcy had practically set up shop for the past few days. Since the signals were first picked up, she's taken charge of monitoring the transmissions, her main focus being to locate Agent Monica Rambeau. They've already confirmed that many of Wanda's bizarre, sitcom-style characters are, in fact, real residents of Westview, somehow trapped inside whatever anomaly Wanda seems to be in the center of.

“That’s Monica, right?” Darcy points at the grainy image on the retro television set they've been using to watch the town's activities. The broadcasts come through at odd hours, which makes every second of surveillance crucial. 

Jimmy leans in closer, squinting at the screen where a woman bearing a striking resemblance to Monica appears. “It sure looks like her,” he confirms.

The woman onscreen is dressed in distinctly 70s fashion—a bold, patterned blouse with wide lapels tucked into high-waisted bell-bottoms. Her hair is styled in voluminous, bouncy curls that softly frame her face, completing the look that is so far removed from the S.W.O.R.D. uniform Jimmy last saw her in.

“I wonder what character she’s playing in the show…” Darcy muses.

A handful of nearby crew quietly look on as Monica steps out of a Hornet, a stack of papers clutched in her hand, and strides confidently toward one of those cookie-cutter houses lining the street—yours and Wanda's.

“Stay frosty, Monica,” Darcy mutters under her breath, staring unblinkingly at the screen as they watch her knock gently on the door.

It’s Wanda who greets her with a guarded smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, sizing up the stranger on her doorstep.

“Hi, there. I’m Geraldine. You must be Wanda,” Monica says. Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look, both arriving at the same conclusion: whatever spell has ensnared the other residents, Monica appears to be under it too.

“Do I know you?” Wanda asks, her teeth gritted in what she hopes passes for a smile. But Wanda, she’s got a tell. It’s never hard to see when she’s faking it. The sitcom laugh track of this Westview tries to spin it as humor, but it’s clear to anyone—she’s not thrilled about Geraldine’s arrival at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry, has Y/N not mentioned who I am?” Geraldine asks mildly,  like she’s bringing up some small, casual detail—which, for Wanda, it isn’t.

“Honey, who's at the door?” Your voice drifts from the living room just before you step into view, crunching on an apple. When you spot the visitor, your face lights up with recognition, puzzling Wanda even more.

“Evening, ma'am,” Geraldine nods at you with a polite smile.

Wanda keeps darting glances between you and Geraldine, trying to piece together what's going on. And what’s frustrating her is you don’t seem privy at all to her disconcertment.

“I told you to just call me Y/N,” you admonish with a light grin. “What brings you here?”

“W-Who is she?” Wanda jumps in, keeping up her charade of a pleasant surprise.

“It’s Geraldine,” you tell Wanda, expecting her to recognize the name. Her blank, slightly annoyed expression forces you to jog your memory and that’s when it hits you that your wife has no idea what you’re talking about. “She’s my new assistant. Didn’t I tell you?” you say sheepishly.

“No, honey, you certainly did not,” Wanda replies, her smile stretched a bit too tight. She turns to Geraldine. “Aren’t offices usually closed by five?”

“They sure are, Wanda,” Geraldine replies cheerfully. It bothers Wanda how Geraldine uses ‘ma’am’ for you but casually drops her first name like they're old friends.

“So, why are you here?” Wanda asks, no longer bothering to hide her irritation.

“Oh, just dropping off some reports that Y/N needed to review tonight. Urgent stuff, you know?” Geraldine holds up the stack of papers in her hand as proof.

“Yikes,” Darcy winces at the tension practically leaking through the screen, feeling that deep cringe of secondhand embarrassment for Monica's obliviousness to Wanda's ire.

Fortunately for your assistant, you position yourself between her and Wanda, intercepting just as your wife’s temper begins to flare. You remember Wanda’s warm, almost syrupy kindness with Agnes when she first appeared, which only makes her sudden cold front toward Geraldine unreasonable.

“I completely forgot about those reports. Thanks for bringing them over, Geraldine,” you say, nudging her toward the exit. “See you Monday!”

Then, you close the door before she can add anything else, sparing both women from each other.

“So, why haven't you mentioned Geraldine before?” Wanda asks, not sparing another second to grill you about your new assistant.

You frown, thinking back. “I thought I did.”

Wanda looks at you for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re not telling me?” she demands, her eyes searching yours.

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,” Darcy sing-songs, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Jimmy reaches over, trying to sneak a handful, but she swats him away.

You give her a lopsided smile, doing your best to charm your way out of the situation. The compulsive honesty from earlier isn't nagging at you anymore, but really, there's no need to sugarcoat anything in this case.

“Sounds like someone's a little jealous,” you tease lightly. And there it is again—that distant chorus of an audience, laughing on cue. You really need to talk to Wanda about this; it could be linked to all the experiments she's been doing with her powers.

Wanda barks out a forced laugh right into your smirking face. “Jealous? Me? There's no way I'm jealous of anyone, especially not Geraldine.”

“Then why did you look like you wanted to throw her out yourself when she showed up?”

Wanda's smile fades a tad, then she just shrugs. “Because she was interrupting our family dinner time. That's all.”

Normally, you'd draw this out until she admits she's jealous, but that could take all night. Right now, all you want is to kiss your beautiful wife, the only one you see. It's getting late, and not being able to touch her all day is driving you a little mad with want.

“Fine, you're not jealous,” you whisper, moving in, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Why would you be? You’re the prettiest, smartest, most amazing woman anyone could ask for.”

Wanda melts into you almost instantly. “You love me.”

“You love me too,” you say before leaning in to peck her lips. She hums happily against your lips, but just then, you hear the boys complaining about being hungry. Sharing a smile, you both head back to sort out dinner.

The episode ends, credits roll, and Darcy groans, tossing her head back. “No way. I need more of this,” she huffs, stabbing her finger at the screen. “They're perfect together. Shame Y/N’s supposedly dead. I hate spoilers.”

“She doesn’t look dead to me from here,” Jimmy says.

“My theory? That’s not actually her. I bet Wanda or someone did something to make a rando look like Y/N.”

“You think?”

Darcy nods. “With all the surreal stuff happening here? Yeah, I'd put money on it, dude.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jimmy concedes. “Anyway, it’s a relief to see Agent Rambeau’s alive and kicking.”

“As Geraldine,” Darcy reminds him. “I wonder who chooses their names for them. Back to Y/N, what did that Howard guy have to say about Y/N being dead but so alive in Westview?”

“It’s Hayward,” Jimmy corrects her with a sigh. “He doesn’t seem interested in her or anyone else trapped inside. He’s more interested in the energy field surrounding the town.”

“And their boys?” Darcy adds, not listening to Jimmy’s rant. “We don’t have any public record of their true identities in Westview, right?”

Jimmy gives her a sidelong glance. “No records, no data. As far as Westview’s concerned, they just… appeared.”

“Typical,” she mutters, jotting down notes without looking away from the TV's static, hoping there’s a bonus episode or something.

But the screen stays blank, nothing but static for hours on end.

–

After hours of making love, Wanda lies next to you, watching you sleep. She’s used her powers on you before, but never here, never without your consent since you became a couple. Casting the hex was the easy part, the lying to you—not so much. Acting like she didn't know what was troubling you had hurt her more than she let on. 

She wanted to check if you were still happy here, still content, or if doubts were starting to creep in. And knowing you—the real you—you'd probably lie to Wanda just to keep her happy, just to ensure she has everything she wants. You've always prioritized her needs over your own, always stepping aside to let her shine. She wants the same for you, but you always manage to outdo her in every act of self-sacrifice.

When you started asking her about the exact dates of the wedding you thought you two actually had, it confirmed you still had no idea why you’re here, or what she’s done. She was relieved, honestly, because it meant she could stop forcing you to tell the truth, a spell she’d put on you out of desperation more than distrust.

She isn't sure how long this will last, just that it might be the most happiness she'll ever know, even if it's a delicate, fleeting kind. How did she even do this? Wanda doesn’t even know. It just happened—like a rose that has sprouted off a barren land. And now, despite having everything she's ever wanted, there’s always this nagging fear that it could all fall apart.

Quietly, she makes a promise to herself to fix things. She promises to you and her boys, she’ll find a way to make this life real, something that won’t just vanish like everything else she’s ever loved.

[acynicalsweetheart]

Dad Jimmy and daughter reader sitting in his lap at a family gathering (like a holiday or smth idk) while she tries not to draw attention to him (not so) subtlety groping her and grinding on her under the blanket. By the time he finishes, he thinks he got away with it without his daughter or anyone else noticing..😇

hai made it curly’s family gathering cause jimmy’s family is dead or deadbeat to me… omfg somebody lynch me i am so bad at following requests sorry. i did NOT see the part ab daughter reader not noticing gosh. anyway… very new to writing jimmy so it kind of really sucks.. read cws!!

content warning: 18+, dead dove do not eat, daddy-daughter incest, non/dub-con, etc etc

“Would you look at that? The couch is all full!” Curly exclaims like he is a fucking sitcom character. Kind of how it goes when he tries to make a joke. Painfully unfunny, that is. His family members sit there like lobotomees, squeezing out half-aborted chuckles.

Jimmy plays along just to spite you.

“Too bad,” he pats your cheek twice—hard, “looks like you’ll have to sit on daddy’s lap tonight.” 

The way the color instantly drains from your face is too good, looking ghastly within a matter of seconds. Curly’s entire family be damned, his fourtieth-something birthday be damned, Jimmy feels like fucking the life back into your corpse.

Right here and now, ideally. He has no clue where that thought came from but it’s welcomed. 

“I’m sure there’s… a spare chair or something I can use.” You look around frantically, eyes scanning the living room like Jimmy having you in his lap is a fate worse than death. They land on your savior. “Right, Uncle Curly?” 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Curly offers you a quick glance, finishes setting up a shitty movie he for some very peculiar fucking reason wants to watch with his family and Jimmy, to celebrate his midlife crisis milestone. 

Uncle Curly likes you, sure, but he likes Jimmy better. Takes about half a brain cell to see that. 

Jimmy grunts when he pulls you onto his lap, partly ‘cause he’s nearing Curly’s age (old) and partly ‘cause his dick is already kicking up a fuss in his pants. 

He hopes you can feel it.

“Dad? What are you—what is that?” You whisper obnoxiously loud when he grips your hips, moving his own against your ass. “Oh my gosh, is that your—“

“Shut up.” He interrupts before you can finish your babbling, it’s like you want to get smacked. 

Jimmy doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just did it ‘cause he felt like it and now he’ll keep going. Wring every possible reaction out of you because goddamn this birthday party is fucking boring. Where is the booze? The real booze, not some pesky little pint of wine. Curly’s an alcoholic, isn’t he? 

“You’re so gross!” 

Gross? Jimmy hasn’t even fucking done anything yet. Typical stuck-up bitch you are. Like being within several feet of your vicinity is enough to warrant a restraining order against him, an anti-Jimmy movement of some sort. 

He’ll show you how gross he can really be. 

Arm wrapped around your waist to keep you from escaping, Jimmy fumbles with the blanket - purely ‘cause he doesn’t want Curly’s entire bloodline to see his dick - and heads for the zipper of his—

“Is everything okay over there?” Goldilocks interjects. 

You flail like a toddler two seconds away from drowning, teasing Jimmy by putting all that friction against his cock. “Dad’s trying to—“

Trying to what? Fuck you? Maybe. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Jimmy pinches your cheek and you grimace. “Think it might be that time of the month for the little lady here, if you know what I mean.”

He hears one of Curly’s relatives snicker under their breath. 

Your mouth falls open, nearly gasping out of shock. “That’s—“ 

Jimmy knows exactly what you were going to say. That’s so not true! Dad, that’s so fucking mean and unfeminist and bla bla bla, patriarchy, oppression—

“Alright,” Curly’s turn to cut you off, speaking directly to Jimmy like he owns you. That’s right. “Just try to keep it down, yeah? Movie’s just started.” And that’s that. 

“Dirty fucking bitch,” Jimmy presses his mouth to your ear, talking directly into it to feel you squirm against him. “You want them to see, huh?”

“No…” Please. Your panties are probably soaked already, comes with being related to Jimmy—you’re all fucked up.

His hands slide up your bare thighs, feeling the skin prickling up underneath his touch. You kick your legs, nearly hitting some Curly 2.0 in the process. Jimmy keeps going till he finds your mound and he is right like always—you’re wet.

No time to waste, Jimmy creeps under your panties, shamelessly rubbing away at your sticky little pussy, the slickness mildly audible. You’re gripping his wrist so hard beneath the blanket that Jimmy’s surprised he can’t feel your nails break. 

“Dad,” it’s halfway a whine, halfway a whisper, “dad, stop.” 

You’re terribly quiet, not kicking up a big enough fuss for someone who seemingly wants him to stop. Jimmy sinks two of his fingers past your entrance, feeling you stiffen in his lap like you’ve never had anything up there before. Can’t be true, you’re sucking him in like a fucking vacuum cleaner. 

“No.” He picks up his pace, your cunt squelching around his fingers under the blanket, damn near talking louder than the actors in the movie. 

You struggle to contain your own noises, clamping down around his fingers already. 

“You wish it was my cock inside you.” Jimmy tells you matter-of-factly, nips at your earlobe. 

“Eww,” you whimper, a brat even when getting fucking molested. Who raised you? ‘Cause it sure wasn’t Jimmy. 

He doubles down, “you want Uncle Curly to see what dad’s doing to you?” You squeeze him tighter, cheek hot against his. Of course.

Or one of his sisters perhaps. He wants to say… Wavy? Maybe the old fuck casually hogging up two couch cushions that may or may not be Curly’s father. Jimmy should thank him, really, wouldn’t be feeling your pussy gripping onto his fingers for dear life if it wasn’t for him. 

“Quit acting like you didn’t want this,” Jimmy’s fingers find your spongy spot, hitting it over and over ‘cause he knows it’ll have you cumming around him. “You’ve just been aching for daddy to touch you here, haven’t you?” Is all it takes for you to snap. Dirty fucking slut.

The moans get stuck in your throat, teeth biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as you cum—soaking his fingers and his pants and Curly’s blanket. Jimmy doesn’t stop, grinning at your mortified expression. 

Jimmy pulls out with a sloppy squelch after you’ve come down from your incestual high. You’re still frozen, looking like that bitch from The Shining with your open, unblinking eyes and discombobulation plastered all over your face. 

One of Curly’s sisters, or his mother, shoots him a nasty glare. If she’s so disgusted by Jimmy now, she’d have a fucking heart attack if she saw the other guys at the trailer park. Jimmy may look like a hobo from time to time, nothing he doesn’t already know. Plastic whores and their plastic attitudes. They disgust him. 

Braindead freaks. Jimmy practically fucked his daughter right under their noses and they didn’t notice a thing. 

“Act up like that again and I’ll pull my cock out, stick it in your hole for everybody to see.” He wipes off your cum on your thighs, pulling his hands away to keep you wrapped up in his lap. “No blanket.” 

[ender1821]

It’s too much.

It’s all just too much. The aftershock of thunder striking not too far away. The chat log of each and every death so far. The wild cards that piled on and on.

Her heart, having now found a permanent spot in her throat, keeps on drumming.

And her eyes, welling up with tears that she can’t shed, fixates on her communicator.

GeminiTay was slain by Vex

Of course, a part of her can’t help but wonder why she’s even upset in the first place. Why, when all Gem has done this go around was push her away, does she even care? Shouldn’t she be happy that her enemy’s dead? Shouldn’t she be relieved? Glad?

Why can’t she breathe? Why does it feel like an anvil’s been dropped on her chest, or a sword’s been cleaved through her ribs? Why is she just standing here and staring and not doing anything—

A familiar fizzle starts in her ears, drawing her attention to the new line of text on her communicator.

A wildcard is active!

Before Pearl could even react, the musical accompaniment to the wild card announcement blares around her, getting her to jolt up. The groan building up in her throat can’t quite make its way out, fighting a losing battle with the sniffles and shallow breaths she’s forcing herself to take.

Guess she can’t even have some time to herself without the Game ruining the moment, huh?

Still, her instincts kick in with the help of the scare she’s just received. She… She has to keep going. Figure out what wild card got activated, find Cleo, and then…

Then…

Well, she’ll figure that out later.

Judging from the music that played after the new wild card activation, it’s probably that superpower card that got played. It’s definitely one of the better ones to be played at the moment, compared to having another crowd of mobs or a snail chasing her. Now, she just has to see which power she got.

Here goes nothing…

An uneasy feeling pools out from her gut, but she concentrates on using her power anyway.

At first, nothing changes about her. No goggles, no invisibility—

And then everything goes dark.

She yelps as her line of sight reduces to what’s within her arm’s reach, unable to catch her breath as something— no, multiple things rumble beneath her— the ground shakes, crumbling away to welcome a cacophony of gurgles and grumbles.

“What the heck—” Pearl mutters to herself, blinking furiously in an attempt to clear her vision.

She stumbles backwards.

Her back hits a body.

So, she whips around to face whoever—

Scar?

And it’s not just Scar. It’s Lizzie, and Jimmy, and Scott and Impulse and—

Oh.

Had her mind been given some time to actually think and process everything that’s been happening, she’d have most likely made some comment on how the Game just had to mock her one last time by giving her the power to bring her allies back from the dead. The cruelty of it all would certainly fall in line with what she’s been through so far.

But she can’t even get a word out. A whole group of corpses are staring at her, waiting on her.

Waiting for a command. That’s what Cleo did with Mumbo and Skizz, yeah? Give them a command, and they have to follow it.

“Uh,” Pearl starts, her heartbeat reverberating in her skull. What can she tell them to do? She doesn’t even know what she’s supposed to do right now, let alone instruct a whole band of zombies! Oh, and their gazes do not help at all, by the way.

What would someone else do here? She’s seen Cleo summon their zombies a handful of times, maybe if she just copy whatever they did before, it’ll work?

“Kill, um…” Pearl bites her lip. “Kill Joel. Go kill Joel.”

A couple of the undead cheer at the command, immediately running off to who knows where, because Pearl has no clue where Joel is. Or why she even picked Joel to begin with.

What she knows is that the command worked, and the zombies are dispersing. Honestly, she could care less about whether or not the zombies achieve the task or not. It was more to get them moving, get them doing something. She’s got to make some use of them, after all.

It’s also nice to not have all her friend’s rotting bodies watching her. She doesn’t have to look them in the eye and think about how she’s failed them again. That’s always a plus.

Alright, she sighs, enough of that. Time to find Cleo.

Pulling herself out of the daze she’s found herself in, she properly scouts out her surroundings. There’s her group of zombies bumbling about trying to find Joel, and there’s the Tuff Guys off in the distance, then there’s Gem—

Then there’s Gem.

Gem, with her head of fiery orange hair dampened by grime, a splatter of dried blood stuck on her cheek, her clothes grey and her skin lifeless.

Gem, who died mere minutes ago.

Gem, who makes Pearl feel as though a hand’s been plunged into her chest, when in reality she hasn’t laid a single hand on her.

“Kill Joel,” Pearl repeats, knowing full well how frantic she sounds as she does so. “I said— I said kill Joel. You’re supposed to do what I say.”

Gem’s eyes are greyed out as well, devoid of that glint that flashes whenever she makes a snarky comment, or the hatred she’d used to aim directly at Pearl when she visited, or anything that makes her stand out.

“Can you just— go?” Pearl makes a step towards Gem, but it gets no reaction from the body. “Go, okay? Just go somewhere else. Shoo.”

Barely suppressing the whine in her throat, Pearl resorts to drawing out her sword.

“Oh, you just had to come back and do this to me, didn’t you? I get not wanting to kill Joel, but this—” Pearl makes a wild swing through the air, missing Gem by a wide margin. “This isn’t funny, alright? You go weeks pushing me away, hating me when I’ve done nothing to you, and when you’re red you wanna be friends again? And— And you couldn’t even follow through on that.”

She rushes forward, bringing her blade a hair’s breadth from Gem’s neck.

“Go.” Pearl holds her sword as still as she possibly can, but even then, she can’t stop the trembling of her hand. The wavering of her voice. “Go? Please?”

It’s pathetic how she can’t even command her own minion to follow her instructions. It’s just pathetic. She can imagine Gem making fun of her already. If she put more energy into it, maybe she could warp the taut line that Gem’s lip forms into a smirk. Just a hint, a corner upturned or an amused huff. Gem would be laughing at her. Teasing her. She knows Gem would be.

She tilts the handle of her sword just slightly. The blade kisses the body’s pale neck.

Why can’t Gem just react? Why won’t she listen to her? Why couldn’t they have tried a little harder?

“Why’d you have to die on me like that, Gem?” Pearl chuckles, a bitter thing that she swallows back down as she drops her sword. There’s no point in killing her now, anyway. There’s nothing more she can do.

Gem doesn’t say anything. Not that Pearl was expecting her to.

It’s pathetic, but Pearl slumps onto Gem’s body, burying her head into the decaying shoulder.

A pair of stiff arms wrap around her, awkwardly moving with death’s rigidity to attempt a firm hold on Pearl.

The embrace is cold.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + fifteen

authors note: next chapter will be a lot heavier, because we see shit play out. italicized dialogue indicates that spanish is being spoken.

ya'll better not come for me after this one either, okay! 😭

just know the plot is plotting, ya'll

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, roman being a dick to anyone other than his wife, and violence

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k

The newly opened doors of intimacy have awakened a previously dormant part of Solana.

Something she previously thought impossible to access, permanently damaged as a result of her trauma.

But, she was wrong. 

So, so wrong.

Roman is everything she never allowed herself to dream about having, let alone actually hoped to have in real life.

Caring, considerate, gentle, patient.

Their first time together is something she’ll never forget and always cherish. But, it’s the times afterwards, sporadic over the past two days since the consummation, that have almost meant something more.

A testament to her comfort and trust in him.

Of her love for him.

Sitting in bed, in between his legs, leaning into his strong body with nothing but the thin 600 thread count sheets covering them, Solana sketches, no particular drawing in mind, just whatever is felt in that moment. And what’s felt is the image and scenery of the water, of the beauty that is Isla Mujeres. Her mom was right. There’s nothing like it.

“I think—I think I want to come back here sooner rather than later.” Solana finds herself partially wondering aloud but also wanting to pick her husband’s brain. “I know you probably won’t be able to come, and that’s okay. Maybe…maybe Bayley can come with me?” It’s both a suggestion and a question. 

Roman makes a sound against her, his lips lingering along her temple, long fingers moving gently against the side of her breast under the sheets. “Whatever you want, I’ll make happen. Bayley will go with you.”

Solana chews on her bottom lip, shading a palm tree. “But, what if she has plans?”

“She will. Plans to go with you.”

A small smile falls on her face. “How do you know she’ll just agree with you?” Solana has an idea of what he’s going to say, and she’s correct. 

“People do what I tell them to do, and if they don’t, they face the consequences. And no one wants that, so they just do it.” 

She doesn’t doubt that one bit. Because no matter how sweet and caring he is to her, that’s where it stops. With her.

Because to anyone and everyone else, he’s Roman Reigns, ruthless, brutal leader of the Bloodline.

And she’s accepted that. Accepted that he has to juggle two different hats.

She’s just happy she gets the best of him.

“I Facetime’d Naomi today and got to see Dulce.” As much fun as she’s having, as healing as this trip has been for her, she misses her sweet puppy deeply. “Guess who’s taken to her?”

Roman chuckles, looking back with a bit of shock. “Jimmy?”

Solana nods, grinning as she remembers overhearing Jimmy ask about where ‘fluff fluff’ is. “Naomi says he’s even got her sleeping in the bed with them.”

“Well, she damn sure ain’t doing that with us.” His voice takes on an authoritative tone. Not that she’s in disagreement. Dulce is too small for that. Roman would literally smother her. “Our bed is occupied.” He ghosts his lips over the shell of her earlobe. “Gonna be real busy when we get back home….”

Solana tries instead to focus on the drawing at hand versus that familiar feeling pooling in her stomach. 

Continuing with the topic in the hopes of settling that feeling, she shares, “I want to do something nice for Naomi and Bayley when we get back. They’ve—they’ve been so nice to me.”

It’s something she’s been thinking about ever since the beautiful birthday messages she’s received. Having never really had many friends, to be able to land such solid, loyal people like them is something she doesn’t take lightly. She doesn’t know quite yet how she wants to show her appreciation, but she’s determined to come up with something.

An idea crossing her mind, Solana suggests, “maybe they both can come stay here with me for a week?”

His mouth moves back to the side of her face. “Mmmhmm.”

“Like…..like a girls trip.” Solana has never experienced one of those and just the thought of having one with the two of them has pre-excitement already forming.

Roman sighs, clearly distracted by his lips exploring her face. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Turning her head to the side to look up at him, small smile on her face, Solana asks, “are you listening to me?”

Roman hums against her skin. “I’m always listening to you, Solana.” Her eyes flutter as his fingers shift and move under the generous swell of her breast. “Probably the only person that’s the case for…..” His mouth moves to her cheek. “But, it’s hard to focus with you naked like this…..”

The pencil in her hand naturally drops against the sketchbook, her head lolling backwards, lips pressing together. “Roman….” 

This is such a new experience. She’s never desired to be touched or craved such intimacy until Roman. Even with her trauma, there’s a pull that seems to have been unleashed with the consummation of her marriage.

An urge that has her thighs pressing together, something Roman most definitely takes note of. Eyes darkening with lust and something else, he asks, voice almost hoarse, “are you sore?”

She is, but not nearly as sore as she was after their first time. And certainly not to the point where she wants to decline.

“No,” is the answer she settles on, Roman’s lips on hers in a matter of seconds. She shifts her body so she’s straddling him, the feeling of him hard and warm between her legs making her moan in his mouth. Roman easily switches positions so she’s on her back, him hovering over her. 

He breaks the kiss, asking once more, “you sure?”

Solana licks her lips, forever thankful for his constant efforts to receive her consent. “Yes.”

His eyes burn with need. “Could be inside you like this all day….” He brings his hand to the back of her thigh, lifting her leg and opening her up more as he gradually descends into her slick warmth. “And definitely all night….”

Solana would be lying if she said she didn’t feel somewhat of the same way.

________

She wakes up with a growing familiar ache between her legs, soft sheets against her nude body, and her husband pressed against her, his arm draped over her, holding her close to him.

But, he’s not sleeping. She can feel his mouth hovering over her shoulder. Her smile grows a bit as she thinks about their last lovemaking session, so passionate and fulfilling. Another round of him giving her pleasure she didn’t think possible.

However, it’s when she glances at the clock and sees the time, her eyes widen a bit from the shock. “Roman, it’s almost 2 o’clock….”

He’s never been more uninterested. “And?” Lips traveling the length of her arm, he murmurs against her smooth skin. “You’d never leave this bed if it was up to me….”

His statement, half joking, half serious, makes her smile, but it also helps her realize she has to be a bit more outspoken about what she wants.

Holding the sheet against her chest, she rolls onto her back, informing, “I want to go out to the marketplace today.”

He scowls. “Around people?” 

“Yes, people.” She giggles, moving her hand to his face, beard tickling her palm. “We only have two more days here. I want to bring back gifts for Naomi, Bayley, and your cousins”

It’s the mention of the twins that makes him roll his eyes as he falls back into the mattress. “You always trying to take care of the homeless.”

Solana giggles, hovering over him, hand on his chest. “That’s so mean, Roman. They’re not homeless.”

“Then why the hell are they always at our house?”

She shakes her head, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I’m gonna go get ready.” 

He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t prevent her from leaving the bed and doing just that.

And in less than two hours, both showered, fed, and dressed, they’re out of the house and on their way to the market.

Adolfo López Mateos is the municipal market and offers a trove of items for Solana to pick from. Countless authentic options for her to bring back home as gifts but also as souvenirs for herself, reminders of this wonderful place that will forever hold such beautiful memories for her.

A place that also leaves her feeling so connected to her maternal side. 

To her mother.

Roman serves as the quiet, always surveying husband who remains by her side the whole time as she goes from stall to stall. He serves as her personal shopping assistant as well, holding the growing number of bags for her purchases.

But, he handles it exceptionally well, never once complaining. Granted, she is mindful of the fact that the crowded market and all of the fellow shoppers and merchants seem to well exceed his tolerance for people in general.

So, she does make note to try to wrap it up sooner rather than later.

She’d never want to take advantage of his kindness and generosity.

Solana is at a stall looking at fabric when stiffening beside her drags her attention to her husband as well as what’s caused him to tense. 

A child.

A little girl. Around 8 or 9. She has dark hair that’s down and unruly, the light breeze in the market causing it to splash against her tanned face, hazel eyes landed directly on Roman. Her hand is outreached, a flower in hand. 

Solana recognizes it rather quickly. She steps forward, asking in Spanish, “is that for him?”

The little girl looks over and nods, directing her gaze back on Roman. Solana does the same, small smile on her face as she informs. “She’s giving it to you.” 

His expression is unchanged as he asks. “Why?”

Solana giggles. “It’s an Alstroemeria. They represent friendship.”

“This random ass kid wants to be my friend?”

Solana rolls her eyes. “She’s being friendly.” Seeing Roman has no intentions on further acknowledging this child, she gently shoves him. “Please?” The ‘for me?’ doesn’t need to be asked as Roman sighs loudly and accepts the flower followed up with a muttered ‘thanks.’

Pleased, the little girl beams, suddenly motioning both Roman and Solana to follow her.

Curious, Solana asks, “you want us to come?” 

She nods excitedly, pointing a few stalls down to where flowers bloom. Solana asks, “That’s where you got these from? You want us to see the rest?”

Another nod, and Solana finds herself following the child, Roman begrudgingly on the heel of her, committed to his not allowing her to explore a stretch of land or sea on this trip without him being right there next to her.

Even if it means forced socialization. 

Solana allows the child to guide them to the stall that’s filled with the most beautiful, intricate flowers she’s ever seen, some of which she recognizes from conversations with her mom.

“Look how beautiful…..” Her eyes land on the powder pink ones, a brief realization setting in as she asks the little girl, “are these sword lily’s?” 

Again, the child offers only a nonverbal acknowledgement via a head nod, and Solana starts to wonder if her silence is by choice or limitation. Either one, she can kind of relate to. 

Turning to Roman, Solana explains to him, “these are sword lilly’s. They represent sympathy and memories.” Memories…Solana has plenty of those. The good, to some extent, starting to outweigh the bad.

He looks more uninterested than the actual tone of his voice. “Do all Mexican flowers have some sort of meaning?”

“Some. Not all.” She answers, fingers gliding over the petals. “And it’s not always flowers native to Mexico, just flowers that we have meaning attributions for. Culturally.”

“You are correct.” A voice enters the conversation, Solana watching a woman step out back from behind the stall. Her hair is a deep onyx, thick and wavy, her skin lightly kissed by the sun that also highlights the beauty of her eyes. Fine lines give away that she has some years under her belt, but it’s hard to tell just how many. She switches languages, “You don’t speak Spanish like a tourist.”

Solana realizes she must have overheard her asking the girls about the flowers. “My—my mother was a Native.”

“She taught you well.” Her smile grows, warm and friendly, familiar in a weird sort of way. “What is your name, child?”

“Solana.” She gestures towards Roman who’s still looking just as uninterested as he’s been in any other type of social interaction outside of Solana. “This is my husband, Roman.”

“I figured.” She motions to Roman’s closeness to her, the way he stays almost hovering, protecting and caring but still pretty close. “He’s very protective of you.

Solana nods. She has no idea. “What is your name?”

“Paloma,” she introduces, removing one of her work gloves to shake Solana’s hand. The younger woman is slightly grateful that Paloma doesn’t try to greet Roman in the same manner. She’d surely get her feelings hurt. “What brings you here?

Again, a gesture to Roman with her thumb. “He surprised me for my birthday.”

Paloma makes a sound and smiles wryly. “Ahh, so it’s only others he’s unfriendly with.”

“He….he’s very quiet.” An ironic choice of words considering just who is saying them, but it’s the best word to come to mind to describe Roman without being mean. He is technically quiet, but the fact that it’s because he, in his own words, hates people isn’t necessarily something that needs to be shared. “Do you really grow all of these?”

“I do.” The proud smile on her face makes Solana smile just as warmly. “I own a nursery about twenty minutes out of here. A family business that my mother and her mother and her mother started generations ago.”

“That’s so beautiful.”

“It was….” The use of past tense causes Solana’s smile to dim a bit. She can sense there’s a story there, a story that no doubt holds some level of pain. Paloma shakes her head, gesturing to the flowers. “Were you wanting to buy any?”

“Uhhhh….” The technical answer is no. Solana would have probably stopped to admire the beautiful flowers, maybe tried to identify one or two, but it would not have gone beyond that. It’s the little girl who Solana realizes is behind the stand, poorly sneaking glances at Roman, who called them over. “Yes, I—”

“She brought you over, didn’t she?” 

“Yes.” Solana lowers her voice, asking as gently as she can. “Does she speak?”

“Yes, but she prefers not to. Very shy. Parents fight a lot. I don’t think she really gets a lot of space to talk.” And the frown is back. Solana can definitely understand that. “Do you two have plans tonight?”

“Uhhhh.” Solana turns to Roman, asking, “did you have anything else planned for us this evening?”

“If she’s trying to get us to do something around other people, yes. I’ll find something.”

Solana rolls her eyes, lightly scolding in her soft voice, “Roman, that’s not nice.”

“Solana, I’m pretty sure we had this conversation already. I don’t like people. I hate people. You’re the only one I like.”

Solana decides to win him over later versus now as she turns to Paloma with a friendly expression that contrasts her husband’s scowl. Something tells her he already knows she’s about to sign them up for something that forces him to be around people. 

“We’re free this evening. Why do you ask?”

________

“Tell me again why we’re meeting this random ass old woman for dinner?”

Solana is only seconds away from applying her lip gloss when Roman’s question deters her from her task, creating a new one in its place. Capping it, she walks out the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. “Her name is Paloma, and she’s really sweet, and she invited us.”

Turns out, Paloma owns one of the restaurants in town Solana remembers stumbling across when she was perusing other places to visit while on their trip. It’s just a crazy coincidence that Solana ended up running into her and receiving a personal invite to dine there for dinner this evening. 

And it’s an offer she didn’t want to turn down. 

“Are you sure she didn’t just invite you?”

Curious, she asks the question she’s almost certain she already knows the answer to. “Would you let me go by myself?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly.” Walking over to Roman, Solana glides her hands up his chest, locking them behind his neck. “It’s just a dinner. We won’t even be there that long. Then…tomorrow, it’s just the two of us.”

“It could be the two of us tonight too….”

His fingers dance across the small of her back as she bites back a smile. “Roman, it’s been the two of us this entire trip already, basically….”

“You know I could never get enough of you…” He gently squeezes the sides of her stomach, sliding into reluctant acquiescence. “But, you know I can’t say no to you either so….”

She smiles and leans up and presses a kiss against his cheek, murmuring, “thank you.” Taking a bit of a mile with the inch she’s been given, she implores, “can you….try to be a little more friendly? For me?”

Roman looks at her like she just asked him to let her go alone. “Solana….”

“Just for tonight.”

“Do they even speak English?” She gives him a look that’s just another form of ‘for me?’ He tilts his head back and scratches his beard. “I’ll try not to maim or kill anybody. That’s the best you’re getting from me, baby.”

“Thank you.” She kisses him again, turning for the bathroom when he pulls her back to face him, and right away, she recognizes that look. “Roman….”

He ignores her, both casually and suggestively complimenting, “I like this dress.” It’s combined with him slowly moving one of the hands on her waist down the length of her dress until he can slip his hand underneath.

“T–thank you…” She swallows, struggling to stay focused. “We’re—we’re gonna be late.”

“Too bad.” He moves his hand between her legs, gradually sliding up her thighs. “Should have thought about that before you put this on.” He kisses her temple, asking in a low voice, “do you want me to stop?” At the same time, his hand pauses on her skin.

The logical answer is yes, but the carnal answer is the complete opposite. And desire seems to overpower logic in this round. “N–no.”

It’s the perfect answer for her husband whose full lips form into a smirk as he removes his hand to guide her towards the bed as he lays her on her back. Solana half expects him to move on top of her, but he instead moves to his knees and tugs her toward the edge of the bed.

The anticipation of what pleasure is to come makes her lick her lips, prematurely moaning his name, “Roman…”

His brown eyes flick up to her, desire and lust dancing away in his irises. 

Yeah, they’re most definitely going to be late.

________

The night goes as expected, Solana enjoying herself, and Roman enjoying that his wife is enjoying herself despite the fact that being surrounded by a bunch of fucking strangers who speak mostly in Spanish has him subtly checking the time on his watch more often than not.

The desire to pick up the language grows exponentially. Roman dislikes being out of the loop in any sort of capacity.

Solana translates for the most part, granted it’s mostly things he doesn’t really care too much about. Paloma asking what he thought about the food, requests to join in the dancing—that’s a hell no—and other pleasantries that violate his religion of Anti-Peopleology. 

Except his wife, of course.

And to be fair, they’re able to share their dinner together without many interruptions, conversation staying between the two of them, which he appreciates. He’d appreciate it more if no one was there to interrupt, but alas, Solana having a smile on her face almost the whole night makes it all worth it.

She seems exceptionally taken with the little random ass girl from the market whose name he doesn’t bother to remember. Something with an A, he’d guess. She also seems just as interested in Solana, which he doesn’t entirely not understand. She’s relatively mute with the exception of a couple of words and sentences.

It reminds him of Solana and how nonverbal she was at the beginning of the marriage. And something tells him the girl also reminds her of herself. Which makes the pull between the two make more sense than maybe he’d like to admit.

But, his inner dialogue is interrupted as the old lady approaches the table where he sits alone as Solana dances with the child, both of them smiling and laughing. 

“You’re not the social one of the two of you, are you?” She asks what he considers both a stupid and ironic question. Typically, Solana isn’t this social either. But this….this place….it seems to bring out a different side of her.

A happier side of her.

Roman only casts the old woman a bored glance. “This is her world. Not mine.”

The woman chuckles, and to Roman’s chagrin, sits down in the chair opposite of him. “Yes, I suppose this is very different from the Bloodline.”

Her statement doesn’t surprise him, doesn’t take him off guard, and that’s because Roman isn’t stupid. He would never allow some practical stranger to invite his wife for dinner at a restaurant she owns without researching her. 

Paloma Aguilar. 70. Widowed. One child who seemingly disappeared without a trace over twenty years ago. Her late husband, Ricardo, was a man who at one point entered the world of the cartel and smuggling, but it was short lived as he passed away from a heart attack at the age of 45. His brother, however, Tomas, is still actively involved, but Paloma couldn’t be farther removed.

From his research, Roman could see she truly prefers to live her life away from the in-laws business, preferring her restaurant and gardening, the polar opposite of the high-paced crime life. 

But, it would be ludicrous for her to not be aware of him and who he is, regardless of her preference to stay separate from that life.

Curious, though he already knows the answer, he asks, “when did you realize who I was?”

She smiles, “soon enough.” The lack of specificity annoys him even more than he already is. “Probably around the time you found out who I am.”

Interested to see how she’ll respond, he asks, “and just who are you?”

Her smile is small and sad. “Just an old woman living out the rest of her days in solitude.” Roman has experienced enough loss to be able to recognize when someone else has also had the misfortune of losing someone. It’s evident in her tone. 

Still, that doesn't diminish his disinterest in this conversation.

She also looks over at his dancing wife, casually commenting, “I suppose it’s true that opposites attract.”

Eager to stir this woman away, Roman responds with all the casualness. “I’m not Solana. You could be 90, and I’d still snap your fucking neck if you presented any kind of threat to my wife.”

It’s uncalled for. He knows this. A misplaced threat against an elderly woman, sure. But, it’ll hopefully be enough to get her to leave him the fuck alone. 

She smiles, partially surprising him. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, young man.” Her grin dims a bit. “I would never judge a man for protecting the woman he loves.”

Roman tenses, effectively managing to keep his reaction to her statement to himself.

Love

What the fuck is that even?

He knows…..familial love. But….romantic love? 

That’s….that’s such an unfamiliar concept. Something not even in his repertoire. 

He can’t deny that he likes Solana. A lot. Cares for her deeply, and recognizes that he needs her in his life. Needs her light in what is otherwise dark and dreary.

But…..

To say that he loves her….that’s too much. That’s too strong.

Too dangerous.

Love is weakness.

And Roman can’t afford to be weak. He won’t. Not for anything or anyone. 

Not even Solana.

But, of course, this old ass woman just has to twist the knife even deeper as she stands up to leave. “You two will make great parents.” Roman is an expert at hiding reactions to what’s being said to him, but this one takes some effort. A lot, if he’s being honest. “Your protectiveness. Her nurturance.”

With that, she finally leaves him be, but not without a million and one thoughts floating through his mind, all of them now revolving around two things he’s never considered for himself.

Love and children.

________

As the night comes to an end, Solana pulls Aurora, the sweet little girl who’s taken a liking to her and a crush on Roman, to the side. 

“I have something for you.”

Aurora’s eyes light up with all the excitement of a child eager to receive an unexpected present.

Solana hands over the beautiful journal she picked up in the market earlier that day. Originally a gift for herself, but now something that she wants to pass on to the little girl who reminds her so much of herself. 

Aurora’s mouth drops open with surprise as she accepts the leather journal. Solana smiles and explains, “When I was a little girl, I didn’t talk a lot either. But, my mom always told me that when I couldn’t speak, I could always write.” She frowns a bit, instructing. “And that’s what I did. I wrote until I found my voice. The same way you can.”

Aurora looks up with teary eyes and surprises Solana by attacking her with a big hug. Solana easily settles in the embrace, holding and hugging the little girl in a way that every child should be comforted.

Aurora pulls back and offers a simple, “thank you!”

Solana blinks back some tears. “You’re very welcome.” Her smile shifts into something teasing but also hopeful, “now I expect to see you when I come back to visit, okay?”

Aurora nods happily as she gives Solana one more hug before running over to an older woman who Solana would guess is her mother.

“She’ll never forget that, you know.” 

Turning to the source of the voice, Solana’s smile grows. “I hope not.”

Paoma chuckles and moves closer, repeating the same words. “I have something for you too.”

She pulls out a cloth jewelry bag and takes Solana’s hand, placing the bag in it. “Open it.”

Confused but curious, Solana does just that and gasps almost immediately at the beautiful gold necklace she recognizes instantly. “A Cruz de Caravaca.”

Paloma looks pleased by Solana’s knowledge and asks a follow up question. “How much do you know about these?”

Swallowing the emotion, she recalls the information taught to her so long ago. “They—they ward off evil and bring protection.” There’s an almost bitter tone that enters her voice. “My mother had one….” It’s the most Solana can bring herself to say, because her mother wore one almost religiously. And it did nothing to protect her from the evil of her father.

Or the knife that viciously tore and sliced through her body, violently ending her life. 

Paloma nods, complementing, “whoever taught you our ways taught you well.” 

Emotion burning the back of the throat, “it was my mom. She—she died when I was young.” Murdered. She was murdered, but acknowledging that feels too much, is too much. Regardless of how her life ended, it all means the same.

That she’s not here anymore.

Paloma’s expression is solemn as she lifts her right arm, turning it inward, revealing her tattoos. Two Hummingbirds. “Many years ago, I lost my daughter. And shortly after, my husband. I—I didn’t really know how to go on after that. She was my only child, and he was the only man I ever loved.” Her smile is emotional. “But then I remember that love never dies, it transcends into another form. They’re not here in the way I want them to be, but they’re still here. And every so often when I’m in my garden, I see Hummingbirds, and I feel better because I know they’re still with me. Watching over me.” 

Solana wipes at her eyes as Paloma places a comforting hand on her arm. “And so is your mother.”

It’s hard to verbalize what she’s feeling in this moment. Paloma’s words provide her with a type of comfort that feels almost motherly, an ironic feeling considering the nature of the conversation.

“Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing that doesn’t feel strong enough for how much Solana appreciates such comforting words of support. 

“You have a good heart. A kind soul. But, be careful child.” She takes Solana’s hands in her own. “My….my daughter was like you. Loving and giving. But too trusting, and it cost her her life. Betrayal and darkness can come from where you least expect it.” 

Paloma’s words confuse her. The warning aspect of it. What…what exactly does that mean?

“Stick with that husband of yours….” Paloma adds, smile gradually returning. “He is protective of you the way my husband used to be with me.” 

That ebbs away some of her confusion regarding the ominous warning, as Solana suddenly asks, almost tentatively. “Could I….could I come back and see you too?”

Paloma chuckles, and Solana almost swears she sees emotion brewing behind the woman’s wise gaze as she pulls her in for a hug.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t, child….”

________

He’s not entirely surprised to find her in the kitchen, but that doesn’t necessarily make her presence in the kitchen any less concerning. Especially when she’s supposed to be on bedrest.

Roman comes up behind her, smiling when she jumps a bit as he hugs her. Years later, some things remain the same. 

Solana turns around, a warm smile on her pretty face. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Not necessarily. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to find it in him to be sorry for touching his wife.“Hi.”

“Hi.” She giggles as he kisses her. 

Eyes shutting a bit as he relishes in the feeling he’s craved dearly for the past few weeks. “I missed you all.”

“We missed you too,” she murmurs, moving her hands up his chest. “You look tired.”

He’s a bit jet lagged, but it’s nothing he won’t bounce back from in a couple of days. That’s the least of his concern, anyway. Roman moves his hand to her stomach, big and swollen, pressing against his abs. “You should be resting.”

Solana rolls her eyes and calmly counters, “not with how active this one is.” She moves his hand around, probably trying to find a spot where he can feel the movement. “He’s definitely your son.”

He counters, “even more reason to be resting.” 

She shakes her head, changing the subject a bit as she softly shares, “they’ll be happy to see you. I didn’t tell them you were coming home early.”

His eyes light up a bit as he asks, “where are they?”

Solana chuckles. “You already know.”

Roman makes a sound and nods, murmuring with a final kiss to her temple, “I’ll be back.” 

He walks out of the kitchen and into the hall, moving to the back of the house.

Two separate rooms, directly across from one another, each providing a variety of different activities and spaces. Most completely opposite one another. Expected, given their staunchly different personalities.

There’s no active decision regarding which room he walks in first, no specific desire to see or interact with one over the other. He just so happens to venture left vs right. 

And sure enough, as predicted, she sits at the table, so small but perfect for her. She’s focused on the paper in front of her and crayon in her hand. So focused to the point where she misses his entrance, doesn’t overhear his footsteps until he’s only a few feet away from her.

But when she does, big brown eyes landing on him, eyes that are exact replicas of her mothers, the crayon is dropped and the smile is out. She jumps up from the seat and runs over to him, Roman leaning down just in time to catch her hug, an instant ease washing over him, deeper than what’s allotted even with his wife.

This is something different, something deeper, something he still doesn’t quite know or believe he deserves to feel. But nevertheless, it’s present, it’s felt, and it’s wonderful.

When she pulls away, he finds himself pushing back some of her curls, light and fluffy, framing her face that’s the perfect combination of himself and Solana. “I missed you…” Her smile grows as he asks, eyes narrowed a bit. “Were you a good girl for your mom while I was gone?” She nods excitedly and reaches for his hand, Roman standing as she guides him over to the table where she was drawing. Roman crouches back down as she shares her artwork, an in-progress photo of the ocean, most likely scenery she’s memorized from one of their many trips to Isla Mujeres. “Is this what you’re working on?” Again, another nod as she points between the drawing and him. He points to himself. “Is this gonna be for me?”

Instead of the expected no, she answers in her voice, so soft and light. “I’m sorry it wasn’t done in time….”

A small smile grows on his face. She’s very much unlike her sister, of very few words. So much so that Roman insisted he and Solana discuss her quietness with the pediatrician to make sure nothing was wrong. And of course, nothing was. It’s just that she inherited quite literally Solana’s entire disposition. Quiet with a great big heart that seems too pure for this world.

And, unfortunately, a tendency to apologize when unnecessary.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” His praise seems to bring back her smile as he kisses her forehead. “Fa'afetai tele.”

She matches his smile, surprising him yet again with more spoken words vs non verbals. “E le afaina.” 

Standing back up, he informs, “I’m gonna go see your sister. Can you go help mom finish cooking dinner?” He knows Solana is almost done, if not already, but Roman also knows that personality and disposition weren’t the only things inherited. So were passions and interests, hence the drawing.

And cooking, judging by the way her eyes light up as she dashes out the room to play assistant.

Roman chuckles and walks out, hitting the switch as he moves across the hall, once again unsurprised by what he finds. She’s going at it with the freestanding punching bag, kicks that are pretty impressive considering her age. Her face is scrunched up in determination, the same face as her sisters yet so different. 

Where one is soft and quiet, the other is loud and bold. One is timid, the other adventurous. One is Solana, but this one….she’s her father’s daughter, through and through. Bold and fearless. 

“Don’t forget to point your toes.”

His deep voice breaks through her concentration as she whips her head to the side, a reaction similar to her twin sister. A huge smile breaks through that impressive focus.

“Daddy!”

Again, he moves to one knee to catch her for a hug, tight and heartwarming. She pulls back almost immediately, asking with all the excitement. “Did you see me?”

“I sure did.” He comments on what’s more than obvious. “you’ve been practicing.”

She nods with just as much excitement. “Aunt Bayley and Aunt Naomi said I’m really good!”

“You are.” He wouldn’t lie to her. She is. But, he also knows it’s because this is her passion. Where her sister finds joy in art and books, she gets that joy from movement, from fighting, her gravitation towards martial arts happening at such a young age. 

“I’m gonna be better than you!” He chuckles. At not even a fraction of his age, she already is. And it has nothing to do with her natural fighting abilities. 

“We’ll see.”

“I am!” She affirms, so determined and focused. “I’m gonna wear the ula fala and be Tribal Chief just like you, daddy!”

Roman does his best to keep that small ounce of concern hidden and tucked away. Young. She’s too young to know just what she’s asking for, the weight that comes with what he does, the truth about what and who he is.

It’s been the decision of both himself and Solana to shield the girls from it. The truth of it all. For now. As long as they can, at least. But the girls aren’t dumb either, they know he holds a high rank, one of the highest, in his family.

And his spitfire of a daughter seems determined to do the exact same.

“Cousin Jamar was saying I can’t cause I’m a girl, but I told him he’s just a stupid boy and I’m way smarter anyway.”

Roman’s eyes narrow slightly as asks the question he already knows the answer to. “And you hit him too, didn’t you?”

Even when he has to be away from home, Solana makes sure to keep him informed of all happenings with the girls, especially this one who’s already gotten in trouble a couple of times at school for her mouth.

And fist.

Her eyes drop as she pouts slightly, murmuring, “he made me mad….” His temper. She definitely has inherited that too. “No one talks about me, you, mommy, sissy or my new baby brother, or I’ll punch them in their face.”

This is the part where Roman struggles, where he tries his best to tap into that part of him that feels so unfamiliar. Because his initial response is that she did nothing wrong, that she’s doing exactly what she’s entitled to.

Protecting her family and standing up for what she believes is right. 

“It’s important to know when to fight, and it’s a lot harder not to sometimes.” That’s the best he can come up with in the moment to not necessarily let her know he doesn’t see much of an issue with her behavior. “I’ll teach you.”

Her eyes light up with excitement. “I get to train with you?” A request she’s had for at least the past two years, Roman pushing it off and allowing Bayley and Naomi to help her because his level of training is far too intense for her young age.

But

That doesn’t mean he can’t modify his approach a bit. 

“Yes!” She jumps up and down, hugging him, another small smile on Roman’s face. Some kids like to play dolls, like his other daughter, but this one….this one lives for a good fight.

And speaking of, the calmer of the two of them coming running into the room, Roman turning just in time as she smiles and tugs on his shirt, motioning for them to follow her.

“Is dinner ready?” Learning to understand her even with the absence of speech has come second nature for all of them. 

She nods, as the other one breaks the hug with Roman, asking her twin with all the excitement and competitiveness. “Wanna race?”

Roman already knows the answer, watching as his more quiet child is suddenly waiting for her sister to count them off. Seconds later, the two of them rush out the room on a trajectory that’ll lead to Solana who will no doubt chastise them for running in the house.

But they come back, giggling together as they stand in the doorway, hitting him with both a question and a demand. 

“Daddy, are you coming?”

“Daddy, wake up!”

Roman shoots up from the bed, hulking shoulders moving up and down in sync with his heavy breathing. Movement to the side of him shows him Solana shifting in her sleep, a peaceful expression on his face.

It’s the exact opposite of how he feels. 

Moving his hand through his silky, wavy locks, Roman takes the blanket off of him and carefully moves out the bed, prioritizing not disturbing his wife. 

He blows out a breath and walks out the double doors that bring him to the patio, his big body settling down on one of the chaise lounges.

It’s only then he asks himself the burning question at the back of his mind.

What the fuck was that?

Roman doesn’t really dream a lot, and when he does, they’re more along the lines or nightmares.

Night terrors when he was younger.

But this……he doesn’t even know what the fuck that was.

Children.

Roman has never really seen himself as a father, never allowed himself to think about it because it’s never really been a desire. He’s always known that he would have to create an heir to carry on his legacy, but that’s a thing of duty. Not desire.

So why the fuck is he dreaming about having not one but several children with Solana?

Solana….

Her oath a few weeks back of giving him an heir returns to the front of his mind. It makes him wonder all of sudden what her view on children is. Does she want children? Without inside knowledge of her trauma, one would think that’s an obvious thing. She would have never married him, never agreed to the arrangement when the sole purpose of the union was to create a child if she didn’t, in fact, want a child. 

But, Roman knows her, knows her trauma. Knows that she was forced into this.

Which makes him incapable of shooting down the possibility that maybe she doesn’t even want children?

And then he thinks about her tonight, thinks about the permanent smile on her face as she interacted with that little girl, the way she interacted with several of the children present who came up to her.

She looked….she looked happy. 

Content.

And of course, the now haunting words of the old woman who Solana also seems to have heavily gravitated towards: 

“You two will make great parents.”

Thinking about and being completely honest with himself, he sees it for Solana. Could….could see her as a mother.

But seeing himself as a father….that’s something he can’t answer. Can’t understand, really. 

The same way he can’t understand why there’s a small part of him that’s upset he woke up.

Upset that the dream didn’t last just a little bit longer. 

Upset that he’s now thinking heavily about what the old lady predicted.

Himself and Solana as parents. 

Fuck.

First the love comment, now this?

Damn that old woman.

________

Something is off with Roman.

Solana has noticed it ever since the night of the dinner at Paloma’s restaurant. She figured it was maybe because Roman really can only withstand so much social interaction. Chalked it up to him needing the night to sleep it off.

But, it was there the next day and the day after that and even as their trip in Isla Mujeres came to an end. 

On the jet ride back home, he’s quiet, working diligently on his work laptop. She tries her best not to think too much of it, because it’s not like he’s ignoring her. He still talks to her, still interacts with her, still touches her, but it’s just….off.

There’s like this….this distance that she can’t understand.

A distance that hurts. 

It’s why she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to not get too into her head over her dress. It’s probably the most risqué thing she’s ever worn, more skin showing than she would prefer to be exposed. But, a small part of her hopes it will catch Roman’s attention.

Hopes it can progress the touches into something more.

Because along with his distant behavior, there’s been a lack of intimacy between them. And that’s especially hard for her to not think too much about. Because, to her, it was going well. She….she enjoys being with him in that way. Being that close to him.

She thought he did too.

Roman suddenly knocks on the bathroom door, asking, “you almost—damn.” Him stopping himself puts a smile on her face. 

Solana chews on her bottom lip, asking, “do–do you like it?” She then motions to her chest that’s heavily exposed. “I know it’s—it’s a lot.”

Roman moves closer to her, eyes raking over her slowly, hand moving to the back of her, under her dress, cupping her ass. “You sure you don’t want to stay in tonight?” A small smile starts to form on her face at his suggestive tone. “The two of us…naked.”

Her stomach flutters with excitement. This is the first time in days that he’s expressed any desire to be with her in that way, and now she’s beyond grateful that she pushed past her insecurity and put on the dress. Because it’s brought out that side of him that she’s been missing.

The side that makes her feel like he wants her.

A hand on his chest, she murmurs, “when we get back.”

Because while she also has a desire to be intimate with him, she’s also excited to see their friends.

Naomi, Bayley, and the twins inviting her (and naturally, Roman) out to a VIP lounge to have a belated birthday celebration since she wasn’t available to do anything with them for her actual birthday. She’s excited to see them, to be around her friends. 

“Are you….” Solana doesn't know where exactly it comes from, the bravery and confidence to ask what she’s about to, but it seems to leave her mouth before she can really think too much about it. “Are you okay?”

His gaze takes a curious tone. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, suddenly nervous about how to word it right. “I don’t know. You’ve just seemed….kinda off the past couple days.” He swallows, and she sees something flash in his eyes, something he shoves away. Something she’s now just as curious about. “Is–”

“I’m fine,” he answers. For some reason, she has a hard time believing that. “Adjusting to being back has just been irritating. I’ve never taken a vacation before, so shit has just been an annoying adjustment.”

Solana nods, believing there could be some truth to that. She doesn’t doubt it’s been an adjustment for him. But, there’s also this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that there’s something else he’s not telling her.

“O-okay.” Something tells her this conversation will need to be revisited, just not right now. Not when it’s clear he has no desire to express whatever is really bothering him.

Roman dips his head and kisses her cheek. “Let’s get out of here. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can be inside you.” She giggles, gasping as he slaps her ass. 

“Roman!”

________

The lounge is beautiful. Reminiscent of an upscale club, minus the packed bodies and loud music. It’s clearly geared toward upscale clientele, and the second level of the lounge has been rented out, space cleared for their small party.

Something she greatly appreciates. Both for herself and Roman. Her husband already sacrificed so much of his preference to be isolated from others vs surrounded by people on their trip. 

The group separates naturally, Roman and the twins with Solana sitting near Bayley and Naomi, the two women nearly bursting at the seams with a ton of questions/statements.

“How was it?”

“We already know it was nice considering we barely heard from you.”

“Dulce mama was out here living her best life.”

“You got a lil tan too!”

“We want to know everything.”

Solana giggles, shrugging. “It was really nice.”

Bayley scoffs, “just nice? Girl, you gotta give us more than that.”

Solana opens her mouth, pausing a bit. “I mean….we spent a lot of time together.” Her eyes fall over to Roman who’s surprisingly engaging in conversation with Jimmy and Jey. Solo, as well. His presence surprised her. 

She didn’t know he was coming. Not to mention, she didn’t think he’d want to be present for anything that’s not required when it comes to her.

“And?”

Solana knows they’re not intentionally asking about sex, but their questions are unintentionally pointing her to share just that. And for some reason, most likely the trust and bond she’s formed with them, she’s not opposed.

That doesn’t stop the maddening blush from forming on her cheeks as she shares, “we—well, we finally, umm—”

Loud gasps interrupt her, Naomi being the one to ask the infamous question, “Solana, did ya’ll….” Solana chews on her bottom lip, nodding softly.

Bayley and Naomi have to cover their mouths to hold in the screams that would no doubt draw all of the wrong attention.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” Bayley exclaims, suddenly asking with all the protectiveness, “he was good to you, right? Didn’t pressure you—”

“No. No. Never.” That’s probably the easiest thing to answer. Solana doesn’t know how to properly express how good Roman was to her. Has been to her. “He was—it was perfect.”

Naomi smirks, playfully nudging Solana’s shoulder. “We told you it was great with the right person.” They couldn’t have been more right. “So….was it just once or—”

Bayley scoffs. “We cannot be asking her all these intimate details!” Only to then casually ask, “so like how big is his dick really?”

Naomi falls out laughing while Solana’s eyes widen at the graphic nature of Bayley’s question. 

“So you can ask about his dick size, but I can’t ask about how many times they’ve done it?”

Bayley protests, sipping some of her Vodka as she counters, “my question is for science.”

“Bullshit!” 

Solana shakes her head, giggling as she coyly answers, “we…it’s been a couple times.”

Naomi smirks. “Okay, girl, I see you. Ya’ll went to Mexico and got freaky.” Solana takes a sip of her bottled water, more than certain her cheeks are a red, hot mess. “Seriously though….I’m happy for you. With what you’ve been through, you deserve to have a happy, healthy, sex life. Every woman does.”

“She’s right.” Bayley agrees, and Solana finds the emotions brewing again. 

Never did she think it was possible, that she could have just that. A healthy sex life. Just how she never imagined she would end up with someone as amazing as Roman. Yet both of those things are exactly what have happened, and she’s never been happier. 

“Wait, does this mean we’re gonna be godmothers soon?” Bayley asks an otherwise normal question that has Solana still in her seat. 

Naomi chimes, “I mean, she’s not allowed to be on birth control, and I know Roman had to have broken his condom only rule since they’re married so….”

Solana has a hard time saying anything, has a hard time not thinking about something that should have been considered the moment that barrier was broken.

Roman and Solana have consummated their marriage.

They’ve had sex. 

Several times.

Unprotected sex.

They are actively having unprotected sex.

Naomi is right in that not once did Roman bring up protection. 

It has her wondering now if he didn’t bring it up because, in his mind, they’re now working on creating an heir?

But, she dispels that theory pretty quickly, remembering how determined he was to help her not feel any pressure regarding them conceiving a child. He’s never seemed too concerned with that part of their marriage deal.

Unless….

Unless it was because they weren’t sexually active, but now that they are….

Suddenly, another conversation with Roman regarding just what the plan is for that is on the agenda.

Along with whatever it is that’s bothering him that he won’t open up about. 

Bayley and Naomi must pick up on her change and mood, switching the conversation to something regarding some mess that kicked off at the Warehouse between Nia and some person named Mia. Solana does her best to follow along when she feels her phone vibrate in her bag. 

Pulling it out, she unlocks her phone and opens up messages, specifically the unopened thread from an unsaved number.

Unknown: Did you really think you would get away with fucking us over?

Unknown: You were warned.

Unknown: What happens next is on you.

The phone drops out of Solana’s hand the minute she’s done reading the text. She can barely breathe, barely process what’s happening as her head snaps up, eyes frantically searching for the one person who’s now been kicked to the front of her mind.

Roman

She spots him, expression unreadable as he sips on a beer, speaking to Solo.

Solana jumps up from the sofa, ignoring Naomi and Bayley asking what’s wrong. She kicks her heels off and makes a beeline straight for him, uncaring about the bodies she has to squeeze between, the few individuals who she actually shoves out of her way. Something at any other time she wouldn’t dare consider doing. But this isn’t any other time, this is life or death.

Literally.

“Roman!”

His eyes snap with hers seconds before she successfully makes her way over to him. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. She can barely breathe, and she’s certain that she’s trembling, but none of that stops her from rushing out, “we have to get out of here!”

His hands move to her face, cupping it, taking note of her frantic state as he asks with all of the protectiveness. “What’s wrong?”

Eyes watering, she opens her mouth. “I—”

That’s as far as it goes, the most and only thing that she’s able to express because before she’s cut off. Roman’s gaze lifts above her and the last thing she sees is the slight widening of his eyes as he shoves her to the side of him with so much force that she slams against the ground, her head bouncing off the carpeted floor.

But, that’s not what catches her attention. Not the shock of him pushing her so harshly, putting his hands on her in a way she would have never thought possible. No, that’s not an issue at all, because the sound that only seems to have registered upon her fall is what has her attention snatched and fixated.

A single sound that she hasn’t heard in years.

A gunshot. 

And then chaos.

There’s shouts, there’s screams, there’s people running around in a mass panic, but a single voice cuts through all of that: clear, loud, furious. “Get her out of here now!”

Roman.

And it’s the sound of his voice that makes Solana snap her head to the side, eager to lay eyes on him in the midst of this chaos.

But, it’s when she does that everything changes, the world stops and time stands still.

“No.” She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move, can’t function because all she can focus on is the sight of Roman’s men with a perimeter around him, guns lifted and aimed, ready to fire off at a moment's notice. “Roman!” She tries to climb up off the floor, tries to get to him, to see him, to touch him. 

Solana is unable to look away from the sight of him holding onto his shoulder, face grimaced in pain, blood seeping through his long fingers.

But before can get to him, before she can actually touch him, another voice calls out, “cover me!” And she’s suddenly off the floor, body pressed against a stranger, the interaction causing her to try to jerk away. 

Partially because of the contact, mostly because she needs to get to Roman.

“We gotta get you out of here!” Solo’s voice, harsh and determined, makes her realize he’s the strange body that she also now realizes is trying to get her the hell out of dodge. “Now!”

And it’s right then and there that another gunshot rings out, followed by several more.

Solana’s panic nearly triples as she tries to push him away, tears burning her eyes, “no! I’m not leaving him!” Solana beats her fist against Solo as he continues to drag her, Solana begging, “don’t make me leave him!” The tears are spilling over, the last glimpse of Roman showing Jimmy and Jey rushing over in his direction. “Please!” Solana continues to cry out his name, fighting a losing battle against Solo who is successful in ushering her out of the emergency exit located in the back. 

Once outside, he has to keep dragging her down the fire escape staircase, because she doesn’t stop trying to push him away and doesn't stop from trying to get back to Roman. Solana can’t stop replaying the nightmare that has just become a reality. 

She has no idea where Naomi is. Where Bayley is. Only able to see the twins and Roman before she was ripped away from the scene.

Roman….

He pushed her to protect her.

Moved her out the line of fire and took the bullet intended for her.

He’s been shot because of her.

He’s been hurt because of her.

And it’s all her fault.

[konpeitonom]

Could you do Daisuke relationship headcanons? Just any in general I’m not picky

general dating headcanons for daisuke.

sfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader —

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; screamed when i saw this in my inbox!! i have not gotten any daisuke specific requests, so i am happy to write for him… i hope i did him welll.. for context you are his girlfriend pre tulpar!

— i think he would have trouble committing to one partner.. he’s no cheater, but he’s definitely like.. a player. saw someone else on here talk about it and i couldn’t agree more. doesn’t mean he’s a bad person per say.. he’s still young and figuring things out.

— getting into a relationship with you however.. he didn’t wanna fuck anything up. he’d do research online on ‘what girls like’, ‘how to treat a girl right’ !! not like his mom didn’t teach him but he wants to go the extra mile, you know?

— i think he’s huge on gift giving.. similar to jimmy he gets you nice expensive things for special occasions (like. a 3 month anniversary. lol.) whether you like that kind of stuff or not. he’s just been told his whole life that’s what girls like! i think overtime though he’ll cater more towards your interests..

— he likes thrifting (canon) so i think once he gets a bit more comfortable with dating you, he’ll start picking up small items that remind him of you. like little trinkets or accessories and he’d be so proud like, “you like this? right? right? do you like it?”

— people say curly would be like a dog but daisuke i feel like is a fair comparison to that too.. he lives off you and your energy! and i can see him as the type to, not get attached quick, but when they do it’s like attached-attached, you know?

— i can imagine he has pretty traditional asian parents, who spoil him nonetheless.. when you first meet his mom he’s so scared she wouldn’t like you!! just be respectful and nice and all that, as long as her son is happy as she says..

— i headcanon that he also likes physical media a lot.. for his birthday you burned him a CD with all the songs that you felt kinda represented your relationship.. and he cried!

— hes rich, we all know this. but shopping for him isn’t hard. just sentimental things or mini figures of his favorite characters or maybe baking him something sweet? he loves all that..

— speaking of sentimental, he’d give you a cute nickname.. like clover, because he feels lucky to have you in his life. and that everything has just been perfect since you walked into it!

— his ideal date would be something like an amusement park, or the fair.. there’s so much for you two to do. and eat. sure it’s expensive but he doesn’t mind!

— that or just shopping.. he loves comic books and would be ecstatic if you guys shared that in common. hes the kind of guy that won’t shut up when he starts talking about something he loves. please indulge in that!! he’d be the happiest man alive.

— i think he’d like to draw too. once you caught him drawing himself as his favorite dc character, and he was so embarrassed he couldn’t look you in the eye for a whole day.

— even with all that, you’re his muse. he’ll draw you when missing you, draw you when you’re right there.. he has a sketchbook full of just his favorite characters and you beside his bedside when he’s on the tulpar.

— it’s a shame he’ll never be able to show you them!

[the-real-couchrat]

Post ending / rescue AU / recovering Curly is everything to me, so I’m making a list of other people’s posts that feature him. (The links will connect to a reblog of them in case anything ever happens to the original post)

If anyone ever see’s posts like these ones, PLEASE tag me in a reblog!! All posts are welcome, not just art!

Please note that I don’t decide what to add to this list based on shipping, opinions on the metaphors in the game, the accuracy of burn scars, the morality of Curly, or anything else that causes discourse in the fandom. I just add any posts that I come across that include Curly recovering from his injuries in any way. Prosthetics, wheelchair, wig, crutches, It just needs to have him in better shape than when he first got injured.

No NSFW

(Also this post is edited to add new ones when I find them)

Rehabilitated Curly

Party with no Jimmy

Stand around in medbay party (Idk if this counts, but he has prosthetics so I'm saying it does)

Happy abortion!

Post-ending speculation (text)

20 years later (I AM NOT WORTHY TO LOOK UPON THIS WITH MY MERE MORTAL EYES)

ANYA’S GRADUATION DAY

Post ending

Rescue/Recovery AU

My own post! (text)

Aftermath Curly

Good ending

Best way to approach captain’s disability?

A little sketch

They care

“I wouldn’t want to frighten her”

Anya doesn’t quite overdose

They’re safe

Guys rate my fanart

WWI face prosthetics

Less fucked up Curly AU

Fix-it type AU

Silly recovering time

Curly got some gifts for his b-day

Imagine Curly survived (twitter)

Curly with a service dog

I’m not a dog and you’re not a mare

Drawing the dentalcare crew (does this count?)

The quality will not be questioned

Fix-it AU

Want to make Curly some cool new mechanical hands so he can strangle Jimmy

One can dream

He’s got a wig now

Happy ending where they all survive (devianart)

It hurt my heart (twitter)

God forbid I get sick (translated?)

This might be controversial but… (text)

Let’s get you out of the house!

Cyberpunk AU

Cartoons with breakfast

Old-school surgeries (text)

Post-ending fic prompt (text)

Post-rescue AU curlyana

Post-rescue curlyana part two

Why is this goddamn white boy so hard to draw?

Captain stop infodumping the baby

Maybe never forgive

Draw Captain Curly having a prosthetic limb

Curly from Mouthwashing (good ending)

This is how I imagine Curly post OP

whats the worse fate, whatd be better for the tulpar crew

Wip

🐈

Mouthwashing AU (Reddit)

Curly if he survives (Reddit)

My own art

I’ll give him smoochies, prosthetics, and skin grafts

Art dump time✨

Hoppin on da trendin train

The crew built curly a mechanical hand

How to give Captain Curly a voice (idk if this technically counts, but it’s a disability aid so I will)

Doodle of the Tulpar crew post-rescue!

New hyperfixation just dropped

Hi Tumblr. Funny seeing you here

Another rehabilitated Curly

Who up washing they mouth rn

Don’t use the dog buttons (text)

Haunted part one and two

Prosthetics

AU were someone saves them

Mouthwashing doodles

A New Ladder-Reader x Curly (I’ll add the original art videos when I can) (also I didnt read it. if someone did read it, please let me know if it’s SFW)

I know he always have his headphones on

More rehabilitated Curly✨

You guys like this right

Anya, what’s it like working as a medic on a spaceship?

This is how we can still get the good ending

“I’m sorry Anya”

More cringe mouthwashing art be upon thee

Curly’s happy (and recovering) ending

Writing an AU of mouthwashing where the crew survives

Most people seem to be giving him prosthetics…

Doing a bit of study

2

Ladonb Kokosa (TikTok account, LOTS of great videos )

Giving the mouthwashing characters what they deserve (TikTok)

Zest for life

How I think the Tulpar crew would make YT videos

Edit: I am no longer seeking out these posts, and new ones will only be added if I’m tagged or such

[midnightstar-kpopsmut]

Chapter III, Stick it

- I stayed there for a couple of seconds – said Cheongtae -. I didn’t really know what to do after Karina bluntly asked for my help. Maybe it’s not even that, not knowing what to do. Sometimes I am just moody. You know that from the outside I can look like a tall, muscular, confident guy, but I don’t need much to be thrown off guard. I don’t have that kind of fast smart like reaction that other guys have. So a few seconds of that can be quite uncomfortable for me. You know what I mean. I actually think I have many repressed thoughts, like why would I be uncomfortable, like ever? It’s not like I have a knife to my throat if someone says something strange to me, so there must be many memories and fears that arise to me in those kind of moments, or in this moment with Karina.

- He is just stupid – added Jimmy to the recollection of events -, but I didn’t want to say that to him or it would have took him two weeks to finish his story. So I just said in Korean “I feel you, keep going.”, which is very difficult to learn and I can’t teach you now, and he kept going.

I follow Karina on the sofa zone, she is leading me. I told you how the middle of the room is strangely down elevated, you gotta take one or maybe two steps down. That makes me notice that she is barefoot, I had took some slippers at the entrance, but she hasn’t any, not even socks. Barefoot. Not that I care, because I am not into feet, I don’t understand what’s the point of that. I am waiting for someone to explain it to me. Anyway. We get to the middle of all the sofas, I am waiting for us to sit, but instead she turns and faces me. She is distressed. Just a touch, but she is so pretty, so it is easy to notice. She looks at me straight into the eyes and says: - Can you... hide them?

“Hide them? Hide what?” I think. O right, her breasts. That’s what we were talking about just before. - How would I hide them? - I say.

- Can’t we do some shape that would draw the attention away from them?

I shake my head slightly. You can’t draw attention away from tits that just gained two sizes and are stretching out of closely fitted clothes.

She sees that I am not convinced. - Do I need longer extensions? - I look at her and say: - Don’t you have already some on? - No! - she quietly screams by protruding her lips – Those are mine. Who are you confusing me with?!

Like I told you I had not seen her for a few months. I get why she scolds me, I didn’t took it personal, she was looking out for competition. Idols can be so possessive of their look and team.

- The only thing that could hide them, I mean draw attention away, is maybe a bob cut. But I don’t think we can go for that without consulting the rest of your team. Especially Hansuk, I need her approval. - Hansuk is the head of the visual branch of Aespa, added Cheongtae to Jimmy, she coordinates make-up, hair and clothes. Not married, sharp, you should meet her. Jimmy wasn’t interested. So he kept pressing Cheongtae to hear the rest of the story.

- I am NOT getting a bob cut. That is horrid. What is that? The idiots that think they can get away with a bob cut in our industry... Shameful. - She took a step toward me. - Try something else.

I evaluate my options. She has indeed call me for something complex, as I had imagine. At least she doesn’t seem to want to get a real cut right now, just get a feeling of what we can do.

- Shouldn’t we go in another room? - I say -. One with a mirror... A chair?

- Why? - says Karina, concerned – Here it’s ok. You can sit. It’s very comfortable.

She gently sits down on the main sofa, tries to calm herself. I put myself on her right, what else can I do?

- Oppa, you look at us everyday. You see that this is a big... change.

She puts her hands on the air around her tits and moves them, to further highlight what she is talking about.

- Why did you do it if you don’t like them? - I add.

- Oh but I do like them – she replies -, I always wanted them big.

I nod, then realize I am nodding as a reflex, and dare to ask -... Why? Why do you like them?

She gets aggressive: - I don’t know. I feel like guys like them big... Don’t you?

- Sure. - I wasn’t lying. I wouldn’t say it is breast is what I think about first, but still. Big can be nice.

She keeps going: - But my fans... They can be so... limited. I am famous for being savage, powerful. Not cheap.

- I know – I say. She was right. Kpop groups go out with a very defined look in mind. It’s difficult to break out from it, even with different concepts, it is not something you should usually aim for.

She rapidly flutters her eyelashes at me and says: - Do I look... cheap?

- No, you don’t. - I promptly answer. She was as classy and expensive as always. There was just something in her crop top, the fluffy texture, that gave her more of “that kind” of look. And it arguably made her breast look even bigger. As if you had to touch them. A devilish loop. But there was no point to underline that, she would have changed her outfit completely for the comeback.

- I am Karina – she says -, not some stupid whore... - She takes her phone out of her pocket and says: - Let me show you.

She gets on youtube and starts typing and swiping, looking for a specific video. She finally finds it and turns it to me.

- Here, her. - She says while starting the video.

The video is a performance of Kiss of Life on Mnet, dating of the 24th of July. - Stick it. - I say.

Karina pauses the video and gives me a tap on my left leg: - It’s Sticky. Not Stick it. You are such a dog...- She presses play again.

I don’t know Kiss of Life much, but in this performance one of the fourth members was giving much more then the others, in my opinion. She is boldest, more defined and you could say just more... vulgar.

- You are looking at Natty, right? - Says Karina.

- I don’t know their names. – I reply.

- The one with the big tits.

- She has quite a character.

The video goes on, on the refrain you can hear “Sticky, Sticky, Sticky”, the four members all slam their asses, then squat, then rise up and bend forward while turning their head to the camera. But Natty improves on the choreography by keeping her mouth fully open while she shakes her ass. The camera clearly favors her.

Karina stops the video exactly at that point, with Natty wide open in front of my face.

I try to say something: - See, she has a bob cut – she indeed had one -. You look at her face more than her... body.

Karina’s face looks disgusted. - She is such a whore. She will never get it. Kpop is not just about making guys hard.

I agreed. While looking at Natty spreading her legs, looking down, opening her mouth... I am surely not focusing on the song.

Karina notices it: - Even you! Look at you! You are looking at her open mouth.

I try to bring back the discussion to our common interest, her own look: - You don’t need to do that. We can use a big bandana for you. The attention will stay on your face and you will look fierce.

- I am so pissed – says Karina -, you heard that I had to stop see my guy, right? While this slut does this on stage.

I remember that Karina was dating a hot Korean actor that she had met in Milan for some fashion event, she was then spotted in Seoul by paparazzi and had to apologize publicly. I had heard rumors that she was still seeing him, though.

Karina continues: - If I get ANY hate for my boobs... I swear, I’ll kill someone.

She starts swiping again on her phone.

- This was the maximum I was allowed to do on stage.

The new video is a snippet from a performance of Next Level, one of Aespa biggest songs. Karina press play.

In the video, while the aggressive rhythm fills the venue, the four Aespa members bends forward, and Karina gently hits Winter’s ass with her hand,

On her living room Karina follows the video and hums: - Next level wa... - she taps my leg again, while the clip plays for a second time.

Then I don’t know if it is because we are not having a lot of sex with my wife, you often told me I should fuck her more, since she is pretty and all, but you know how it is with her, or because I am tensed with the whole idea of having to do an urgent work for Karina, plus the videos of course... Well, I start to stiffen in my pants.

The second play-through of the video ends, but Karina’s hand stays on my left leg. I can’t really brush her off, that wouldn’t be polite.

- Oppa – she says-, do you think I should get rid of this savage style? Be like Natty, just go... all in?

- You should do whatever you like. - I say, like an idiot.

- Oh, really... - She replies with a tone.

Karina slightly moves her fingers on my inner, left, tight. My dick is slowly and luckily growing to the right. My pants are large, so it stays barely perceptible.

She keeps adding – Maybe if I change my stile once and for all they will let me date. I kind of miss him. He is very, very horny. - She looks in my eyes to see how I react. Then looks at herself and says: - He is always looking at my big tits...

And there it is. At that point I get tired of this whole bullshit. This calling me on the middle of the afternoon to work on her hair, the long list of complaints, the talking to me about her boyfriend... I can’t take it anymore and jump on her.

I grab her small head and enormous mass of hair with my hand and throw my head at her lips. I am not that aggressive usually, but she had really annoyed me. So...

She can barely breath through the kiss, I don’t let her. She aggressively taps my leg with her hand, so I relax the kiss and grab her tits in response.

- Oppa!! - she says like a surprised kid – What are you doing?

Obviously I don’t stop. She is just acting up.

- This is not very professional... Even Jae doesn��t go this fast...

Right, Jae-wook. That’s the name of her actor boyfriend.

I grab Karina’s hand and move it to my now hard dick. She starts to squeeze it through the pants.

- Why are you in such a rush – says Karina-, I thought you needed more time...

- More time for what? - I ask, even though I hopes for her to shut up.

- To cheat on your pretty wife... - she says.

- Oh, fuck off. - I stand up and raise her light body with a finger. Then bend her to the head of the sofa and start pushing against her ass. We are still both clothed.

- I thought you liked my face, all those time you looked at me at your shop... Guess I was wrong!

I remove her cargo pants and underwear in a single movement. Then my own pants.

She is wet enough, and I am not in the mood to waste more time to make it comfortable for her. I grab my dick and push it in.

Now that I am fucking her, she has finally stopped talking. She gracefully arch her back to me, you can see that all the Kpop training is paying off. I should not be doing this, but then again who cares, I am not the first of the team that has fucked one of the idols, as you know this is more common than people can imagine. Their job is hard, and we all need to relax.

She slightly pushes her body against me. Her hips, previously enhanced by the cargo pants, are quite fragile. I grab them with my hands and slam her in response. She squeak.

Feeling my rhythm settling Karina pushes me harder, she wants more of the slams, but I am not ready to give it to her. To make her point she flaunts her thick, dark and long hair. I look at them, they are quite imposing. I have trimmed and reshaped those hair to perfection dozen of times. Watching them moving from behind is quite a spectacle. I stiffen. Karina groans and pushes. It is like fucking a lion. I get even harder.

- Oppa – she says-, you are so big...

I am surely bigger than normal. And I am quite proud of it. - Not only for a Korean – adds Jimmy -, he is bigger than a western guy as well.

I push my fully hardened dick inside her and say: - Isn’t it too big? My wife says it hurts her sometimes...

- Oppa... Your wife doesn’t like your huge dick? - She says while turning her head to me. - How is that possible, I like it so much... - her cunt contracts.

- She says she hits her at the end and it hurts. - I add.

- Then it’s not really cheating... - Karina says, closing her eyes – She can keep your bored, sloppy dick...

She touches my right hand on her waist and adds: - I’ll take the huge horse cock of yours... It goes so well with my big tits...

I instantly bend forward and grab her new big breasts through her soft crop top. I bury my head into her cascade of dark hair. My dick is now swelling in pain. The rhythm through which I slam it inside Karina rapidly intensifies.

- Oppa... You are going too fast... - she says.

I don’t answer and cover her mouth with one of the hands.

She frees herself from it and says: - Be careful... you don’t want to make me pregnant.

- What? - I ask while leaving her tits and putting myself straight up again – You don’t take the pill?

- I don’t take anything! - she says, while still pushing her ass and body against me. - Those shit are not good for your skin. But keep going... Tell me when you are almost there...

We keep pushing for a few more seconds, at that point I am almost done, who wouldn’t and I let her know.

- Wait for me... - says Karina. She pushes me out of her, puts herself on her knees in front of the sofa and grabs my dick with her two hands. - You can finish on my face.

I am almost there. She looks at me with her big, dreamy eyes and says: - Oppa, do you like my... - but then I explode into her face. Which at least makes both her eyes and mouth close shut. She keeps stroking my dick in silence. Her face is covered with my full built up of load.

There is one main river of sperm, the thickest one, that goes through her lips. A second, smaller one, deviates left on her cheek. Multiple other droplets constellate the rest of her face, which she has masterfully bended back to avoid staining her eyes.

Karina keeps her eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the sperm on her face.

While looking at her I realize that, even through my numerous sexual encounters, I had never seen something so beautiful. It must have been the makeup, or the hair, or whatever else. Strangely enough, I had never had sex with an idol before.

Karina’s face looks like a painting.

That’s when I reach for my pants, specifically for the phone in my pocket. Karina thinks that I want to go and complains cutely. I give a pump of blood to my dick, so that it will look good on the picture. Karina feels it getting bigger into her hands and smile, still with her eyes closed. Resting like a diligent worker on her break.

I take the picture, put my phone away, and rise my pants.

She opens her eyes and throw herself into the couch.

- I should go – I say. Then I notice her horny look on her face and add: – Did you come?

- No, sorry – she says -. I think I need something more. To come, I mean.

- Yes, I get it. - I answer. What else could I have said? I didn’t have anything more than that to give. And it was also getting pretty late. Girls very often cannot get excited by sex alone, they need feelings, something like that. I said to myself that it must be the same for Karina.

I act with care and help her clean her face with a napkin. I am her employee after all. She doesn’t want me or her to go to the toilet to wash up though, strange.

Instead she grabs a soda from her fridge and rushes me off the apartment. Out in the hot city of Seoul.

- That is how Cheongtae told me he got this picture. - Said Jimmy. The American looked at him, wanting to know more.

- What did you say was your name, again? - Added Jimmy.

- Steven – said the American, that we can now call by his name -, my name is Steven, but you can call me Steve.

Jimmy waited for Steve’s question, which arrived after a few seconds: - Can I talk with Cheongtae? I’d really want to know more about his work in Kpop, it would help me for my job here as well.

- Well, that would be nice – said Jimmy -, very nice. Problem is Cheongtae told me this story one week ago, it had just happened, and I can’t get in contact with him since then.

- What do you mean, you can’t get in contact? - Asked Steven.

- What I mean is, that Cheongtae has disappeared. We are quite close. But I don’t know where he is.

At that Steven didn’t had an immediate follow up question. So we will have to wait and see for the next chapter to know more about his own train of thoughts.

[take-care-of-it]

Not that partial to the “post-crash curly as Anya’s baby” analysis. For several reasons. For one thing, Jimmy isn’t being “forced to look after the equivalent of a child” or whatever. He is very much not doing the leg work here, and the few actions he takes with “taking care of” curly serve to make himself feel better. The actual responsibility that gets forced upon him, that he forces upon himself intentionally, is that of being the captain.

Now it turns out he kinda sucks shit at that, but it doesn’t stop the fact that it’s what he wanted initially. Also, not huge on equating post-crash Curly with a literal baby unless it’s specifically ALSO under the lense of disability and autonomy. Saw someone say that ‘all curly can do is cry’ and even if that were true, even if we ignored the possibility he might’ve been able to communicate in other ways and the crew (or just Jimmy specifically) simply had no interest in giving him a voice, that still wouldn’t make him a baby? That’s an adult. A disabled adult.

Thirdly, Curly and Anya work better as parallels to each other. (I go into more detail abt that here.) We already have a symbolic stand in for the baby, and it’s Polle. (Now, Anya and Polle are also conflated, mainly bc we see through Jimmy’s eyes and he doesn’t feel guilt about Anya outside of the unborn baby. Ultimately, the Anya association wins out in the final speech, explicitly drawing attention to and condemning this conflation Jimmy makes. But that doesn’t stop the conflation from clarifying that Jimmy *himself* doesn’t associate post-crash curly with the responsibility of parenting, specifically.)

Lastly, and this is big, Anya chooses to keep Curly around. She’s arguably the one most vested in his wellbeing, even outside of her duties as a nurse. Jimmy complains about her sentimentality, in fact. They all agree to keep him alive. It isn’t a job being forced on her. She’s choosing to do it. (And I’m getting a little tired of people getting rid of every single instance of Anya’s agency in this game while claiming to do it for her sake.) This difference is crucial. She did not choose the baby. It was forced upon her. She actively chooses to die in part so that she doesn’t have it. She doesn’t want it. She does want curly around.

TLDR while I kind of get where this analysis came from I think it falls apart upon closer inspection. And while of course things can mean and stand in for more than one thing, I’m not a fan of the interpretation due to how it necessarily twists the emotions of the characters involved to fit itself. Also the ableism. That’s crucial here too.