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robinsno1lesbian · 4 months ago

Note

reader goes to a party, drinks, dance, gets horny and then think that is a good idea to go to nancy’s house, she could’ve gone to robin’s but she knows that she would get too worried about how she got there and it’s not that nancy doesn’t worry about her, in fact she does, she’d probably get mad with her for not taking care of herself but it turn her on when nance gets like that, a little mean and rough with her words and touch and reader says “it’s so hot when you act like a mom, can i call you mommy?🥺” please im such a simp for nancy

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .

-n.w. x reader

summary: you find your way to nancy’s place after a late night at a party. smut ensues. (2.4k)

warnings: SMUT!! r gets wasted at a party, so: alcohol/drug use, mommy kink, finger sucking, r is a menace, oral sex (r receiving), hair pulling, dirty talk, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl…), friends to lovers, didn’t beta read (as always).

a/n: i’m getting through so many requests right now!! i have no idea where the motivation is coming from but i’m gonna make use of it while it lasts!! send me your horny thoughts folks! <3

you stumble through the wheeler’s backyard, a little uncoordinated, as quiet giggles fall from your lips.

you try to avoid the flowers nancy’s mother has planted, but with your vision blurry and the alcohol still running through your system, it’s a lot harder than expected. you laugh stupidly when your bare leg get caught in the thorns of the roses and try to rip it free before you reach the spot right underneath what you think is nancy’s bedroom window.

more drunken laughter slips from your lips when you imagine the face mr. wheeler would make if you accidentally climbed into his room instead, waking him and his wife from their sleep at the crack of dawn.

you manage the climb more or less solid, blissfully unaware of the height.

“nance” you call out, whisper-yelling her name against the closed window. “wakey wakey”

you knock your fingers against the glass as well, probably harder than necessary. it does the trick: someone flicks the light on and, mere seconds later, the brunette is pulling open her window to glare down at you.

“what are you doing?” nancy hisses, her palms against the windowsill.

“let me in?” you mouth, trying to quiet down. “my leg hurts”

“your-“ she leans forward a little and you lift your leg up for her to see the red lines the thorns have left on your shin. you do lose your balance like this, slowly sliding backwards. luckily nancy is quick to grab your wrists and pull you back against the wall.

“come in” she says, defeated at your drunken state. “and be quiet”

your attempt to climb through her window turns out poorly as you get stuck halfway: your upper body is dangling into the room whilst your legs are still outside, kicking.

“nance” you chuckle. “nance, i’m stuck!”

the girl groans but returns to help you all the way in, sending you stumbling onto the carpet with a more or less loud thud.

her room smells like vanilla and the sweet scent of the floral perfume she wears.

you’re laughing by the time your body collides with the hard ground and watch her from where you’re laying, tilting your head from left to right to inspect her features from this angle.

“you look funny” you conclude.

“you’re drunk” nancy says, her arms crossed over her chest. she’s in a pretty, pink set of pyjamas, lacy and slightly see through in the most perfect places. you can see the outline of her hardened nipples and it makes your mouth water at the mere thought of- no, you remind yourself, this is not the time to thirst over nancy wheeler.

“what are you even doing here at-“ she glances at the clock on her bedside table. “04:00 am?!”

“alright so-“ you throw yourself onto your belly. “i was at this party right? and i got a liiittle drunk”

you try to get to your feet but don’t manage without the other girl’s help, body stumbling and shifting from left to right.

“anyway, your house was closer than robin’s and she always gets so worried” you lower your voice near the end of the sentence, as though robin is around to hear. “didn’t want her to worry about me and- and my shin! my shin!”

you dramatically point out, pointing downwards to the small cuts on your legs.

nancy sighs, already looking through her stuff.

“you could’ve gotten hurt” she scolds, finding her first aid kit underneath her bed. “you did get hurt. what were you thinking?”

“your mom’s roses did that” you whine weakly.

nancy tsks and gets back to you, her brown curls moving as she shakes her head.

“you shouldn’t have went to that party all by yourself!” she points out. “next time, you’re gonna go with a friend, you hear me?”

she grabs your leg and sets your foot down on the floor so it’s bent and she can inspect the cuts.

her brows furrow and she reaches for the a small bottle.

“is that gonna hurt?”

“a little” she says, then softer: “you’ll live”

you take a deep breath in when she taps the alcohol onto your skin. it does burn and you instinctively reach for her hand. to your own surprise, nancy doesn’t pull away. she just squeezes your hand in hers as the other makes sure to disinfect the small wounds.

you hum, watching the other girl work. always taking such good care of you, that nancy wheeler.

“somebody has to” nancy points out. it’s then that you realize you actually said that out loud.

“you have to take better care of yourself y/n” she goes on. her brows are still drawn together. “you could’ve gotten hurt! or worse-“

“mhm” you hum. hardly even listening to any of the words she’s saying. “you know” you slur and lean forward a little bit. “it’s so hot when you act like that. like a mom”

nancy raises her brows in surprise, her fingers sliding away from yours as her hand goes slack.

“you’re such a mommy nance” you go on, your mind foggy as you admit to those things you’ve been imagining. “can i call you mommy?”

a muscle in her sharp jaw twitches.

“y/n” she hisses. “you’re drunk”

“you’re hot!” you say in return, crawling a little closer to her.

“that’s not-“ nancy shakes her head, more energetically this time. perhaps it’s your drunk brain that’s playing tricks on you but her eyes do seem to darken a little bit.

“please?” you try again, batting your lashes at her pleadingly. “pretty please nance. you’re so pretty and so hot when you look after me and-“

nancy presses a finger against your lips to keep you from talking.

“y/n” she warningly murmurs.

it’s not enough. and the finger pressing against your lips seems too tempting for you not to open them and flick your tongue against it.

nancy doesn’t pull back. just turns her head to face you, a look of surprise flashing over her features.

you hold her gaze and part your lips further, until you’ve got the tip of her finger resting between your lipstick smeared lips.

“please” you whisper once more, suddenly (at the new sensation and taste of nancy wheeler’s finger in your mouth) thinking clearer than you have all night.

nancy, who’s staring right back at you, pushes forward at the same time as you suck, so her index sinks into your mouth. you hum when you feel the soft pressure of it pressing down on your tongue.

her lashes flutter and she inhales sharply as she watches the scene unfold.

eventually, she snaps out of her frozen state. her free hand curls up in your hair slowly, until you’re yanked back suddenly. you gasp when you find nancy glaring down at you, holding you by the back of your head.

“is that right?” she whispers, a second finger toying along your bottom lip.

all you can do is whine and open your mouth further so she can push it into you.

your drool is dripping from the side of your mouth when nancy lets you suck on her manicured fingers.

“mhm” she breathes when you let out a strangled moan. “that’s right sweetheart, gag on mommy’s fingers”

her words send a jolt of arousal straight to your center. you hollow out your cheeks around her and nancy hums, pleased.

“so pretty” she coos, spurred on by all the pretty moans and gasps. nancy’s fingers comb through your hair as her fingers pump into your throat. you want her to feel, you absentmindedly think, how good you suck her.

perhaps she’ll let you suck on her breasts next, hidden by nothing but the thin lace she’s wearing. or her strap, with you between her strong legs, bobbing your head along her length. you can feel your cunt throb between your legs at the mere thought.

“nancy” you choke out, voice thick with want. it’s all you do: you want. you want to please her, want to sink to your knees for her and eat her out. you want to let her have her way with you until the only thing you know is her name.

but nancy pulls back, a string of saliva connecting her fingers to your mouth.

“come on baby” she whispers. “you know better than that”

“mommy” you finally gasp because you do know better. especially for her. always for her.

“good girl” nancy praises, her fingers running through your hair appreciatively.

“want mommy to take care of you baby? want me to fuck you properly?”

“yeah” you nod in agreement. “yeah please”

“bed” nancy commands. “now”

the two of you scramble to your feet, nancy hot on your heels. you practically throw yourself onto the pink, fluffy sheets. the mattress beneath you bounces under your weight but the other girl is quick to lie down on top of you and press you into it.

her soft lips press against yours, hungry and hot. it’s the first time kissing her. different from how you’d imagined it, exactly how you’d fantasized.

her tongue licks into your mouth, coaxing a moan from the back of your throat.

“mhm that’s it” she smiles against your lips. “let me hear you baby. be loud for me”

and then she’s kissing down your torso, dragging her nose through the fabric of the shirt. your skin is burning, wanting to feel her lips against it without the additional layer of clothing in the way, but nancy is frantic. she’s kissing her way down like she’s got no time to waste at all.

before you know it, she’s between your legs, pushing your thighs up to your chest to have you nice and open for her.

nancy quickly fumbles with your skirt, works it out of the way and stuffs it into its hemline.

“can i eat you out?” nancy husks, her breath ghosting over your clothed cunt. she’s got her eyes on you, admiring the wet slick patch on the fabric.

“mhm” you whine. “please”

“please what?” nancy asks, her nails digging into the skin of your inner thighs.

you lean your head back against the pillows, humiliation and arousal running hot through your veins.

“please, mommy”

nancy runs her nose over your center, kissing your opening through your underwear.

“that’s it” she praises, fingers reaching for the hemline of your panties.

you bite your lip and lift your hips so the other girl can peel them off and throw them over her shoulder.

“there you go” nancy coos, admiring the sweet slick of your pussy. “such a pretty girl. such a pretty pussy too hm?”

you’re blushing furiously then, as you watch her take in the sight of it.

she grabs the flesh of your ass and pulls you right against her mouth.

the moan you let out at the first contact of her tongue is loud and ragged. you arch your back and nancy reaches for your waist to hold you in place.

her mouth wraps around your clit, sucking harshly, and you’re gone.

her pink, plump lips vibrate around you when nancy hums her approval.

you don’t know if she has ever done anything like this before. she certainly hasn’t gone down on you yet, but she seems to study your body with every precise flick of her tongue and learns with every reaction she coaxes from you.

and you’re responsive, twitching and trembling on the mattress every time she moves.

you can feel yourself gushing more slick each time nancy flicks her tongue side to side, rolling it over your clit perfectly.

“that- that’s good nance” you gasp. “right there!”

“yeah?” nancy breathes, her chin covered in your arousal.

you whine, managing a weak nod on her pillow. your cheeks are rosy, no longer from the alcohol but from the sheer heat of the moment.

“that’s my good girl” she hums, licking her lips. “now lay back and let me take care of you”

and with that, her mouth is back on you and she’s licking broad strokes through your cunt, actually fucking it into you this time.

she eats you out like this for a while, minutes spent drowning between your thighs and in your wetness. nancy wheeler, sweet, kind nancy, eats you out like her life depends on it, like a woman starved: fucks her tongue deep between your folds, wraps her lips around your clit, and licks every drop of your slick up happily.

“taste so good” she praises. “so so good for mommy, hm sweetheart?”

at this point, you’re no longer able to string together a verbal response. instead, you grab her by the hair and guide her where you want -need- her mouth.

“nancy” you cry. “nancy, nancy, nancy”

breathy, high pitched moans continue to go fall from your lips as you feel your orgasm building up in your core. you roll your hips against her lips, a weak attempt to match the pace of nancy’s tongue.

“so- so close” you manage.

“it’s okay baby” nancy assures you. “it’s okay, cum for me”

“fuck, nancy, mommy, i-“

you’re cut off by both; the orgasm that crashes over you and nancy, who puts her mouth on you again. she swallows all the slick that drips from you, dwells in the way your body goes rigid for her mouth.

nancy is relentless, fucks you through the height of your pleasure with her skilled tongue.

she doesn’t stop, not until you weakly pull her back by the brown curls, signalizing her that it’s becoming too much.

she’s covered in you: your cum glistening on her chin in the dim light of her room.

“holy shit” you pant.

“you did so good” nancy whispers, crawling up your body. “so pretty when you cum”

once she’s lingering above you, you wrap your arms around her and pull her in, tasting yourself on her tongue.

“thank you” you mumble against her mouth before turning your head away into the softness of her pillow. it’s warm there, comfortable, and the pillow case smells like her. it coaxes you into a comforting post-orgasmic blissful state.

“sleepy?” nancy asks bemused.

“yeah” you tell her, adjusting your position.

“it’s okay” she kisses your temple. “whatever you need. we’ll talk in the morning”

#nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x reader #nancy wheeler x fem!reader #nancy wheeler x female reader #nancy wheeler x you #nancy wheeler x reader smut #nancy wheeler smut #nancy wheeler imagine #nancy wheeler fanfiction #nancy wheeler fanfic

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charliemwrites · 9 months ago

Text

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #commissioned work #ko fi commissions #simon x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #lifeguard au #beach au #simon ghost riley

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gottalottarocks · 7 months ago

Text

Are you an American? Frustrated by the political process? Do you feel like you have no voice in our government? Let me introduce you to the wonderful world of public comments.

This is where federal agencies propose new regulations asking for public feedback:

Regulations.gov

Here's a step by step on how to navigate this:

Look through the proposals on the explore tab and filter by "Proposed Rule". These are the regulations that have been proposed, but not finalized.

If you click on these, they are pretty dense, text heavy explanations of the proposed rule changes. I definitely do a lot of googling when trying to understand what I'm reading. Also there are a lot of different topics here and I definitely don't comment on everything.

This is how you make a public comment. For example, for this proposed rule:

Start a new document and write the subject and docket number. Your comment NEEDS to have the docket number for them to count it most of the time, and the correct subject some of the time.

^^ this is ambiguous, but add the docket ID and subject just to be safe, it should look like this:

Ref: Docket ID No. NSD 104

Provisions Pertaining to Preventing Access to Americans' Bulk Sensitive Personal Data and U.S. Government-Related Data by Countries of Concern

Then address to the person at the very very end of the page.

Scroll all the way to the end:

^^this is the person you address to.

Then introduce yourself. If you have experience related to the proposed rule, talk about that. For rules related to the environment and public health I say that I'm a geologist with a master's degree and I work in environmental remediation. Otherwise, I just say I'm a concerned citizen.

Then I say hey I agree/ disagree with this proposed rule and here's why. Oftentimes there will be lists that the federal agency is asking for specific feedback on.

Commenting on these will have a lot of impact.

Here's an example comment I forgot to post for a rule regarding methane emissions in the oil and gas industry:

Administrator Michael Regan The United States Environmental Protection Agency 1200 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, DC 20460

Ref: Docket ID No. __ Waste Emissions Charge for Petroleum and Natural Gas Systems Dear Administrator Regan, My name is __ and I am writing to you as a geologist and graduate of ___. I currently work in ____. Thank you for your interest in reducing methane pollution, which I believe to be one of the most important aspects in reducing the harm caused by the climate crisis. Within the short term, methane is a much more powerful force of global warming than carbon dioxide. It breaks down faster than carbon dioxide— but it traps significantly more heat that should be bouncing back into space. When scientists talk about taking our foot off the gas pedal in regards to the climate crisis, methane is at the forefront of our minds. Natural gas is often proposed as a solution to reducing our greenhouse gas emissions (since it produces less carbon dioxide than coal plants), but these methane leaks are a serious threat to public health. Not only is methane hazardous, it’s ability to cause short-term superheating is contributing to the rapid increase in wildfires within the U.S. and globally, further degrading air quality. Last summer in NYC skies were orange, caused by ash from Canadian wildfires. As someone who sets up air monitoring equipment every day to ensure the surrounding community is not impacted from the disposal of hazardous waste, I have a unique opportunity to see on a day-to-day basis how air quality is degrading. I strongly support the Environmental Protection Agency's proposed waste emissions charge. For EPA’s implementation of the fee to fulfill Congress’s goals, the final regulation must continue to include key requirements including: · Regulatory compliance exemptions must only become available after final standards and plans are in effect in all states and that these plans are at least as strong as the EPA's 202 methane emissions proposal. Operators filing for exemption must also demonstrate full compliance across their facilities; · Strong and clear criteria must remain in place for operators seeking an exemption based on unreasonable permitting delays; · When operators seek an exemption for plugged wells, they must clearly demonstrate that their wells have been properly plugged and are no longer polluting; · Transparent calculations and methodologies to accurately determine an owner or operator’s net emissions; and · Strong verification protocols so that fee obligations accurately reflect reported emissions and that exemptions are only available once the conditions Congress set forth are met. I urge the EPA to quickly finalize this proposal with limited flaring, strengthened emissions standards for storage tanks, and a pathway for enhanced community monitoring. Thank you, ___________

And then paste your comment in or upload a document and submit! You will be asked to provide your name and address. Also the FCC will only take comments on their website, but the proposed rule will be posted on the federal regulations website I put above and they should have a link to the FCC website within that post.

#this is one of those things like jury nullification that nobody knows about but should #i like this because it's a written format that actually gets taken into account #I feel like emailing representatives gets lost in the sauce #resource #us politics #american politics #geolife

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cassafrassie · 3 months ago

Text

testing the waters - (also on ao3) length: 2,938 words rating: G (v mild swearing)

It’s a slow, hot, lazy late August afternoon. The world has been saved, triangle demon vanquished, Grunkle Stan’s memories slowly returning to him, and Dipper and Mabel Pines lounge on the front deck of the Mystery Shack soaking up their last moments of summer before returning to Piedmont in just a few days.

Dipper lays flat on his back on the wood slats, watching the trees sway in the warm breeze while Mabel sprawls on the couch, tapping away on her phone.

“Oh-ho-ho!” She says after some time, breaking the easy silence.

“What?” Dipper asks, glancing at her but not moving.

“Nothing…” she replies in such a mischievous tone that Dipper immediately knows it’s anything but nothing.

Dipper lifts his head to get a better look at his sister. She’s grinning like a mad woman as she taps something on her phone.

It makes Dipper uneasy.

“Mabel,” he says, slower. “What is it?”

Mabel ignores him at first, still tapping away, but eventually looks down at him with a smug smile on her face.

“Time for you to get your own phone I think, bro-bro.”

“What? Why?”

“Well you can’t exactly expect me to be the middle man for you and your girlfriend forever.”

“Girlfri—…?” Dipper trails off as Mabel tosses him her phone, open to a short text conversation.

Pacifica: Mabel. Tell your brother to meet me at Lake Gravity Falls at 4PM today.

Mabel: OoOooh. Looking to do some more huggin’ are ya?? Or maybe taking it up a notch? 💋💋😘

Pacifica: Ugh, just tell him.

Mabel: What’s the magic woooord?

Pacifica: Now?

Mabel: Come on Pazmatazz we practiced this.

Pacifica: Don’t call me that.

Mabel: P

Mabel: L

Mabel: E

Pacifica: Fine! Please! Just stop!

Dipper throws the phone back at Mabel, a little rougher than he needed to.

“Do you have to be like that?” he bites out.

“Um, securing your romantic future? Yes, you’d think you’d be grateful, jeez. Make sure you shower before you go though, you smell like the inside of a gym sock.”

“Who says I’m going?” Dipper says, flopping back down on the deck. “She can’t just boss me around like that.”

“Sure, Dip,” Mabel says, returning to her texting.

---

Two hours later Dipper finds himself showered (he needed to anyway, okay?!), changed and waving his thanks to Soos for the ride as he trudges down toward the lake from the parking lot. To his right he sees the lake’s marina. It’s mostly modest speed boats and fishing vessels, but rising like a skyscraper above all the rest is a large pleasure craft, at least 80 feet from bow to stern, with the familiar “N.W.” emblazoned in gold script along the side of the bow. He figures this must be his destination, so he heads down the dock toward the end, where the massive yacht rests bobbing in the water in the final slip.

“Pacifica? You there?” he calls out from the dock, finally reaching the boat.

Pacifica’s blonde head pops out from a door to the interior almost immediately. She bounces up on deck and trots over to the side, leaning over to peer down at him.

“Dipper! You came!”

She’s is wearing a striped purple polo top similar to the one she wore the night the Lilliputtians attacked, simple pleated white shorts and camel-colored boat shoes. Her long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and the overall effect is classy but understated. She looks… nice, Dipper thinks before shaking the thought away.

“Well you kind of made it sound like I didn’t have a choice.”

Pacifica shoots him a grin that’s just a little dazzling in the late afternoon light, and before he knows it his feet are carrying him up dock's boarding steps to the side of the boat. As he lifts his foot to step onto the yacht, however, Pacifica holds up her palm, stopping him.

“Ah, ah, ah, Pines! First rule of boating etiquette. Always ask for permission to board.”

“You invited me here!” he shoots back.

“Manners still matter,” she says, flipping her hair.

Dipper groans. He feels annoyance rising in his chest and is about to tell her to forget it, but then he studies her face and he sees the playful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Oh. She’s… messing with him.

He feels his own mouth quirk up at the sides.

Well two can play at that game.

Dipper clears his throat, straightens his back and assumes an air of hyperbolic chivalry.

“Very well, Miss Northwest. Would your highness deign to grace herself with my presence by allowing me to step aboard thine’s most glorious seafaring vessel?” He finishes with an exaggerated twirl of his hand.

Pacifica giggles and holds out her hand to him palm up. “She will. Dork.”

He grips her welcoming hand and allows her to help him come aboard, taking a second to find his footing on the gently bobbing boat before releasing it.

“Pretty nice, uh, schooner you got here.” He says, hands on his hips, looking around.

Schooner? Is that even right? Why is he trying to impress her with big boat words? He doesn’t know a darn thing about boats.

Pacifica quirks an eyebrow but lets it go. “Yeah, it’s fun,” she says wistfully. “But I’m pretty sure it’s going up for sale next week along with the manor.”

“Oh,” Dipper says rubbing his neck. “Do you know where you’re moving yet?”

He feels just the slightest confusing feeling of guilt tugging deep in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t feel bad about Preston and Priscilla getting found out for their years of crookedness, but Pacifica didn’t really have anything to do with that.

“Another mansion here in town. It’s way smaller though. Only one swimming pool,” Pacifica says, her face falling briefly, but she shakes it off.

Dipper chokes back a snort, all feelings of guilt instantly evaporating.

“You want a soda? I can show you around,” Pacifica asks, though the way she confidently strides back toward the interior leaves him with the impression that’s it’s not really a question as much as it is a command to follow.

He trails after her, following into the inner cabin of the boat. They enter a spacious galley. The walls are lined in deep teak wood and a massive crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room. Dipper thinks this seems pretty impractical for a boat, but then again little about the Northwests has ever been practical.

A steward brings a silver tray with an assortment of sodas and juices. Dipper picks a Pitt Cola from the offering and then continues following Pacifica deeper below deck.

“So, uh, what’s the occasion?” he asks, following her down a narrow staircase and down a hallway lined with staterooms. “You just showing off the last of your family’s spoils before it goes to the auction block?”

Pacifica rolls her eyes as she stops at a door near the end of the hall.

“No. Well, not just that.” She opens the door, which leads to a small storage room. She doesn’t turn on the lights, but he can make out that the cabin is filled with boxes and chests from the warm light coming in from two small portholes. “This is the main reason.” She grips a large trunk in the corner with both hands and tugs it out from the shadows. The same “N.W.” monogram is etched onto the lid, the faint light catching the gold script.

As she tugs, Dipper feels the cabin shift around him unnaturally. He realizes the boat is pulling away from the dock. He braces himself against a wall with one arm, but Pacifica isn’t as quick on her feet and she stumbles forward. Dipper reaches forward with his free arm and grasps her around the middle. Her hair ends up in his face.

Lavender, again.

“I gotcha,” he says.

Pacifica grasps onto his arm as she steadies herself, then meets his eyes for the briefest of moments before turning away from him abruptly.

She coughs. “Thanks.”

Dipper feels his face flush. Not going to think too hard about that.

Pacifica turns back to the trunk, kneeling down and fiddling with the lock.

“My family has had these tapestries for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure where they came from, but I took the one in my bedroom down the night after the party. I didn’t know why at the time, but after the last few days things started to come together… so I took the rest down too and stashed them down here.” She looks over her shoulder at him. “Mom and Dad don’t know.”

Dipper feels a burst of pride swell in his heart at her small rebellion, whatever this is.

He leans over her shoulder as she lifts the lid to the trunk, but freezes when he sees what’s within.

He sees the eye first. That piercing, maniacal eye. Then the shape and color. And its enough to send him gasping backward, air completely leaving his lungs.

“Dipper?” Pacifica asks, spinning around toward him.

Dipper’s heart feels like it’s stopped. Where’s the wall? He needs to grab on to something. His arm waves behind him until it finds purchase on the side of the cabin.

“Dipper!” Pacifica continues. “Shoot! I’m sorry, I should have warned you.” She slams the lid shut and turns to grasp Dipper’s shoulders. “Hey, hey look at me.”

Dipper reluctantly meets her eyes, but he’s glad he does. Her blue meets his brown and he sees her concern and immediately feels calmer. In the recesses of his mind, fleetingly, he had feared that this was all some sort of trap, but when he sees her sincerity he knows she’s still on his side.

“You’re okay. I’m here. Crap, I’m so sorry,” she goes on, lowering her eyes but still gripping his shoulders.

Dipper feels the oxygen returning to his lungs and his head clearing.

“No, no it’s okay. I’m okay. It was an accident,” he says, taking a deep breath.

Pacifica looks back up at him, lip quivering. She releases his shoulders.

“Hey,” he chucks her under the chin lightly. “All good. Nothing wounded but my pride.”

She gives him a wary smile.

He returns it, feeling relief as he watches her features slowly relax. She really is pretty, huh?

Shit.

No.

No, no, no we are not doing that right now, brain.

He clears his throat.

“So… uh, why exactly are you showing me this?” he finally asks, breaking their eye contact and gesturing to the trunk.

“Oh! Right.” Pacifica tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she straightens up, putting her hands on her hips. “I want you to help me get rid of it.”

Dipper’s mind races through memories of spells and incantations he read in Ford’s journals. Was there one for expelling physical objects from reality? Could they summon a self-contained fire that wouldn’t compromise the boat? Maybe if they contacted the ghost of Archibald Corduroy he would be able to bring the tapestries to the… ghost realm? If that’s a thing?

Pacifica looks at him curiously. “Uh, hello? What’s going on in there?” she asks, tapping his forehead with her pointer finger.

He continues studying the trunk. “Just trying to think of the best way…”

Pacifica raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Pines. Lake Gravity Falls is 742 feet deep at its center. Where do you think we’re going?” She gestures around her to the moving yacht.

Oh.

Right. Well that could work too.

With some effort and griping the two manage to bring the trunk up the stairs (“Pivot! You have to pivot!” Pacifica had sniped more than once) and on the main deck of the boat.

Together they lift the heavy chest to the railing at the stern, letting it balance delicately just shy from tipping over. They each hold one handle.

“Any final words?” Dipper asks, turning to face her.

“Good riddance.” Pacifica says, still staring at the trunk, eyes focused on the “N.W.” monogram. She turns to him. “Let’s do this.”

Damn, she’s fierce. He gives her a half smile and nods.

They each let go of their respective handles and give the trunk a firm push. It goes tumbling overboard, falling the dozen or so feet it takes to reach the water before hitting it with a satisfying splash.

Dipper and Pacifica stand side by side, watching it sink below the surface slowly, murky darkness slowly obscuring it from view. Then it’s gone.

Pacifica turns and leans her back against the railing, letting out a long exhale. “Wow, it’s crazy how much better I feel.”

Dipper smiles at her. Her features do look more relaxed. Like a heavy burden— or curse, maybe—has been lifted.

He nudges her side with his elbow. “So this tub is going away in a few days right? What do you say we enjoy it a bit before it’s gone?”

Pacifica turns to face him and grins.

---

A couple hours, an impromptu water gun fight, and a few unceremonious pushes into the lake later, Dipper and Pacifica lay next to one another on their stomaches at the bow of the boat, each wrapped in a fluffy towel. Together they watch the sun drop below the tree-lined horizon. Orange and pink gives way slowly to purple and blue. Dipper lets his eyes drift from the hazy sky to the gentle waves created by the yacht cutting through the lake surface, and finally to his new friend. Her eyes have shut and her head is cushioned on her arms. The soft light of the dusk plays on her delicate features, and he takes a moment to watch the steady inhale and exhale of her breathing. He feels himself smile, and decides to let himself indulge in the warm feeling that comes with it. Just for now. Even if he still isn’t sure what it means.

After a moment her eyes flutter open and her cheeks dust with pink. “Guess I dozed off a bit?” she asks, scrunching up her nose.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s been a big day.”

She yawns and looks at the horizon.

“So I guess you’re going back home to California soon, huh? After your party?”

“Yeah… but is it weird that to say that Piedmont doesn’t really feel like home anymore?”

“No.” She turns to him. “I think ‘home’ can kind of change. I never used to feel like Gravity Falls was where I belonged, honestly.”

“Really? Do you still feel that way?”

“I’m not sure… I feel at home right now though, I think.” Her cheeks grow rosier.

Dipper smiles, feeling his own cheeks warming once again as well.

“What are you gonna do? After?” he asks, not really knowing precisely how to articulate what he means, but trusting she will understand.

“I don’t know,” she laughs. “Back to school, I guess. Maybe I can convince my parents to let me start boarding. I’m just a day student right now, but there are a bunch of kids who live too far to go home at night. I wouldn’t mind staying away from my parents for awhile.” Dipper isn’t sure he completely understands how private schooling works, but before he can ask she keeps talking. “Mom and Dad—they, uh… fight a lot, you know? And I kind of think it’s just going to get worse now that we’re only really rich and not insanely rich.” She drops her chin to her rest on her right forearm, lets her left arm dangle over the side of the boat.

Dipper flashes back to four months earlier, hearing his own mom and dad say the most horrible things to one another late at night in their kitchen, long after he and Mabel were supposed to have gone to bed.

“Yeah,” he starts, slowly. “That’s… rough. I get that.”

She tilts her head to him, eyes wide. “You do?”

“Yeah...” He lets his own head fall forward, cushioned by his laced fingers. “I’m not really sure what I’m going to be walking into when we get back, either. Family-wise, I mean.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Honestly, not really. It’s too pretty and peaceful here right now.” He meets her eyes.

“Another time then,” she says, like it’s not even a question.

He feels a smile tug at his lips. On a lot of people, such declaration would come off as presumptuous, rude even. But Pacifica’s so naturally confident and matter-of-fact that it’s just… endearing. Honest.

And he knows it’s true, too.

“Yeah, another time.”

The yacht’s crew eventually brings the boat back to the marina just as the stars are beginning to make their first appearances in the evening sky. Her driver gives him a ride home, and clambering out of back of the town car, Dipper notices Mabel peeking through the Shack’s curtains. He rolls his eyes and turns back to where Pacifica still sits in the back of the car.

“So you’re coming to our birthday tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“Duh, I am the Party Queen after all.” She winks and his stomach does a funny little flip. “It would be cruel to deprive you of my presence on your birthday.”

He laughs and shakes his head, sends her a final wave and smile over his shoulder as he makes his way back to what will almost certainly be an interrogation of epic proportions from his sister.

But, yeah, maybe Mabel is right. Maybe it is time to get his own phone.

#dipper x pacifica #pacifica northwest #dipcifica #dipper pines #dipper and pacifica #gravity falls #dippica #gravity falls fanfiction

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