#so i will call them first and be like hi???? you billed me but i gave you my insurance so what happened????

[danidrabbles]

This was so devastatingly sexy.....

First of all: LOVE the no-outbreak setting, I always enjoy reading about that softer pre-outbreak Joel getting to live his life without being so hardened by everything that happens to him in canon. Second: This taking place on and around Bill and Frank's wedding is such a stroke of genius, what a fun setting!

The tension between them is so apparent from the start, the way he calls her sweetheart, the way she's immediately wound up the moment he's in the room. (The way they're both touching themselves to the thought of the other, oof...)

The moment when she helps him with his buttons and his bowtie was SO good, I loved that they both had this sense of "Is this okay?" but couldn't help themselves.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again. You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and– The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

I could just feel this 😩

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

She's so brave for just going for it. It's so fun and refreshing.

And your Joel kills me his, “If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”, “Shit, sweetheart, she’s soakin’ for me.” and “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”, but ESPECIALLY

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

I love the ending so much, the way he pulls her in for "one final, saccharine sweet kiss", and thanks her, and the promise of more between them... wow. Thank you so much for writing and sharing!!

every breath you take

➔ (no outbreak) Joel Miller x f!Reader

➔ 5.3k words

➔ Your dad is getting married to his soulmate and you have every intention of making it the perfect day. The only kink in your plan is your unexpected feelings for your soon-to-be stepdad’s best man.

➔ Rated MA // BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. LONG LIVE BILL X FRANK. no outbreak, age gap (reader is early 20s, Joel is 45), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, fingering (reader receiving), references to masturbation (reader), pussy pronouns, pet names // reader has female anatomy (no body description but is generally able-bodied) and uses feminine pronouns, is Frank’s adopted daughter (written for all skin tones), wears makeup and a dress, has hair (unspecified length)

➔ Big big thank you to @sugarcoated-lame and @sunlightmurdock for this idea and letting me run with it (sorry it took 5 months 😂) this is psuedo-inspired by my own current activities as my best friend's moh which is why i haven't been super active in the past month or so, thank you to everyone for being so patient with me <33

June, 2013.

After months of planning—stress, sweat, and tears abounding—the big night is here. Well, almost here. The actual wedding is tomorrow, but tonight is the rehearsal dinner; and as your adoptive dad has spent the entire preparatory period impressing upon you, the rehearsal might be even more important than the wedding itself.

With that in mind, you arrive at the venue a few hours early to assist with the set up. Seeing the unassembled pieces and parts of the event brings a smile to your face and a determination to your soul–you want this to be perfect. 

Someone else shares your determination, too.

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more frustrated for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a ‘friendly’ competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

It’s unintentional on his part, you’re sure, but the tension is palpable enough to slice with a butter knife nonetheless. Today is no exception—he’s dressed for labor in worn jeans that are just a little too tight around his thighs and a faded Iron Maiden shirt that hugs his strong biceps. His hair is ruffled like he’s been tugging and running his hands through it, and it puts all kinds of indecent thoughts into your brain.

It’s wrong. The guy’s old enough to be your dad, and that’s aside from the fact that he’s your soon-to-be-stepdad’s best man. No self-respecting young woman should be looking at a guy who’s old enough to remember the Nixon administration the way you are right now. And yet…

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says in that drawl of his which makes you want to throw your sanity out the window and fall at his feet to worship the very ground he walks on.

You’ve never hated Joel Miller more than you do right now. 

Regardless, you greet him with the sweetest smile you can muster. “Good morning. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

“Well, rehearsal’s as important as the weddin’ itself,” he dutifully repeats the line that you’ve heard from your dad a million times over. “And this barn ain’t gonna decorate itself.”

“Well, that’s kinda my job,” you remind him, hoping your tone sounds more annoyed to him than it does to you. 

He flashes that boyish smile that no middle-aged man should be able to master, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

You want to grumble about it. You want to be annoyed by this goofy-ass forty-five year old man and his stupid competitive streak. Instead, your mouth betrays you by smiling. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He punctuates it with a wink, and you consider just falling onto the ground and perishing. Instead, you roll up your shirt sleeves and get to work.

The fruits of your labor are well worth the effort they take. You feel a heady sense of pride when you look around at all the decor–as long as this barn has been a wedding venue, you’re certain no one’s ever made it look this good before.

The tables are arranged neatly in rows, draped with luxurious white tablecloths and topped with neat arrangements of greenery in the centers. The seating chart that Bill and Frank worked so meticulously on is put into effect with hand-written placards designating each chair to an occupant. Strings of white globe lights hang from the rafters and cast a hazy, reverent glow over the entire barn. Everything is the perfect mix of modern and rustic.

Outside on the lawn, rows of neatly arranged chairs line a petal-scattered aisle. Everything leads to the focal point–an eight-foot high arch wrapped generously in green vines and white blossoms. It’s definitely the highlight of the entire thing, which irks you just the slightest bit–it was solely Joel’s vision. Apparently, he’s a lot more artistic than you’ve ever given him credit for. It tracks, you suppose; construction is an artform if you really think about it. He uses his hands to create just like a sculptor, but to a larger scale. And those hands are capable; you’ve seen exactly how much they can move or carry and you wonder if they could–

You shake off that train of thought before it can go any further. If you can’t get yourself under control you’re going to start wearing a rubberband on your wrist that you can snap every time your thoughts about Joel stray into the ‘things you shouldn’t be thinking about a middle-aged man’ category.

He certainly has aged like fine wine for a forty-five-year-old man, though…

Snap.

With a sigh, you give your head a shake in hopes of clearing your mind and take a look down at your watch. You’ve finished with perfect timing–you’ve got about two hours to go home and get cleaned up before you have to be back for the rehearsal dinner.

You look for Joel for a few moments before leaving, but he’s nowhere to be found. It puzzles you a little bit that he wouldn’t at least say goodbye before leaving, but then again he really doesn’t have to answer to you. It’s a well-needed wake up call, a reminder that your feelings–can whatever you’re going through really be called that?–your attraction, is one-sided. He’s here for Bill and Frank, not for you. You’re his best friend’s daughter and nothing more, and the realization washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

You hate the way it sends you spiraling on the drive home. You hate the way you care so much about what he might think of you. You hate the way that you have to look at yourself in the mirror and give yourself a stern talking-to about needing to let this whole stupid crush go. You hate the way that you can’t even pretend the extra layer of mascara you apply isn’t for him.

You avoid Joel the entire night, which isn’t easy to do. You have to walk down the aisle next to him during the ceremony rehearsal but you avoid his eye contact, taking a twisted little satisfaction in the way he frowns when all of your replies to his chit chat are short and clipped. Dinner is easier–both Frank and Bill sit between you and Joel, so there’s no attempted conversation to deflect from him. But you could almost swear you feel his eyes on you, as if he’s looking right through your dad and soon-to-be-stepdad.

Joel is puzzled, to put it simply. One second, he’s got you in the palm of his hand. Then a moment later, you’re looking at him like you might look at a bug you stepped on and got stuck to your shoe.

He puts it out of mind as much as he can. He’s not supposed to be looking at you like that, after all. He’s not supposed to be admiring the perfectly kissable curve of your shoulder or the biteable expanse of your neck. He’s definitely not supposed to be wondering what you’re wearing under that adorable dress of yours. You’re his best friend’s daughter, for god’s sake. You’re so far off limits that he shouldn’t even be looking in your general direction.

But he is. He’s looking, and he can’t stop looking. And most of all, he can’t stop wondering if you feel it too.

Evidently you don’t, because you won’t even take his arm as you practice walking up the aisle in preparation for the big day tomorrow. You’ve probably figured out how much he’s been thinking about you and the kinds of things he’s been thinking, and you’re disgusted. He’s just a dirty old man to you, surely.

Little does Joel know that you come on your fingers moaning his name practically as soon as you’re through the door of your hotel room that night. You fall asleep before you can feel too ashamed about it–blissfully unaware that Joel’s doing the same exact thing just a few doors down.

You wake up in the morning with much more clarity than you usually have, especially at 9AM.

No matter what, today is about Bill and Frank. You get to be part of a true love story, the kind that your dad used to read about to you in bedtime stories when you were a little girl. That knowledge steadies your mind more than anything else ever could.

You jump into the shower and try your best to tame your unruly hair before shuffling down to the dining area on the ground floor of the hotel. 

Bill and Frank really spared no expense on this place. All the food is fresh and hot, replenished every few minutes. It smells incredible–there’s overlapping waves of pastries, sausages, eggs, and fruits. It’s almost overwhelming; there’s way too many options.

After you pile up a plate with as much as your stomach can comfortably handle, you make your way over to the table your father occupies by himself.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he says through a mouthful of cantaloupe.

“Decided to sleep in a little,” you explain. “Where’s Bill?”

“He already had breakfast, he’s getting ready,” Frank explains. “Joel made out a whole schedule for us, put us on different shifts so we don’t see each other before the wedding. It’s bad luck, after all.”

You snort through a bite of biscuits and gravy, because that’s such a characteristically Joel thing to do. From what you know of him, he thrives with routine and function–you’re surprised he doesn’t have you working off of a schedule, too.

A small, annoying part of your brain thinks it’s really adorable that Joel plays into that whole superstition. Another, more sensible part tells you that nothing Joel does is adorable and you’ve really got to stop thinking about him so much.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, looking up at your dad through a bite of blueberry muffin.

“Relieved, honestly,” he admits with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I finally get to marry my best friend today, with my other best friend by my side.”

You hide the way the comment makes you choke up behind another bite of your breakfast.

There have been a lot of times where you’ve gone unwanted in your life; starting right at birth, continuing with unrequited crushes and lost friendships. But one person has always wanted you and been there for you through thick and thin. Frank picks you up every time no matter how hard you fall, and you feel so unbelievably lucky to be in his life. 

If anyone deserves a fairytale ending, it’s Frank. He always puts the people he cares about first, and now it’s his turn to shine. You’re not letting anything get in the way of that–especially not stupid, unrequited feelings for the best man.

With a little more resolve in your mind, it’s easier to get ready for the main event.

Every step of your preparation has been immaculately planned over the course of months. From your dress to your make-up, to your hair, not one detail has been overlooked. It takes you more than an hour to get ready–but when you’re ready, you’re a vision. Even though you’re not normally the type to enjoy looking into the mirror, you have to admit to yourself that you look stunning. 

Your traitorous brain wonders if Joel will think the same. 

With a heavy sigh, you grab your bag and your car keys. You really wish you had a way to shut those intruding little wishful thoughts off–they’re doing more harm than good at this point. 

You take a deep breath, shove as much as you can down, and resolve to have a good time celebrating your dads–then you open the door and set out towards an unforgettable night.

Whatever kind of shock and awe you were hoping to inspire in Joel, it’s surely nothing compared to the rush you feel as you find him in the bridal party lounge.

You’ve never seen him quite so put together. He’s normally a bit undone–a symptom of being a long-time bachelor–but today, he’s perfectly styled. The hair he’s been growing out is slicked back into gorgeous curls, his black tuxedo pants hug his hips like a dream. He’s in the process of fastening the last two buttons on his impeccable white dress shirt and every bone in your body screams to stop him–to keep that peek of his tanned chest on display for your hungry eyes.

You have a fearful moment of thinking you actually made the request aloud, because he does stop in his tracks when his eyes land on you. His lips part in shock and his pupils dilate and he freezes. Fingers that were once absentmindedly completing their task drop to his sides as he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like “wow.”

“Need help?” You offer before you can think better of it.

There’s a long moment of tense silence, and then he nods silently.

Your mouth is dry as you approach him, trying desperately to keep your cool. Your clammy palms are definitely not the most qualified to complete this task for him, but you can’t back down now. With a deep breath–you’re so close now that it fills your nose with the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne–you will your hands to stay steady and reach for his shirt buttons.

His lead tongue finally remembers how to work as you fasten the first button. “You look… incredible.”

“So do you,” you whisper. Just when you think you’re out of the woods, ready to step back and breathe properly again, his hand comes up to offer you a bow tie.

“This too?” His warm brown eyes search yours–how could he ever expect you to say no?

“Y-yeah. Sure.” You turn the collar of his shirt up, then carefully fasten the tie around his neck. The band is perfectly configured to his neck, the bow already tied–all you have to do is secure a hook through a loop. He could’ve easily done this himself; and yet he didn’t. He wanted you to do this, and that particular bit of knowledge sends a rush of heat burning through your veins. 

Maybe this whole song and dance isn’t quite as unrequited as you originally thought.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again.

You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and–

The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

“There you are!” Frank’s got an untamable smile on his face–his hair is impeccably gelled back, his white tuxedo tailored to fit like a glove. The sight of him, so close to everything he’s ever wanted, brings tears to your eyes. “Wow, you two look amazing.”

“Hey. Thanks.” You’re fighting with all your strength to keep your voice even and calm despite the compliment. The reality of your father’s happily ever after comes crashing in and you’ve never felt so proud. “First look time?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “Is Bill–?”

“Dressin’,” Joel answers after clearing his throat. “I’ll bring ’im out when he’s done.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Frank takes your hand to lead you outside, but not before you look over your shoulder at Joel. He looks thoroughly disheveled despite his sharp appearance–you’ve gotten under his skin. Good.

Thank god for waterproof make-up because you nearly lose your whole face during the first look. Not that you’re wearing much, but it’s enough that it’s jeopardized by the tears your treacherous eyes shed despite trying in vain to will them away.

You’ve never been so happy for two people before. You’ve never seen two people more in love. In their matching white tuxes, with their matching watery eyes, as they turn to greet each other for the first time today, you know that Bill and Frank are a forever thing. It brings you a sense of peace that you never knew was possible.

At some point, you become conscious of the fact that you’re holding Joel’s hand. You know you probably shouldn’t, that you could get both of you in serious trouble–but he’s not pulling away, so neither do you.

The true test of your mascara comes during the ceremony–it passes the test with flying colors, which is truly impressive considering the tsunami it has to hold up against. You’ve never really been a wedding cryer, although you suppose no one would blame you for this one. You’re hardly the only person walking away with tissues to their eyes. Bill and Frank have loved so hard and fought for so long in order to obtain this day–it’s nothing short of incredible to see them finally seal their union with vows.

Before the reception, you pop into the bridal lounge to make sure you’re still presentable. A couple tissues later and you’re good to go, but the sound of the door opening and the lock clicking into place stops you in your tracks.

Joel’s standing there, looking like a dream. Curls slightly disheveled from the wind, top two buttons of his shirt undone with his bowtie hanging out of his jacket pocket. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, albeit not as bad as yours.

His breath seems to catch when he sees you–he clears his throat before whispering, “Hey.”

For a long moment, your tongue is too heavy to speak. Every ounce of desire from earlier comes rushing back in a flash flood of emotion. It’s just you and him and tension so palpable you could grab ahold of it.

“H-hey,” you breathe. Earlier, you were ready to do something drastic. Now, all the familiar doubts come crashing back in. Are all these feelings one-sided? Were you just seeing what you wanted to see? The feeling of his hand in yours is burned into your palm. Does he feel it too?

“I think it went pretty well,” he hums. His hands are tucked into his pockets, thumbs twitching unconsciously as if he’s nervous.

“It was perfect,” you agree.

For a moment that seems to last a lifetime, you both stand toeing the line. It’s right there, unseen but waiting to be crossed. You don’t know if either of you have the courage it takes to step over it.

And then he moves; he breaks the tenuous balance of platonic and something more by closing the distance between you.

“You really do look amazin’,” he breathes, hands clenching indecisively at his sides. “I mean, you always do, but–”

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

The world fades away as his breath becomes yours. There’s nothing but the feeling of his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip and his hands gripping your waist and his curls tickling your forehead. Nothing but the sound of his deep groan and the desperate thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm as it slides up his chest. Nothing but finally feeling complete.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, but he doesn’t dare pull away. His steps sound like cannonfire as he backs you up against the wall, a march towards something deliciously irreversible as his tight grip on your waist bunches the fabric of your dress up. Nothing has ever felt as right as his entire body surrounding and swallowing you this way.

“I want to,” you breathe against his lips. “Do you?”

“God, yes.”

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and tug him closer, desperately wanting every inch of his body pressed up against you. Just as he’s starting to pull the skirt of your dress up, the song outside changes to ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’, strangely apt but also a reminder that you don’t have time. You made this playlist yourself–you know that there’s only three more songs after this one before you’re supposed to be ready for the bridal party entrance to the reception.

“Joel…” you moan out. “Joel, we have to be quick.”

“How quick?” He questions between searing kisses down the length of your neck.

“Ten minutes at the very most.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. He doesn’t pull away though–if anything, he pushes you back harder against the wall. “You still wanna do this?”

As much as you want to say yes, as much as you want to say fuck the reception, you can’t do that to Frank and Bill. “You think ten minutes is enough time?”

“If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”

It makes you shiver in conjunction with the way his hand slides feather-light up your thigh.

Even the ghosting touch of his calloused fingertips on your sensitive skin has you aching for more. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

The cocky bastard has the audacity to actually wink at you. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You drag his lips back to yours with a renewed sense of desperation, relishing the gentle scratch of his trimmed beard against your chin and under your palms. “It’s definitely working.”

“Good.”

You know this is territory that you probably shouldn’t be crossing into, not when he’s twenty years older than you and he’s your new step-dad's best friend, but you can’t be brought to care when those deliciously rough fingertips are slipping under the hem of your panties.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grumbles against your lips. “She’s soakin’ for me.”

“A-always is,” you gasp out. 

His fingers sweep through your folds, gathering as much slick as he can to swirl around your sensitive clit. He smirks at the way your hands tighten on him even at the lightest of touches.

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Joel, please…” Your hands move to his arms, squeezing tighter than you probably should but you can’t help it when he’s touching you like this. It’s exactly what you need and he knows it–he watches your face for every little indication that he’s doing a good job.

“Please what?” He purrs quietly. “What do you need?”

You could go on like this for hours, you’re sure–and you’re sure he’d be more than willing. You could stay here in his arms forever and let him work you over until there’s nothing left in your head but his name.

The song outside changes again, and you know forever will have to wait.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Need you.”

“It’s gonna be tight, sweetheart.” You’d think he was being overly confident if you couldn’t feel the size of the bulge pressing against your thigh.

“That’s okay. Please.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” In a flash he’s got his belt undone and your greedy hands are more than happy to assist in shoving those perfectly pressed pants down his sturdy thighs.

You can’t help the gasp that bubbles out with the sight of him. He’s big. There’s no debate. The flushed tip of him is peeking through mouth-watering foreskin, red and flushed as if angry it’s not inside you already. You’re devastated you don’t have time to take that thick length into your mouth, to make him shudder and shake until he’s begging to fill you.

Later, you remind yourself.

“Still sure about this?” He asks, tone no longer brimming with the urgency and arrogance from just a few moments prior. He searches your eyes intimately for any hint of hesitation–the last thing he wants to do is to push you.

You’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

“Easy, honey. I’ve gotcha.” The hand between your thighs moves to coat him in your slick–for a moment, you’re mesmerized at the sight of his big hand working over his cock. “Gotta tell me if anythin’ doesn’t feel good, ‘kay?”

“I will, I swear, just please–”

The rest of your sentence gets lost in a breathless moan with the first gentle thrust of his hips. Even just the tip is a stretch–one that has your nails digging into his shirt-clad back and your thighs tightening around his waist.

“Shit, sweetie,” he purrs, voice liquid gold. “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”

You manage to loosen your thighs a little and it gives him the space he needs to press all the way in to the hilt–the feeling of him filling you completely is nothing but breathtaking. A broken groan tumbles from his lips–you can feel the way his breath hitches from how his forehead is pressed against yours. It’s nothing short of heady, to know that you have such a profound effect on a man you thought might be immune to you.

“Good?” He questions in a whisper. One of his hands is hooked under your left knee to keep your leg up around his waist; the other strokes absentminded patterns over your right hip, as if unconsciously soothing you.

You give him a shaky nod in response. “Good.”

The pace he sets is the most delicious kind of torture. You both know you’re in a time crunch, so Joel is more than happy to employ the most toe-curlingly relentless speed. Every slick thrust of his cock makes your eyes flutter–little breathy moans escape your lips with fervor as he pounds deep. He's hitting every single spot all at once and then some. All the while his lips trace around your neck and jaw, careful not to leave marks but whining quietly as if he’s tempted. As if he wants nothing more than to claim you in a way that everyone can see.

You moan out his name and the hand on your waist comes to help, settling between your bodies and finding that perfect rhythm from before. You’re finding out that he’s a very intuitive and quick learner–you would certainly praise him for it if you could find the breath to do so. 

The way his hips work–driving him deeper than anyone’s ever been; the way his fingers swirl–bringing you to the brink in mere minutes with the most thigh-shaking friction; the way his mouth works, sucking just light enough on the sweet spot behind your ear so as not to leave a mark… it all builds and builds and builds, leaving you breathless and trembling and teetering on the edge of pure oblivion.

“Y’feel like fuckin’ heaven,” he gasps out against your cheek. “Never gonna get enough.”

The words alone send white-hot pleasure shooting down your spine–you’ve wanted him so badly for so long, and now you know he’s wanted you too. It feels even better with that satisfaction, with the fact of winning the prize you’ve been coveting so deeply.

“Joel…” You want to tell him the million thoughts that are rushing through your head, but your lungs aren’t cooperating. 

“I know baby,” he murmurs with a particularly devastating thrust. “I know. S’okay.”

It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. You dig your nails into his shirt to tug him closer, a silent plea to get him working against that spot again. He complies without words, hitching your leg a little higher around his waist and angling his hips in a way that makes you cry out his name again.

“I’m gonna–”

“Yeah, go ‘head,” he purrs breathlessly. “Lemme feel it, come all over my cock.”

His fingers press a little firmer against your clit and that’s all you need for the knot in your stomach to unravel with blinding force. It travels through every nerve like some delicious form of spontaneous combustion, making your body shiver with the energy of it. It’s the best you’ve ever felt–you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, either.

“That’s it honey, holy shit…” He murmurs before finally meeting your lips again for a breathless and panting kiss. “W-where?”

For a moment, you have no clue what he could possibly be talking about. His thrusts are losing rhythm with each moment, as if he’s about to–

“Inside,” you whine out after your moment of clarity. “Please–”

“Shit,” he spits even as he drives himself impossibly deeper. “Y’sure?”

You’re not even conscious of nodding your head–all you know is that you need him completely. “It’s safe. Promise.”

“Atta girl,” he whispers. “Gonna leave you fuckin’ drippin’, won’t be able to stop feelin’ it all night–”

His head tips back as the first wave crashes over him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth dropped open as his hips grind into yours. There’s nothing short of pure ecstasy on his face with the first few ropes of cum that fill you. You’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful as the pleasure washing over this gorgeous man’s gorgeous face. Knowing that you’re the cause of all this nearly sends you over the edge all over again.

He grunts as he shoves himself a little deeper, eager to feel every inch of you as he unwinds. “Christ, honey… squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.”

“Not my fault you’re huge.”

He chuckles at that, staying seated deep within your walls for a moment longer so he can kiss you again. It’s lost its edge of desperation, but it makes up for it with an overwhelming note of sweetness. His hand cups your jaw to guide the angle and once again you’re struck by that overwhelming sense of rightness. It’s like you were meant to be here, meant to take everything he gives you and more, meant to love him.

The song outside changes to ‘Every Breath You Take’, the song before the entrance song, and you spring to action.

“Shit, Joel, we’ve got to go.”

He pulls out with an overdramatic groan, as if it hurts him to be separated now that he knows what it feels like to be joined. You can feel the drip start even before his hand comes to fix your panties, but there’s hardly enough time to worry about that.

“How’s my make-up?”

“Perfect, darlin’. Not a thing outta place.”

“Thank god for waterproof,” you chuckle as you straighten your dress.

His dark eyes meet yours as your hands smooth out his rumpled shirt–there’s still so much swirling behind them, so much promise of things to come.

“We’ve gotta go,” you repeat when he halts by the door.

“Just a sec,” he murmurs. And then he pulls you in for one final, saccharine sweet kiss. “Come to my room w’me tonight.”

“Okay,” you promise–you’re surprised you can keep your voice even when just the question makes your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” It’s genuine, earnest. It makes your heart skip another beat.

He takes your hand before unlocking and opening the door, and he doesn’t let it go until he absolutely has to.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my darlings <3 ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[fictionismyreality3]

Penpals with the 141

Warnings: stalkerish behaviour at the end teehee 🤭

Notes: if only I had a hot military man or men to send letters to 🤷🏻‍♀️😩

It started out as just another way to keep the boredom away. Sending care packages to military members was also a plus. You'd be staying busy and doing a good deed at the same time. You found some trustworthy-enough organization, signed up, and sent out your first letter along with a few goodies like choclates and warm socks.

The 141 had never really thought much about getting care packages from civilians. In their eyes it was just a good way to get the things they missed out on while on deployment. Most of the letters got tossed as soon as they opened the box.

That was until they got yours.

The stupid little smiley face drawn on the cardboard shouldn’t have stopped Simon in his tracks, but he found himself staring down at the doodle.

"L.T? Y'been standin' there fer a good 15 minutes." Soap remarked.

"S'that your favourite candy, right?"

Soap was swayed by the chocolate oranges, finding himself reading your letter as he scarfed down each wedge. The curly handwriting, the crossed out and rewritten words had him showing the letter to Gaz, and then Price. Soon you found yourself in an almost penpal situation. Over the exchange of more and more letters, you were able to dicern the personalities of each man who was writing to you.

There was Soap, who wrote in barely legible chicken scratch, often skipping words or even entire sentences, like he was thinking too fast for his hand to keep up. Always calling you 'bonnie' or 'lass'.

Gaz, who wrote much more formally. His hand writing was the best to read, neatly printed on the lines of the paper. You got the sense that he sat down and put his whole attention into writing back to you.

Ghost, who's name you were yet to learn, tacked on his responses at the end of the paper. It was rare to get more than a few sentances from him, and even rarer for them to be anything but small talk. Slowly, he began to open up, asking you how you were or if your boss had resolved that HR issue yet. How did he know that?

Price, who'd quickly insisted on you calling him John— makes me feel old, luv— was the one who you seemed the most interested in your life. You chalked it up to him wanting to have something to think about other than his life threatening job.

Questions about your living situation, your job, your hobbies, it all seemed like small talk. Easy enough to look over. And then came the questions about your bills. Does your job pay enough? When's the last time you've been on vacation? What does your ideal living situation look like? Are you in a relationship?

It wasn't just John who was asking. So we’re Gaz, Johnny, and even Ghost began to inquire about more personal details. Every time you got a letter, it was almost a pavlovian response for your cheeks to blush. You looked forwards to the letters from your far away military men, and they even sent you gifts!

A watch, just like the one on your pinterest, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. They added on such a sweet note too.

"Synced up to our watches." Ghost.

"Thought you needed a little treat." Gaz

"Here you go, bonnie! Now you can know when we're awake!" Soap.

"Let me know if you need it tightened, sweetheart." John.

They didn't feel the need to tell you about the favour they called in with Laswell to get the micro-tracker added, or about the camera and microphone they planted in the watch face. You looked so pretty with it on anyways, they'd need to make sure nobody stared too long.

[trippinsorrows]

in your hands + two

authors note: well, friends. we've done it again. this is going to be a short series. if you're unaware, it's yet another au based off "looking through your eyes."

need to catch up? read part one HERE.

warnings: fluff, angst and smut

words: 8k (don't ask)

“Remind me again what you know about this guy?”

It’s a valid question. One Solana has no answer to despite the understanding of and behind it.

She shakes her head, once again throwing aside another failed option for a dress, earning another look of disagreement from her best friend and older sister, Yolanda. 

Six years apart, while they weren’t the closest when they were younger, with Solana now being a mother and no longer just an aunt to her niece and nephew, she's found herself growing closer to her older sister.

Something about motherhood being a thing for both of them creating a bond. 

Not to mention, while they haven’t always seen eye to eye on things, in her hardest moments, Solana has been able to lean on her big sister. Hence why she’s packed up her daughter and a couple of different options for her date tonight with Roman and ventured over to her sister’s place.

It would have probably been easier for her to just invite Yolanda over to her apartment, but given that Trick, Solana’s brother-in-law, offered to swing by her place and pick her, along with Soraya staying with them for the evening, it just worked out better that way.

Plus, Yolanda has always been much better with makeup, fashion and things of the sort.

“His name is Roman, and he’s nice.”

Yolanda rolls her eyes. “Yeah, because that’s so much.”

“He’s older.”

Yolanda’s gaze becomes a bit more suspicious. “How old?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. 30s.” The gray in Roman’s beard would indicate he may even be in his forties, but looks wise, he just doesn’t appear that old. He must work a stressful job. Has to be given how wealthy he appears. Rich people seem to always be stressed about one thing or another. Even if it’s a trivial matter that’s very much first world problems. 

Yolanda nods, clearly pleased by the answer, finding the age gap agreeable. “And how did you meet him?”

Solana shrugs. “I told you. At work.”

“At that uppity ass restaurant?”

Solana rolls her eyes, grabbing another dress off the bed. “The one that helps me pay my bills.” Barely. “Yes.”

Yolanda is dedicated to staying on this topic. “So, he just walked up to you and asked you on a date while you had Raya on your hip?”

Solana fiddles with the dress in her hand. “Not exactly…..”

She had to be pacing across her room for a good half hour, cell phone in one hand, folded piece of paper in the other. The little piece of paper that she found wrapped up with the stack of money given to her by Roman exactly three days prior.

A piece of paper with a seven digit number written on it. Dashes and all. A phone number.

His phone number.

She’s thought about it on and off for the past three days, too. Considered throwing it away, considered calling it, texting it even. So many options, and none seemed like the right one.

Why would a man like him give someone like her his number? While on a date, nonetheless? Granted, given from what she saw of their interactions on said date, Solana wouldn’t be surprised if it was the first and last.

And it’s not like there was a wedding ring on either of their fingers. 

So……

It’s why she acts based on that fleeting moment of courage, deciding to bite the bullet and dial the number while Raya sleeps peacefully in her crib. 

It takes another five minutes between the time she dials the number and when she hits send. Her heart is practically beating out of her chest at each daunting ringing on the other end. 

“Hello.” And right away, Solana is regretting her decision. He sounds irritated. 

“Hi.” She clears her throat. “Umm, I—”

“Solana?” And just like that, his tone has shifted into something entirely different. Kinder, almost.

“Yeah, ummm, is this a bad time?”

A deep chuckle on the other end of the phone. “No. Not at all.” It certainly doesn’t sound that way, but she’s not about to call him out on the incongruence. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

“Not if?”

“I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

She swallows. He’s so confident. “I—I just didn’t—I wasn’t sure if it was—it was an accident.” And as soon as it comes out, she’s slapping her face as she continues to wear a hole into the floor. What a stupid thing to say. 

Another deep chuckle. His voice is so damn sexy. “You think I accidentally gave you my number?”

“I just…..” A glance at the photo on her nightstand, one of the first photos taken of her and Soraya when she was born, triggers the elephant in the room. “I have a baby.”

“I’m aware.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?” He doesn’t give her time to answer. “Look, I’m not a phone person. I prefer to discuss things face to face.” Solana’s stomach twists.“What are you doing Friday night?”

And the twisting intensifies, because there’s no way he’s asking her out?

He can’t be…..right?

She clears her throat, offering an answer that’s not entirely true but not entirely false either. “I—I have to work.” She technically hasn’t picked up the shift yet, but it’s bound to happen. Among other things. Catch up on schoolwork. Be a mom. Stress over bills. Nightly scheduled mental breakdown. The usual. 

“Not anymore,” he says it so easily, like it’s a simple thing that shouldn’t even need to be discussed. “I’ll give you whatever you make in a night.”

Solana laughs, waiting for him to also join in. He doesn't. “Shit, are you—are you serious?”

“Send me your address. I’ll have a car come pick you up.”

And that was all she wrote, hence how Solana ended up in the position she’s in now, readying for her date with a Mr. Roman Reigns.

A knock on the door interrupts her, Heaven, Solana's ten year-old niece walking in, her eyes lighting up when she sees the dress. "It's so pretty!"

Solana smiles, "thank you, baby."

Heaven's eyes crinkle with a sense of playful mischief as she walks over by her mom, sitting on her lap and asks, "are you going on a date?"

Solana and Yolanda share a laugh, the elder sister answering, "she sure is, Heav."

Solana readies to ask her niece a question when Heaven beats her to it. "Is he gonna be Raya's new dad?"

It's unexpected, as are a lot of questions for kids. But, it's still something that gives her pause, makes Solana sad for a second. Cruz doesn't need to be anyone's father. Raya isn't missing out on anything with him, but the innocent question does stir up some deeply rooted fears.

If Raya will suffer from growing up without a father at all?

Granted, it's hard for Solana to justify the alternative. Her father was in her life, and look how that turned out.

Yolanda is wise and helpful, redirecting her daughter, "baby, did you need something??"

Heaven is young enough to not see the innocent subterfuge, instead asking her initial question. “What time is grandpa coming over?”

Solana’s head snaps up as she looks at her sister through the mirror. Yolanda’s pretty face is painted in guilt as she clears her throat, quietly asking Heaven to complete some made up task, resulting in them being alone.

“Sola…..”

“Is he coming over tonight?”

“Sola—”

“Answer the question, Yolanda.”

Yolanda swallows, defeat overcoming her. “Yes.”

Solana scoffs, partially in disbelief, mostly pissed the fuck off. Shaking her head, she throws the dress down on the bed and grabs her bag, angrily stuffing them in said bag. “Forget it. I’ll see if Kayden can keep Raya.”

Yolanda’s shoulder drops as she shakes her head. “Solana, you’re being ridiculous. He’s our da—”

“Do not call him that,” Solana snaps. “He’s your dad. He’s nothing to me.” She continues to pack away the clothes, the sting of betrayal fueling her actions. “I can’t believe you would try this shit. You know I don’t want him meeting Soraya.”

She sighs, trying to explain herself. “I wouldn’t have let him—”

“Bullshit,” Solana cuts her off, swinging the bag over her shoulder. “When are you going to learn to respect my wishes? I don’t want anything to do with him! The same way he didn’t want anything to do with me!”

“You’re so dramatic. Acting like he was never there.”

“And you’re acting like he was father of the freaking year,” Solana snaps before scoffing bitterly. “Oh wait, he was. For you. It was just when I rolled around he decided he was done with fatherhood.”

Yolanda’s pretty eyes flash with a slice of guilt, but not enough to cause her to confess her wrongdoing. “Solana, he wants to make things right with yo—”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I don’t want anything to do with him,” Solana vows, gathering her bag of clothing that holds her wallet, her phone stuffed in the back pocket of her jeans as she walks out of the room, down the hall, and in TJ’s bedroom where the crib is.

“Hi, baby…..” Solana apologizes as she lifts a sleeping Soraya out of the crib, grateful when her sweet daughter remains asleep. Solana kisses the side of her head and bypasses her sister who stands in the hall, following her out and into the living room. 

Solana finds her brother-in-law sitting on the sofa, watching ESPN. 

“Trick, can you drop me off at Kayden’s place?”

Yolanda is behind her, frustration in her voice. “Solana, you’re being childish.”

Solana ignores her, focusing on her request. “Please?”

She sees the way Trick’s confused expression lifts from her to behind her, Yolanda most likely nodding to give him the sign off. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he shuts off the television and stands up. “Of course, sis.”

Solana mumbles a thank you and ops to stand outside and wait on the porch. She’s too livid with Yolanda to be around her right now. 

She just hopes and prays that this isn’t a bad sign for the evening to come.

—-------

Le Bernardin

A fancy, rich, upscale restaurant. The type where people pay thousands of dollars just for a reservation. Solana had actually applied for a job there, overhearing the pay was a fraction above minimum wage. Only for them to take one look at her and send her on her merry way, less than ten minutes into the interview.

So, it’s a bit of a full circle moment when the SUV pulls up in front of said restaurant, and she realizes the same place that turned her away as a waitress is exactly where she’ll be dining this evening. 

God really does have a sense of humor.

Solana is taken back yet again as she is escorted into the restaurant only to see it completely vacant. There’s a couple of workers, and….and him. 

Roman Reigns.

Somehow, someway, he looks different. Better than before. Bigger. If that’s even possible. 

The closer she gets to him, the more she takes in his appearance. Dress pants, nice shoes, short sleeved, dark blue shirt that hugs his bulging muscles. That beautiful hair pulled back into a bun. Expensive watch on his wrist. And eyes glued directly onto her.

Solana suddenly feels severely underdressed, regretting letting Kayden talk her into wearing the short orange dress and gold heels she eventually settled on after a good half an hour of going back and forth on options.

But, it’s when she’s directly in front of him, his lips curling into a smug smile that the second guessing wanes ever so slightly.

He looks far from disinterested. 

“You look even more beautiful when you’re all done up.” 

It’s hard not to smile at such a compliment coming from such a man.

“Thank you…..” She looks around, nervously gripping her clutch. “Are we the only—”

“I rented it out for us for the night.” Her eyes widening make him chuckle as he moves to pull out her chair for her. “You could say I’m a bit of a private person.”

Solana swallows, still confused but moving to sit down. “How…..how did you?”

“Money talks,” is his simple answer as he sits across from her, motioning for the men who escorted her in the restaurant to leave. “I’m glad you came.”

In a weird sort of way, she is too. Even if she’s not entirely sure why. “I—I wasn’t sure at first.” 

He looks curious. “Why?”

Shrugging, she pushes a string of hair that’s escaped her updo behind her ear. “That woman you were with…..”

Roman rolls his eyes. “She’s irrelevant.”

“Not irrelevant enough for you to not take on a date.” It comes out before she even realizes it. Solana slaps her hand over her face. “I’m so sor—”

“I’ve known her since I was a teenager. We…..mess around from time to time.”

Solana grows quiet. She gets it. He’s handsome. That woman was stunning. It makes sense that attractive people like to fuck other attractive people.

“But, she’s not….she’s not your girlfriend?” Because as handsome and nice as Roman seems, that’s one thing she could never do or get behind. Being the other woman.

“Not at all.” His answer is a lot more relieving than she’d like to admit. “So, can I ask about your daughter’s father?” He skips to the real question. “He still in the picture?”

Solana shakes her head, waiting for the waiter who just walked up to finish pouring the champagne before she answers. “No.” Solana takes a sip, eyes closing, missing the relief that flashes in his eyes. “He—he abandoned her and me.” 

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t necessarily sound it, but regardless, it doesn’t make a difference.

“I’m not,” she shrugs, being more honest than what’s characteristic for her. “He’s a piece of shit who left me when he found out I was pregnant, showed back up a month after she was born because he assumed I put her up for adoption and left again when he realized I was keeping her.” Solana ends on the bitter but honest note. “I’m glad he’s not in her life. He’d only end up hurting her.”

Flashbacks of her own daddy issues flood in, forcing her to confront the fact that she’s probably just overshared. A lot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re not wrong. Kids need stability.” He says it so easily, Solana wondering if there’s a story there. “How old is she?”

The question brings the smile back to her face. “11 months. She’ll be a year next month.” Solana can’t believe how time has gone by. It feels like only yesterday she was welcoming her sweet daughter into the world, and now she’s about to be one. Time truly does fly. “I’m sorry, I keep talking.”

“I think I could listen to you talk all night and never get tired.” Their eyes lock, Solana shifts in her seat. His gaze is intense and burning and has her cheeks reddening. “Tell me more.”

“About?”

“Anything.”

She looks away, briefly distracted, wondering just how much the chandelier above their table costs. Probably more than she’s even made in her working life. “I—I don’t know what to say. I’m—I’m 26. I—I have a child. An older sister. She’s married with two kids. I—I’m really close with my mom and my sister…..usually.” She chuckles, adding, “I work two jobs, and I go to school full time.”

He seems intrigued by that last part. “What are you studying?”

“I’m getting my masters in nursing, specifically for FNP. I wanna be a family nurse practitioner.”

“Will be,” he corrects, complementing, “that’s impressive.”

“Maybe.” If only she felt as sure as he sounds. Still, she's appreciative of the kind words and says as much. “Thank you. My—my mom is a nurse. My sister is an RN. Mami wanted to be an NP, but she got pregnant with me right when she started grad school and just couldn’t handle both, so she dropped out.” Solana swallows. “I want to do it for her. For me, too, of course. But her and Raya.” His slight confusion makes her smile as she clarifies, “Soraya’s nickname is Raya.”

Roman makes a sound, acknowledging, “your face lights up when you talk about her.”

The smile is unavoidable. “She’s my heart.” Emotion builds up as she finds herself sharing, “I had just moved back here from Cali when I found out I was pregnant with her, and it….it’s weird, but I—I needed her at that time. I needed her to help me heal.” Solana finds herself subconsciously rubbing at the horizontal scar on the palm of her right hand.

A battle scar.

Most of what she's shared with this man would probably rank pretty high up there on anyone’s list of shit not to say on a first date, probably cementing this being a one and done thing. And, it’s not intentional. At all. She just finds herself opening up to Roman in a way she hasn’t opened up to any man.

Ever.

And, it confuses the mess out of her.

If he's curious about the unspoken story, he doesn’t express as such, just offers her a path to deflection. “Well, I’m sure you have questions for me.”

She does. “What do you do?”

He smiles at her, and she feels her insides melting away. He’s such a beautiful man. “Business exec. I do buyout leveraging. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m also into real estate.” 

She nods, assessing the still vacant room, like she’s just waiting for other guests to arrive, even though he’s made it clear that won’t be happening. “I guess…..I guess you do well for yourself.”

He makes a face. “You could say that.” 

She’s most definitely saying that. 

“What about your family? Do you have any kids?”

“No kids. I have a twin sister. Parents are still alive, but that’s…..complicated.” 

Solana picks up on the almost tension that rises in him at the ending part, the way his eyes briefly dart away.

“I get that…..” Because she does. Oh, she does. “Are you close with your sister?”

Solana is relieved to see that pearly white smile return. “Depends on the day.”

She giggles. “I agree. My sister is my best friend, but she’s also a thorn in my side sometimes.”

“Is that who’s watching your daughter?”

“She was supposed to,” Solana chuckles, elbows on the table. “But, it ended up being a thorn day, so she’s with her godmother.”

He nods, asking, “what time do you need to be back?”

Solana starts to answer while pulling out her phone, “I put her down for bed a little early, so…..” Glancing at the time on the phone, seeing that it’s quarter to 7pm, she shrugs and shares, “I just need to be home by midnight.”

He makes a sound. “That’s a decent amount of time.”

Curious, she finds herself asking, “For what?”

“Whatever you want.” And it’s the way he’s looking at her, how his eyes briefly drop to her chest, the small smirk on his face that there’s definitely something he wants, too. “Or whoever.”

—-----

Straddling Roman Reign’s lap in the back of the SUV that’s currently driving them to his penthouse isn’t exactly how Solana pictured this evening playing out. Even if it was predicted by her annoyingly accurate best friend.

“Ten bucks says you get fucked tonight.”

It was laughable at the time. Solana has never been one to sleep around. Cruz was her first everything. First kiss. First boyfriend. First time. Hell, the father of her first child. She’s never been with another man except for him, never really saw it for or in her to try out different men.

It’s why Roman currently sucking on her neck as his big hand palms her ass through her dress has her thrown for a loop. This isn’t her. At all. And yet, there’s not a single part of her that wants to stop, wants to push him away, to tell him no.

She just finds herself smashing her lips back onto his, the two continuing to tongue each other down until they reach their destination.

His hand closed around her, Solana is trying to gather herself as he leads them into the building to the private elevator. The distraction of his lips on her pulling her from taking in the fact that this man seems to be surrounded by security. Men guarding the SUV as they walked in the building. Men in the lobby of said penthouse. Men in the restauraunt.

Just guards everyone.

Solana chalks it up to a rich people thing. 

Especially when she steps foot into his penthouse.

“Holy shit…..” The interior is dark and sleek. Some shades of red and blue strewn about. It all feels so expensive. “I can’t believe this is where you liv—”

“I’m not gon’ lie, I’m not listening to a damn thing you’re saying right now.” It’s a combination of brutal honesty and a strain of frustration, Solana turning around to see he’s inching towards her. “All I can think about is getting you naked and face down, ass up on my bed.”

She closes her eyes the minute he’s right before her, swinging his arm around her waist, yanking her to him. Solana has to crane her head up to look at him. He’s so damn tall.

The hungry look in his eyes is no doubt too different from the exact way she’s looking at him. He may want her, but she definitely wants him. 

Even if she doesn’t understand it. 

Even if a part of her feels slightly guilty for what’s about to commence. 

Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that she wants this. 

It’s what has her licking her lips and saying so calmly. “So what are you waiting for?”

His smile is wicked, and she only has seconds to think about what she just welcomed into her. Figuratively and literally before he smashes his lips onto her.

Solana has only been kissed by a few men in her life, the majority of them coming from her daughter’s father. And it’s always been…..okay. Decent. Nice, even.

Kissing Roman, however, is none of those things. That hunger in his eyes is matched only by the passion in the way he kisses her, the way his full, pink lips move against hers, his tongue entering her mouth, toying around with her own.

It’s all so powerful and ravenous, and she finds her hands locking behind his neck at the same moment he hikes her up on his waist.

A gasp leaves her mouth, forcing her to break said kiss as he walks her to the back of his place, toward his bedroom.

“How…..” Never a small woman by any stretch of the imagination, especially since having Soraya, it’s a complete surprise the way he lifts and holds her like she weighs no more than a gallon of milk. 

Roman, however, is clearly still not interested in talking, because the moment they arrive in his bedroom, he has her up against the back of his door. His mouth is back on her with those hungry kisses that has her nails raking up the back of his neck, her thighs tightening around his waist. 

His breathing is uneven, his voice strained, and that hardening pressing in between her legs tells her just how badly he wants this too. 

“If you want to stop, you need to say something now.”

It’s the do or die moment. The epic moment of meeting at the crossroads. A part of her is screaming at her to get the hell out of this man’s place and back home where she belongs. With Soraya. Her daughter. Being the best mother that she can be.

But, another part of her, a stronger part of her, wants this, wants him. Because she always does the right thing. Or, tried to, at least. She’s certainly never allowed herself to indulge like this, so where’s the harm?

It’s like Kayden said.

Even woman should have at least one one night stand story. And who better to do it with than the man before her?

Solana’s answer is to press a teasing kiss against the base of his neck. “I’m not saying anything.....”

It feels like she’s barely able to get the words out when he’s carrying her over to the bed, sitting down with her still on top of him. He pulls back and motions for her to climb off. Standing in front of him, Solana watches how his gaze travels over her body before he demands, “take your clothes off. Slowly.”

It’s a strange, almost unfamiliar thing how easy it is for her to follow his instruction without a second thought. One minute her fingers are hooking on the thin straps of her dress, the next she’s squeezing herself out of it, all the while of his eyes never once leaving her.

Heavy breast freed, the only piece of clothing remaining on her is the soaked, black, lacy thong that keeps her cunt covered. 

Roman licks his lips and beckons her over, Solana wordlessly stepping close enough for him to tug her to him, his face buried in her chest. Her head falls back at the same time her mouth drops open as he starts a dangerous combination of kneading one breast while tonguing the other.

“Oh, fuck…..” Her hand is once again on the back of his head. “Roman…..”

“You better get used to saying my name.” He hikes her back on his waist only to flip them, so she’s laid back on the bed with his big, strong body covering her. “Cause it’s the only thing I want to hear for the next few hours.”

Her eyes widen at that, the word escaping her, “hours?”

Roman smiles, and it’s the best and worst thing in the world. So much mischief hidden behind those pearly whites. Carnal, salacious plans. “I like to fuck.” His gaze drops down in between her legs. “And eat.”

There’s a bit of anxiety that spurs the minute he starts dragging those luscious lips from her breast down her chest, his teeth pressing against her skin when he bites down on the band of her underwear. Solana’s hands grasp at the sheets as he uses his mouth to rid her of her final piece of clothing. 

Eyes darting open, she nearly loses it seeing him bring her panties to his face, his own eyes shutting as he deeply inhales and smirks. “I’m keeping these.”

She doesn’t have time to process how he tosses them to the side redirecting his focus to the dripping mess that is her cunt.

He makes a sound, going to pull his shirt over his head, moving to his knees at the edge of the bed. “Look at this pretty ass pussy. Already nice and wet for me.” His words do something to lessen her anxiety but not as much as she’d like. Getting head has always been a mid experience for her. Cruz was…..okay, nothing to be overjoyed about, and he always acted like it was an inconvenience whenever she asked him to return the favor. Not to mention the fact that he rarely, if ever, made her come from it.

Penetration was also hit or miss.

So, her expectations are pretty low up until that first lick of Roman’s thick tongue that has her nearly jumping off the bed. 

“Shit!” Her reaction is a bit embarrassing, most likely more than what’s necessary, but if he’s annoyed by it, he does a damn good job hiding it. 

He looks more turned on than anything. Roman’s long, thick fingers are suddenly playing with the mess she’s certain has already dripped on the soft sheets of his bed. “Lay back, and keep these legs open for me. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

More embarrassment with how quickly and fervently she nods her head, again falling back onto his big bed. Solana moans quietly when she feels his face completely submerged in her drenched cunt. 

“Roman…..”

He makes a sound followed by his fingers spreading her folds, revealing her swollen clit to him. “Sweet ass pusssy….” 

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue how she’s supposed to last these hours he’s referred to at least twice now based upon the fact that his mouth alone has her about to climax and tap out. It’s so unfamiliar and borderline inhuman how he works his tongue on and against her, exploring, licking and sucking every part of her that Cruz has somehow seemed to neglect her. 

She has her hand on the back of his head, fisting and undoing his bun, curls cascading around her fist as she presses his face deeper into her. 

It’s when he lifts his head, however, beard, chin and mouth soaked with her essence that she truly has to hold it together. “I changed my mind. I want you to watch me.” She’s not sure how and if she can do anything but, Roman’s dark eyes dropping back to her vagina. “Want you to see how good I eat this pussy…..” 

Good isn’t the word for it, because the methodical way he alternates between flicking, swirling, sucking, all the while playing with her, one finger, two fingers, moving in and out of her, needs to be studied by all men.

This is how you make a woman come, and she does. All over his face. Solana practically convulses as he laps up every bit of her essence, not once letting up, even as her orgasm rips through her. He’s still sucking on her clit, forcing her to push him away due to the overwhelming sensation of it all.

She’s partially discombobulated as his mouth finds her, letting her sample the remnants of her cum mixed in with their saliva as he taunts, “see how good you taste?” Solana is incapable of answering, among many other things. “Gonna eat you out all fucking night…..”

It’s a promise that has her clit throbbing. 

Not as much as it does watching Roman stand up at the edge of the bed and start to undo his pants. She’s unable to look away as he also rids himself of the remaining articles of clothing, her eyes basking in every rippling band of muscle that seems to make up his entire body. 

This man is beautiful and strong and ungodly perfect. It feels too good to be true.

But, it’s when he slides his boxers down, his member springing out with hunger and need that her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. 

“Oh….”

To be fair, Solana has only had sex with one man, so comparing dicks is a hard thing for her.

No pun intended.

It’s a hard thing, because it’s quite unfair and borderline cruel to even have Roman and Cruz in the same category.

Cruz barely scratches 5’7. 

Roman is well over 6ft tall.

Cruz is lean and lithe with some muscle and fat that he’s acquired over the years.

Roman’s muscles have muscles. 

Cruz dick is….average, probably a little under average.

Roman’s dick is massive.

The mushroom tip alone, pre-cum oozing through the slit, is enough to have her rethinking this whole thing. She’s not sure even that can get in.

“I don’t…..” And Solana is suddenly forced to endure the most awkward conversation of her life. “How is it supposed to fit?”

A probably silly question if not for the fact she’s genuinely concerned for the state of her vagina right now.

“It’ll fit.” Roman, however, seems unbothered, stroking himself for a minute before he instructs her. “Get on your hands and knees. Hold onto the headboard if you want.” Despite her newfound anxiety, she follows suit, Solana moaning as he glides his tip along her slippery folds. It’s baffling to her how wet she’s been and stayed for him, even with him already making her come once. This man’s presence alone is orgasm inducing. “You just gotta let me stretch this little cunt for you.”

Stretching is one thing. Ripping is an entirely different thing.

“Trust me.” He seems so sure of himself, and she’s not sure why she seems so sure of him too, nodding as she goes back to focusing on holding onto the headboard. A much needed source of support, clearly. 

Eyes closed, she hears the ripping of the condom package. Can imagine him sliding that thing over the massive, heated, turgid muscle weighing in his big hand.

She feels one hand gently gliding down her back, settling on her ass cheek where he gives her a little slap. “Just try to relax.”

Much easier said than done.

Still, she says nothing, eyes closing and head nodding. 

Now or never.

But, the minute his thick dickhead intrudes her tight opening, they’re both moaning in synchronization. It’s a burning, tight sensation on her part, maybe his as well, but there’s also something pleasurable about it? Something satisfying about the way he carefully works inch by inch of his girthy member inside of her, all the while praising her, goading her, talking her through.

“That’s it. Take this dick like the good girl you are.”

“Come on, baby. Open up for me.”

“Look at how this pussy yielding for me.”

It’s still a tight ass fit, and Solana is partially nervous about what the aftermath will look and feel like. Ice packs, crutches, and Tylenol seem to be in her near future. But, none of that matters once he’s fully seated in her, Solana trying to get used to the feel. So full and filing. 

That time of adjustment seems short lived, almost non-existent, because Solana’s body seems to have a mind of its own when she starts moving her ass back on him, prompting him to grab her hips as he starts to thrust into her.

“Shit, girl, knew this pussy would feel amazing, but I didn’t know it would feel this damn good.” His words are accurate and relatable, the discomfort gradually easing into something of pleasure. “Look how good you taking this dick.”

Eyes shut, Solana rocks her big ass back against him, whimpering when he brings hand down and slaps it. “Roman…..”

“That’s right. My name. It’s the only thing I wanna hear leave that pretty mouth of yours.” He intensifies the force of his thrusts, clearly encouraged by how she eagerly throws her ass back on his big dick. 

“Fuck, it’s so big…..” The biggest she’s ever had. The best she’s ever had. “But, it feels so good….”

“You like that shit, don’t you, baby?” He’s such a tease, taunting her, throwing in her face how good he’s beating her shit up. Solana hasn’t had sex in almost two years, not since before she found out she was pregnant, and this being her return to such a, now, wonderful thing is one hell of an experience. “Like how I’m stretching this pussy?"

“Fuck, I love it.” Because she does. Her knuckles are practically white from how hard she’s gripping the headboard, because it’s the only thing keeping her from screaming to the heavens. This man is a demond. “So good….”

Roman continues to fuck her from behind, backshots at different angles. Her head forced into the pillow. Hands on the headboard. Hands held behind her back. And each time causes her to reach a new level of heaven. 

But, it’s when Roman switches gears, repositioning them so she’s on top, Solana feels emboldened. Being on top with Cruz was always an uncomfortable thing, mostly because he would make comments about her being “too heavy” to ride him.

With Roman, all the man he is, it’s not a concern in the slightest. 

She bounces on top of his god-tier dick without a fucking care in the world. 

And he seems to feel the same. 

“That’s it……” She can feel his eyes burning into her as she rocks down on him, her big breast bouncing back and forth. “Ride my dick just like that, baby. Take what you need.”

And taking is exactly what she’s doing, because if this is a once in a lifetime chance to be fucked, thoroughly fucked by a man like Roman Reigns, she’s going to ride it until the wheels fall off. 

Some pun intended.

Roman growls, big hands pressing into her meaty hips. “He can’t never fuck you like this, fill you up like I can.” His lips are hot and pressured against the neck. “He can’t do shit for you that I can.”

She knows exactly who he’s referring to, and not a single lie is being told. “Little ass pussy squeezing the hell out of my big dick.” She moans, pulling his hair as he sucks on her tits, stopping only to again tease her, “you like that shit don’t you?”

She doesn’t stop, just professes all of the wonderful things he and his equally wonderful member are doing for her. “I love it. Fuck, I love it.”

“That’s all you needed. Someone to fuck you nice and right.” Again, it seems this man is incapable of lying, Solana hissing as he squeezes her ass cheeks while his tongue plays with her areola. “Take that stress all out on me, baby. Let me relax you.”

There’s something inherently stressful and relaxing with the way she can’t seem to find the space between reality and fantasy, with how he’s giving her a form of escape she never thought possible. Guiding and talking her to that beautiful point of release. A place she’s never been able to reach before.

Not like this. 

Never like this.

And Roman is perceptive, he can see it. Big hands moving up her back, holding her against him, guiding her on top of him. “Come for me, baby.” It’s less a command and more a plea, his voice almost desperate. “Wanna feel you come undone all over me.”

“Mio Dios!”

Solana is squeezing him, her nails pressing into his skin, her head in the crook of his neck as she comes, hard, heavy, overwhelmingly beautiful and chaotic. And his release comes shortly after, Solana enjoying the sensation of his strong, hulking body against hers, the way his face shifts into something so sensual and perfect as he jerks up into her, emptying into the condom.

She’s not sure how long they stay like that, just long enough for her to start feeling him go soft inside her. That’s when he eventually and carefully lifts her off and lays her down on the mattress, Solana panting and staring at the ceiling. She feels the dip in the bed as he gets up, obviously to dispose of the condom.

It’s only then she realizes that the absence of him inside of her is….noticeable.

A tiny bit of her eager to have it again. To have just one more taste of that deliciousness. 

Even if she probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow. 

Or ever.

Roman returns to the room, completely unbothered by his nakedness. She readies for him to climb back in the bed with her, maybe even ask her to leave. 

But, he doesn’t. 

No, he instead moves back to his previous spot at the edge of the bed. Grabbing her by her calves, he starts sliding her down. 

“I told you.” Her pussy flutters as he spreads her thighs, face to face with her swollen, puffy pussy. “I’m gonna make the most of the time we have.” And Solana is already moaning, already anticipating another round of insurmountable pleasure. “Starting with you coming in my mouth at least three more times…..”

—-------

It’s a strange, unexpected experience for a lot of different reasons. One, Roman has never really been one to let women ‘stay’ the night. He gets his nut, she gets her, and he sends her on her merry way.

And while Solana isn’t staying the night, she remains in his bed. And not just for sex. He gets her to come again in his mouth twice more before she pushes him away, citing that she needs a break. 

He gives her that, but what happens next is….unexpected, to say the least. 

Pillow talk. 

It’s fucking pillow talk that’s started by her simply running her fingers along his tattoos, asking what they mean and represent. That’s followed up with him asking her about her tattoos, which leads into literally hours of them just laying in bed….talking.

No sex. 

Just…..conversation, and normally, Roman would shy away from such a thing like the plague. It’s just never been his thing. 

But…..with her…..it’s different.

He enjoys hearing her talk, the things she shares with him, the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, how her eyes light up when she discusses her daughter with so much adoration and love. He enjoys her presence, the fact that she treats him like…..like he’s normal.

Like he’s not who he actually is, a large part of that being because she doesn’t know who he is, and that probably needs to change. Will change. Just not right now.

He just wants to enjoy having someone to talk to, and it’s easy with Solana. He doesn’t have to second guess motives or intentions or wonder about what kind of hint she’ll drop about wanting something materialistically from him like Sam.

It’s just easy.

So much so that he ends up having a bit of a hard time with letting her out of bed as 11:20pm rolls around, with her once again reminding him that she needs to be home by midnight. He understands it though, respects her dedication to putting her daughter first.

It’s still a bit of a drag for him, a sense of almost disappointment that she can’t spend the night.

Again, wholly out of his norm. 

When they pull up in front of the apartment complex, he finds himself asking, “this is your friend’s place, right?”

The driver has just opened the door for her, but she looks back over her shoulder before climbing out. “Yes, why?”

Roman waits until they’re both standing outside, as he pulls her close to him, enjoying the sight of her wearing his jacket around her body. “Do you need me to take ya’ll home?”

With a soft smile that has him thinking once again about how soft her lips feel pressed against his, she answers, “no, we’ll just stay the night here. It’s late. I don’t want to disturb Raya.”

It’s also way too late for her to be on the road, let alone on public transportation with a baby, hence why he offered.

Pleased with at least that, Roman shares without much thought, “I want to see you again.” And again. And again. And again. Her presence is…..calming in a way he’s not used to.

But, he could certainly get used to. 

Mischief sparkles in her pretty eyes. “See me again or see me again?”

“Both.” It’s an honest answer, and Solana knows that. Can see that while he probably desires her sexually as much as she does him, it’s also something different. Something deeper.

It has to be for her to lay in bed with him for hours just talking.

But, she also knows something else, something that she can’t and won’t negate. “Roman, I—I have a child. I can’t—I can’t just sleep around with you like that. I can’t do friends with benefits.”

“I’m not asking you to.” And the honesty continues as he pushes back some of her hair. “I’m just asking you to give this a chance.”

The word this has her stomach tightening as well as the way he’s looking at her. With such authenticity. The same way she’s probably looking at him.

Solana’s volume dips as she shares with just as much honesty. “Soraya is my number one priority.”

He nods. “I respect that.” 

“She comes first.”

“She should.”

Solana grows quiet. It’s hard to find a reason to disagree with someone who’s being so amenable, and really, what would be her basis for disagreeing? She’s grown. He’s grown. He’s acknowledging that he recognizes her daughter will always come first. What more does she really need?

What reason does she have to not give this a chance?

“If we do this….” She takes a deep breath, fingers grasping at the soft material of his shirt. “You can’t be with anyone else. You can’t be sleeping with random woman while you’re fucking me.”

Because she went through that once. Ignored the signs because she wanted to be happy.

Never again.

Especially not when it comes to her health. 

There’s a bit of hesitation on Roman’s end that she partially understands. She highly doubts this was his first one night stand. “That’s fair,” he finally agrees.

Solana can’t hide her surprise at him not throwing the same stipulation back at her. “You don’t want me agreeing to the same thing?”

Roman chuckles and pulls her into him,“ nobody else could fuck you like I can. You know where it’s at. This the only dick you're gonna ever want now.”

Her cheeks are flushed. “You’re arrogant.” 

But not wrong.

And he voices as such. “It’s not arrogance if I can back it up.” She can’t find it in her to disagree or to call him out, because again, there is no disagreement. “I wanna see you this Friday.”

She can’t deny the small spark of excitement at his offer before the weight of reality sets back in. “I was gonna pick up a shift, Roman…..”

He shakes his head, offering, “I’ll give you whatever you’d make on average.” Solana’s eyes widen a bit. It’s one thing that he already snuck a stack of money in her purse when she was redressing to leave. It’s another for him to continue to offer to financially supplement what she would miss out on by being with him.

“Roman, you can’t…..” That’s trailed off by another realization, even if there is still a small smile on her pretty face. “I don’t think I can get a sitter again.”

Another shrug as he says so plainly. “Bring her.” The horrified expression on her face makes him chuckle as he explains, “we won’t fuck. We can go out to eat again and then back to my place. Now, if she happens to fall asleep and we have some time…..”

Solana’s smile remains as he drops his hand to her ass, palming it, reminding her that this man really did keep her underwear. “You’d be okay with that?”

He explains so calmly. “You have a daughter. I’m not going to pretend she doesn’t exist. If we’re going to see where this goes, she has to be included, too.”

It takes her by surprise. The way he’s so easily going along with this. For some reason, Solana always imagined re-entering the dating world would be stressful given her dedication to always putting her child first. Most men these days don’t get that or aren't trying to “deal” with that. And then there’s Roman.

So…..easy.

It’s nice. Very nice. 

“How about this?” She moves her hands up his chest, feeling how he tugs her even closer. “We can go grocery shopping, and I’ll cook dinner for us.”

Roman smirks, looking down at her. “I got you cooking for me already?”

She giggles, reminding him. “I like to cook. It has nothing to do with me wanting to do anything for you.”

“Hmm. That’s fine. There’s a lot of different things I wouldn’t mind doing for you.” She sighs against him as he squeezes her ass again. “Especially to you.”

Solana can’t say she would be opposed to that.

Either of them.

Finally breaking away, she acknowledges, “I need to get inside.”

“Mmmm.”

Her smile is stapled at this point. “Goodnight, Roman.”

His eyes flicker with something. "Goodnight, Solana." She's walking up the steps when she remembers his jacket. Shuffling back over, she attempts to take it off, only for him to reach out and stop her. "Keep it. It's yours." Finger to her chin, Roman rubs his thumb along her still swollen bottom lip. "Just like you're mine now....."

[hellaarknight]

I promised to protect you

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Genre: Angst

Warnings: swearing and mention of physical and psychological abuse, toxic relationship, mentions of bruises and about laying hands on a partner, some of the content may be triggering.

Author note: I would consider this a heavy fic for some. Do not engage if you think it might be triggering.

Images and art from Pinterest if someone knows the original creators let me know so I can tag them properly

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜���⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

" Well he's not always this bad, he's ok..."

Your weak attempt to defend your shity boyfriend only made Chuuya angrier. Why would you let yourself be in the company of that awful guy, he could never understand. You were bright and nice, powerful and determined and yet you got yourself a... A leech. No, it was worse but he was being generous while describing that abomination of a man... That guy had deemed your light in the past 6 months he's dated you and Chuuya hates himself for allowing you to get with him in the first place.

"Are you even listening to yourself right now?" Chuuya extended towards you a glass of wine.

"Listen Chuuya, I know he's not the man I've dreamed of and doesn't have all the qualities I've wanted my partner to have, but I also have to compromise on some things."

"Not on your dignity."

Your gaze fell on the floor a deep sight leaving your lips. Chuuya ran a hand through his hair, very frustrated. He didn't want to say it like that, but he had enough of seeing you suffer, seeing you renounce your hobbies because that guy deemed them "childish" or seeing you lose your spark when talking about what brought you joy just because your boyfriend found them boring. He knew you were smart, always talked about how you will never lose yourself in a relationship so he didn't really understand why and how you got to this point. Chuuya fell in love with you, but couldn't tell you because of his mafia position and him being away for missions a lot, or work trips how he called them in front of you. Then, when he decided he had to come forward and let you decide if you wanted to give him a chance with all that it would have entailed, he was a month too late. He returned from one long, painful mission and found you in a relationship, one that he despised wholeheartedly, so he chose to remain your trusted friend.

"Listen, I didn't want to say it like that...."

"No, that's not true, you did want to say it exactly like that". Your voice was on the verge of cracking. Something bottled up was about to spill if you weren't careful enough and Chuuya noticed it. The man groaned and took a sip of his wine. Maybe it was time to be honest about it.

" Fine. It's exactly like that. Since you started dating that douchebag you lost yourself. All the things you promised not to compromise on in a relationship happened. You lost your bright personality, you stopped rambling about books, anime and flowers. Hell, you even stopped gardening and that was your therapy. You asked me to stop bringing you flower bulbs from all over the places I go on my work trips and you stopped hanging out with me or your other friends. You stopped wearing your signature perfume and your red lipstick you were so fond of. So I'm sorry, but you're not in a fucking healty relationship! And you're defending that stupid fuck who doesn't do anything with his life and stays at your place, without paying any fucking bill! You left yourself to be a mat for that guy, what is wrong with you!?"

You looked at Chuuya stunned. It seemed that the red head had a lot bottled up as well. For some reason his words stung and made you feel worse. He was right and you fully knew it, but you just couldn't let him know... You could not put him in danger.

Chuuya was deeply unaware of your internal struggles. He only knew what he was seeing and what you were letting him know lately, which wasn't a lot that's for sure. He felt relieved to have finally spoken his mind. At the same time, guilt was eating him alive. This was the first time he raised his voice at you in a serious manner, but he couldn't control it, his anger towards the entire situation had the best on him. You looked frightened to say at least and he could swear that he saw you flinch when he was using his hands to express his thoughts.

Something about your crunched posture, your fidgeting fingers, the way you looked very exhausted made him open his mouth.

"Does he hit you?"

Why didn't it cross his mind sooner? What if you were in an abusive relationship? Your boyfriend's controlling behavior was concerning enough, but if it was worse than he imagined and all this time he blamed you for not keeping your ground? A pit formed in his stomach, he was going to be sick.

"What?? What, no... Is not really like that." You avoided Chuuya's scrutinizing gaze and forced a smile.

He gently reached for your chin and turned your head to face him. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, his gentleness making your heart flutter. Was his calloused hand always this comforting?

"Please, please if anything don't lie to me, especially with things like this. I promised you that I will protect you no matter what, remember?"

"I can't" you shake your head "If I'm telling you everything you're going to act impulsively. He's going to hurt you, he said you'd be the first one to suffer, I'm sorry, I can't..." At this point your cheeks were stained by your tears, your hand cupping his near your face.

Chuuya's heart broke at the sight. It was pitiful, he blamed himself for it. If only he wasn't a coward when it came to feelings. He swore to himself that he'd keep you safe from the mafia world, but that did not mean that in other circumstances he wouldn't be there for you. With his thumb he wiped your tears away.

" I am not going to get hurt, I promise you. There isn't any chance for him to lay hand on me. Don't hide yourself from me anymore, please. You're hurting and it's killing me to see you like this."

Chuuya felt as close to you as ever. Even if you kept your distance from him in the last few months, even if you tried your best to hide the hell you were going to. So you just broke down crying.

Chuuya was quick to pull you towards his chest, wrapping his hand protectively around you. He caressed your back and gave you space to let it all out. He was hurting with you, he hated to see you cry, let alone seeing how broken and hurt you were. He felt like the wall that rose between the two of you had finally collapsed.

" Is ok, is ok, you're going to be okay. I'm here now, you're safe, no one is going to hurt you here, I'll make sure of it. You are safe sweetheart, you're safe." He kept whispering sweet nothings and encouragement words until you got to calm down a bit. He used his gravity manipulation powers to bring closer the tissues and then handed you one.

" You' sure you're ok?" Your nod made him feel at ease, at least for a moment. Then he just grabbed one of your hands and intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly, silently encouraging you to talk.

" I want you to pinky promise that you won't do anything stupid." Your glossy eyes made Chuuya chuckle.

" You know very well that I can't promise something like that, doll. I'm gn'a promise that I won't get hurt, that I can do."

Your glare only made him raise his shoulder, but that will have to do.

" He... He may or may not have raised his hands at me. I definitely do have some bruises over my body, but they appeared from what he calls accidents. I tripped, or I fell into the chairs from the kitchen but he pushed me..." Chuuya silently listened, his blood boiling in his veins. He was ready to hunt the bastard down and bring him into the Port Mafia's torture chambers.

" ... and I kept all this to myself because he's a member in the mafia and said that he would put you on their killing list if I said anything to anyone so I was scared..."

" WHAT!?" Chuuya couldn't believe what he was hearing, your boyfriend was a what and did what? It was like his worst nightmare came to life but in a very twisted way. That was not plausible, the members in the mafia know very well the consequences of using their status to commit shit like this. Unless it was about some weakling, a newbie who got the hands on a bit of power and now thought nothing would touch him. What the fuck happened?

" I know, I know, it was very dumb of me to stay in the relationship, but I was really scared for you and for my family..."

" No, no, that's not it. Tell me his name and what he told you about being in the Mafia. That motherfucker is about to lose his head."

"Chuuya, you promised that you're not going to do anything stupid!"

"No, doll. I promised that I won't get hurt. But that isn't why I'm saying it. The guy can't use his mafia status however he pleases. There are certain rules even in the Mafia."

You looked at him confused.

" How would you know?"

Chuuya inhaled deeply. It was time to come clean with everything.

" Because I'm an executive in the Mafia and I can guarantee that the motherfucker you're dating isn't going to go about his day and live to tell the tale. I'm sorry, I'm going to explain everything afterwards, I promise. He's at your apartment?"

You were so confused, not really registering what he was saying so you just nodded.

" You stay right here until I come back. Go take a shower, take a bath, go in my office and read a book or you can find some manga collections that I have previously prepared in case you happened to stay here. You can find pajamas for you in the guest room. I'll be back later."

" Where are you going?"

Chuuya smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead.

" I'm going to show that bastard what it actually means to be in the Mafia."

[skeletboi]

Intridimensional AU part 20! (So many parts 🤔)

First /// Previous /// Next

Also part 19.5 (silly extra sketch) here!

______________________________________

Ford took off his sweater vest and laid it carefully over Stan's sleeping form before returning to Fiddleford's side. They had spent the last hour speaking with the other creatures hiding out in the cave and had come up with somewhat of a plan of action, but had decided to stay here for a few hours and rest. 

Stan had easily fallen asleep, turns out being used to napping wherever and whenever you could came in handy when you accidently fall through a portal. Ford and Fiddleford on the other hand, could not so easily shut their brains off. 

“Do you need help?” Ford asked as he watched Fiddleford attempt to organize the pile of gadgets the other refugees had given them with only one hand. 

“Definitely. But not with this.” Fiddleford replied. 

“Right.” Ford said, looking away. 

Fiddleford stayed silent as he continued to mess with the gadgets, and Ford accepted the silence for all of 30 seconds before speaking up again. 

“Fiddleford, I'm so sorry.” He said quietly. 

Fiddleford put down the gadget he was holding and looked up at the rocky wall across from him. 

“I know. Ya said that already, Stanford.” He said.

“I know I did. I just need you to know that. I never meant for any of this to happen. I had no idea what Bill was really like. I still haven't wrapped my head around it.” 

“Well maybe ya shoulda told me ‘bout him sooner.” Fiddleford sighed. “But then again, ya wouldn't a listened ta me then, either.”

“Or maybe you would have erased that memory.” Ford replied, immediately regretting it as Fiddleford finally turned towards him. 

Ford expected to see anger on his face, and wouldn't have blamed him if he did, but all that he saw was sadness. 

“That's prolly true.” Fiddleford said quietly. “I don't know how to deal with any a this, and honestly I'd like to erase it all right now and never turn back, but I have a son, Stanford. A son that will die with the rest of our dimension if we don’ do somethin’.” 

“Your son…” Ford replied quietly. “I was so caught up in all of this I forgot all about him.” 

“Yeah, well I didn't. I never did. Even when I left him behind to help you.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “I ain't innocent in all this, Ford.”

“Maybe not innocent, but I'm the one who believed Bill and caused this.” Ford noted

“And I coulda said no from the beginning, but I couldn't bring myself ta do it… I left my son behind second ya called me.”

“You planned on going back in barely a month, Fidds. You can't blame yourself for that.”

Fiddleford looked back at the wall across from him before replying. “I didn't come to Gravity Falls to be part a history or whatever yer always sayin’. I came to Gravity Falls because ya asked me to, Stanford.”

Ford frowned at him in question and Fiddleford glanced back over at him.

“Fer bein’ so smart, ya sure are dumb.” Fiddleford said, huffing out a laugh. “I came when ya called ‘cuz I love you, Ford. I've loved you since ya burst into our dorm room talkin’ bout math. I tried to move on and started a family ‘cus I thought I'd never hear from you again.”

Ford floundered for a second before answering. “Fidds, I'm so sorry. You must know how I lov-”

“No.” Fiddleford said, cutting him off. “Don't go sayin’ that ta me jus’ ta make me feel better. Even in college I knew yer work would always be more important to ya than me. Maybe if I had focused on my own work instead a you we wouldn't be here.” 

“You know how much I care about you, Fiddleford. Can't I love you and my research? You love me and you love your wife! Why can't a man love two things?” 

“That ain't the same. I love my wife, but not in the way I love you. The way I love you is destructive, Stanford.” 

“It doesn't have to be!” Ford practically yelled, then caught himself and lowered his voice. “Maybe destructive is what we need. I know we wouldn't be here if I had listened to you in the first place. Maybe you don't want to hear it right now, but I do love you, Fiddleford, and I'm finally ready to listen. I need you. You keep me grounded.”

Fiddleford looked at him in silence for a moment before responding. “Maybe destructive is what we need. Jus’ promise me ya ain't gonna keep more secrets from me, and I'll do the same.”

“I promise.” Ford said, then leaned in and kissed him.

“Fucking finally!” Stan said, making Ford and Fiddleford tore away from each other and look over at him. 

“I was about to knock your heads together if you didn't get over yourselves.” Stan continued, ignoring their obvious embarrassment. “Watching you two pine over each other was more painful than getting my leg cut off.”

“Stanley! I thought you were asleep!” Ford said.

“And miss all that drama? Fuck no. I'm a light sleeper. Nerd arguments wake me up.”

“I don’ know if I'd call that a ‘nerd argument’.” Fiddleford noted. 

“Well it was!” Stanley responded. “We get it. We all fucked up. We're two amputees and the stupidest genius in the galaxy hiding from god-like geometric shape in a rock floating in space! But believe me, as someone who is close personal friends with rock bottom, it could definitely be worse. At least we all fell into the portal! Imagine if it was just you two! I wouldn't have a damn clue how to bring you back. The only way to beat a three-sided triangle is by being a functioning trio. That's math!”

“That was surprisingly inspiring.” Ford responded. 

“I'm inspiring as fuck!” Stanley said defensively. “The point is I'm happy you two nerd-idiots finally got your shit together. Now I can focus on interdimensional babes instead of trying to steal Fiddleford from under you, Ford!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in response.

“Prolly for the best, it was startin’ to work on me.” Fiddleford said thoughtfully. 

“It what?!” Ford asked, nonplussed. 

“I told ya he was charmin’, didn't I? Yer lucky I've loved you so much longer, Stanford.” Fiddleford said with a laugh as Ford glared at Stan. “Speakin’ of you bein’ charmin’, take this.” Fiddleford continued, handing Stan a watch-like gadget. “It's a translator. I'm thinkin’ you'll be the best at talkin’ to different people until I can get the supplies, and an arm, ta make two more.”

“Well it ain't a Rolex, but it'll have to do.” Stan said, putting it on his wrist. “But you two should actually get some sleep. We don't know when we'll be able to next. Just no fucking where I can hear it.” 

“Goddammit, Stanley. Maybe you shouldn't be the one with the translator.” Ford said as Stan laughed. 

“I think that's ‘xactly why he needs it. Quick thinkin’ to come up with those terrible jokes.” Fiddleford laughed. “But he's also right, we should be gettin' some sleep. We got a long journey ahead.”

________________________

I try to make Fiddleford's accent more dramatic when he's stressed, but I'm not sure if that translates well? Whatever.

Next will be a comic, which may take me a bit of time to finish because I started my new job and it's like an hour and a half commute one way. So I spend 3 hours of my day driving, and 8.5 hours at work. Which means I am home not often. 🤷🏻

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[quaranmine]

BITING AND KILLING. i just received a $170 dentist bill for a visit except i have dental insurance and the dentist is in network and the plan explicitly states that preventative visits is no cost, up to 1 or 2 per year. so. what happened

[godsfavoritescientist]

*collapses on the floor and starts having visions (new fic ideas)*

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

[astrxealis]

i shut up abt ffxiv for now hii good noon u all take care :3 <333

[ariaste]

So listen i have this book coming out in uhhh 10 days and I am Worried about it, because it is a Comedy, and comedy is really hard to market (why????? it's funny pirates, what's not to like??) even when it is, yanno, normal mainstream comedy.

It is even worse when it is Unhinged Comedy That's Mostly Going To Be Funny To People On Tumblr. (For example, the main character being a supreme gremlin made of 90% memes by weight (examples: carries around a bag that is never called anything but his "little rucksack"; has a near-verbatim "stick me legy out real far" moment; talks about his metaphorical "orphan gruel bowl" which is a direct reference to that one Oliver Twist gif) because those are funny to me personally.) Unhinged Tumblr Comedy is difficult because tumblr is not a platform where it is easy to market things to people, because we are generally violently anti-capitalist and LOATHE advertisements and reflexively resist being marketed to for most anything. I LOVE that about this website. Except for right now, because I have bills to pay and a cat to feed. So look, fellow tumblr gremlins, I am just trying to say that if your personal brand of comedy is laughing at the kind of jokes that could only be produced on this hell website, and:

you like pirates

you're queer and want to read more books by queer authors

you want your fictional queer characters to be a hell of a lot more Messy and Unhinged than they often are depicted as being

you're interested in seeing a love triangle (M/M/NB) that resolves into polyamory

you want books where the hottest character gets to makes Passionate Speeches about rebelling against oppressive institutional regimes like governments and organized religions

you believe that capitalism is the most oppressive institutional regime of them all

you think it's fun when two characters have been in a 15-year-long relationship where the vibes have been "We're Newly Divorced" nearly since day one

you believe that All Cops Are Bastards and want to know what to do when you get pulled over by the boat cops

you think the Great British Bake-Off would be improved with weaponry, ritualized bribery/coercion of judges, and elaborate shit-talk

then this book might be for you. Beneath the wall-to-wall hijinks, it is political and it is righteously angry and it is the funniest thing I have ever written (which is saying something, because I have written some funny shit). It's called RUNNING CLOSE TO THE WIND. Here's a picture of it.

If all that sounds cool, you can read a review of it here and the first chapter of it here to see if it as funny as I am claiming it is, and then if you think that it is, you can preorder it here. It comes out on June 11! Ten days from now!

Thank you for letting me market to you for a minute. Signal boosting would be very much appreciated.

[buckyalpine]

18+ Filth and pure smut. My mind is on a sexy dilf Bucky with those delicious greys in his beard. I want his sweet wife teasing him over his age, especially after he shakes his head over the way their teenage sons friends keep trying to subtly hit on her. He doesn't blame them because his wife is gorgeous; an absolute milf and he's the luckiest man on the planet to call her his.

You can't help but playfully pinch his side when Bucky ushers your son and his friends all out of the house, slipping him a few bills, insisting he stay out late as he wants. He even gives him permission to crash at a friends house for the night leaving the two of you alone. (of course your son already knows why his dad is so persistent and it leaves him both disgusted and happy his parents are still so in love).

"Breakin' young boys hearts, Mrs. Barnes" Bucky lets out a low chuckle, untying the apron that was tied around your waist, letting it drop to the floor.

"Careful there, old man" You tease, giggling at the way he cocks an eyebrow not that the house was empty, "Might get a heart attack if you try anything at your age" and with that you saunter off to the bathroom to run a shower, looking over your shoulder to see if your husband would follow. He watches the way your hips sway, the insatiable little minx in you trying to get a rise out of him, discarding your clothing in the middle of the bedroom and leaving the bathroom door unlocked on purpose.

He'd show you exactly what an old man could do.

****

You felt your muscles relax as steam filled the room, hot water spraying against your skin while you added your peach shower gel to the loofah. You wondered what Bucky was up to, usually he'd-

"James" You gasp, feeling your husbands hard cock brush against your ass as he presses up you from behind, his large hands moving up your soap slicked body to grope onto your lathered breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples, giving them a harsh tug.

"Shhh," He smirked, nipping your neck, his tongue running up your skin, licking up the water droplets, "Don't stop on my account gorgeous, go on" He let out a satisfied hum when you went back to gently scrubbing your skin, his hands moving to rub up your thighs, ghosting in between them before pulling away and standing in front of you. His cock stood tall and proud, his swollen tip so pink, begging to be touched.

"James, please-

"Uh-uh, thought m' just an old man baby, just doin' what old men do" He smirked, palming himself, his eyes raking up and down your body, wrapping his hand around his shaft, "Aren't you pretty"

You went along with exactly what Bucky wanted, letting your hands trail along your body, soapy bubbles flowing down your curves while your husband started to stroke himself while leaning against the cold shower wall. "You're a pretty sight, look at what you do me to darlin' got me acting like a perverted little boy, touching myself while watching you"

He groaned, jerking himself faster, not sure what he wanted to focus on first. He'd seen you naked plenty of times and he'd certainly showered with you more times that he could count but he'd never get tired of the sight of his wife covered in the cutest bubbles, dripping wet, putting on a shower all just for him.

While Bucky was admiring you, you admired him right back. He'd aged like fine wine, his chestnut hair still luscious, the ends of his hair curling from the steam of the water. His beard had a few flecks of grey which just added to how handsome he was along with the thick muscle that ran under his skin. Nothing turned you on more than a very naked Bucky under hot water, lost in self pleasure with you as his muse. Every groan and whimper was for you, shamelessly touching every intimate part of himself because of you. It was that very sight that had your fingers start to travel down your body, your pussy desperately craving attention.

"That's mine, sugar" Bucky grabbed your wrist before you could slip it between your thighs, pulling it away and positioning himself behind you again. "This pussy here-" His palm cupped every bit of your cunt in the most debauched way, his cock slotted between your ass while his chest was pressed against your back, "Is all mine. I get to play with her baby, s'mine to touch"

"Then touch me Jamie, please" Your voice was nothing more than a whine now and the pet name that slipped out was more than enough for Bucky to know you needed him bad.

"M'Jamie now, huh? Thought I was just an old man before" He chuckled, rubbing his cockhead against your slicked entrance, teasing and letting the tip catch on your hole and pulling away before stuffing his way in.

"F-FUCK JAMES!" You cried out as he set a brutal pace without warning, his thighs slamming against your ass, his hands holding your hips with a bruising grip. "P-PLEASE-Don't-don't stop!"

"That's it, scream for me baby, let everyone know how your husband fucks you" Bucky's hands held onto you for dear life, fucking you like a ragdoll, his fingers skimming across your belly and down to your clit. He could feel your stretch marks as he felt your body up, one of his favorite things about you, his mind starting to wander.

He remembered the way they felt when you were pregnant with your son, the way he'd hold onto your belly, tracing over those gorgeous lines as they made room for his growing baby boy. He'd feel those same curves when making love to you, loving the way you were extra sensitive, constantly craving for him to fill you up. You were the most gorgeous thing when you had a piece of him inside you, fuck he missed it, his balls felt so fuckin' heavy and full and maybe it was just the heat and steam from the shower but-

"Think you could handle another baby?" Bucky purred, his cock already getting harder at the thought of you with a rounded belly again, looking fucking gorgeous, barefoot and pregnant. He was perfectly happy with the way things were but another wouldn't hurt....

Fuck it.

"M'gonna knock you up pretty girl, you'll have my baby again won't ya, gonna let me get you pregnant again? Show everyone I still know how to fuck, show em how well you take my cum in that tight little cunt"

"Oh God, Jamess" Your eyes practically crossed as his fingers began to strum your clit, your head thrown back, barring your neck letting him bite and suck bruises onto your skin, groaning into your ear, "Gonna-gonna cum"

"C'mon mommy, make me a daddy again" Bucky's pace grew faster, the obscene sound of skin slapping filling the bathroom. "Milk my cock, take my cream, want it, want another baby"

Bucky angled his hips to hit depths you didn't know were possible, his fingers rubbing tight circles onto your clit along with those words alone sent you crashing head first into your orgasm. A sob slipped past your lips as your vision went white, your cunt greedily pulsing and gripping onto Bucky's cock, coaxing for him to empty his balls in you.

"That's-fuck that's it, just like that, milk it, shit mommy, milk daddy's cock, fuck'm'gonna-oh God I'm cumming!" Bucky bit down onto your shoulder letting out a slutty moan as cum burst from his cock, his endless orgasm leading to drops of his pearly white seed splashing onto the shower tile below. "Fuck, you make me cum so hard for you baby"

His hips stutterd at the aftershocks of his orgasm, his cock still throbbing the last few spurts while his arms held your limp body, rinsing you both off. He wrapped you up with a fluffy towel, carrying you bed with ease and snuggling up in the sheets.

"Meant what I said, angel" Bucky gave you a soft smile, a hint of shyness now replacing his previous dominant demeanor. "How about another"

"I'd give you as many babies as you want, Mr. Barnes" You giggled, squealing when he rolled on top of you, instantly hard-

My bad, I got distracted while already distracted and then this happened. Look at him though, can you blame me.

[skeletboi]

Part 18 of the Intridimensional Au!

TW FOR BLOOD!

First /// Previous /// Next

__________________________________________

Fiddleford watched as the portal closed in front of him, and could swear he felt his heart stop.

“So nice of you to visit, Fordsy! Although, I would have preferred if you had actually followed my directions and opened the portal for me.” Bill said from somewhere behind him. “At least you kept it up and running. It'll be easy to find another pawn to open it for me now that it's complete!”

Fiddleford looked back towards the voice and instantly regretted it. There, sitting on a floating throne in the middle of what looked like some sort of asteroid field, was the one-eyed triangle being from the tapestries hanging around Ford's study.

“A pawn… Bill- I thought-” Ford started to say, but was cut off by Bill's laughter.

“Don't get me wrong, Fordsy, I do like you much more than the other human pawns I've used over the centuries! Although, I am upset that you didn't listen to me when I told you to keep Lesser Twin away from the portal! We could have ruled the galaxy together, Fordsy!” Bill said, his eye narrowed in anger, but his voice cheerful as ever.

“I- I didn't want that, Bill. I just wanted to further my research!” Ford said, hurt and fear evident in the shakiness of his voice. “I never wanted to hurt anyone!”

“HAH! Keep lying to yourself, Ford! I've been in your brain! I know what you want!” Bill responded, seeming genuinely delighted.

“Inside your brain?!” Fiddleford said, then clamped his hands over his mouth as Bill turned to him.

“Example A!” Bill said, his arm elongating to reach Fiddleford without ever leaving his throne. “Fiddlesticks here!” He said, dangling Fiddleford by his arm like a ragdoll. “You’re always thinking about how much you care about him, but you didn't even flinch when he told you he replaced part of his arm with a machine after he broke it on an adventure with you!”

“He did what?!” Stan said, finally speaking up. “Ford, what the fuck?!”

“I- that- that wasn't up to me! I was just interested in the mechanics! Of course I cared about him being hurt!” Ford said, looking frantically between Bill, Fiddleford, and Stan.

“Right, hah! You don't have to lie to me, Sixer. You and I are the same- we care about what people can do for us, not what we can do for them! Isn't that why you left him after college and waited until you needed him again to call?!”

“NO! No! I was just distracted with my research!” Ford yelled.

“I always thought he was pointless, anyway!” Bill said, holding Fiddleford up in front of his eye. “You definitely don't need him now! But don't worry, I can get rid of him for us!” Bill said, then squeezed his fingers together, crushing Fiddleford's arm.

Fiddleford screamed as he heard metal crunch and bones crack.

“FIDDLEFORD!” Stan and Ford both screamed behind him, but he could barely hear them over the blood rushing in his ears. He watched as his lab coat turned red with blood and his vision blurred at the edges.

“Whoops! Broke your toy!” Bill laughed, carelessly tossing Fiddleford towards the twins. “That's what happens wheN YOU BREAK MINE!” He said, his voice distorting and growing louder as he spoke.

Fiddleford crashed into Ford, sending them both flying a hundred yards from where Stan was floating.

“NOW I GET TO BREAK THIS ONE, TOO!” Bill screamed, as he turned from yellow to red and tripled in size.

He reached a hand towards Stan, but Stan just barely dodged him.

“DON'T YOU TOY WITH ME, LESSER TWIN!” Bill yelled. “SIXER SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU IN THE WOMB!”

Fiddleford and Ford watched in horror as Bill caught Stan by his good leg, holding him up in front of his eye like a fish dangling on a line.

“Fuck you, you geometric asshole!” Stan yelled, then grabbed his knife from his peg leg and jammed it as hard as he could into Bill's eye.

“Not the eye!” Bill screamed, letting go of Stan as he covered his face with his hands.

Stan used the distraction to get away, kicking off a piece of asteroid and making it, unharmed, to Ford and Fiddleford's side.

“Stan- I- I didn't know-” Ford stuttered, his arms wrapped around an unconscious and bloody Fiddleford.

“Not now, Sixer, we have to get out of here!” Stan said, glancing back at Bill.

Ford nodded and looked around. “The larger asteroids. We can hide in there for now.”

“Good plan, but let me carry Fidds.” Stan replied, holding out his arms.

Ford nodded again and passed Fiddleford over to Stan. “Now let's get out of here.”

They took off, jumping off of smaller rocks to make it to the main field in the distance.

“Here!” Ford whisper-shouted when he spotted a cave within one of the asteroids.

Stan followed after him and breathed a sigh of relief as he set foot on the solid ground. Ford glanced around as Stan carefully set Fiddleford down.

“This looks like it goes pretty deep, but we should be fine here for a bit.” Ford said, kneeling down next to Stan to get a better look at Fiddleford.

Stan nodded as he took out his knife and started to cut the sleeve of Fiddleford's shirt. He grimaced at the mass of gore that used to be Fiddleford's arm.

“There is not much left to work with, and I'm sure he'll wake up soon. We might have to…” Stan couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

“Amputate.” Ford finished for him.

Stan nodded.

“I'll do it. This is my fault, afterall. He may never forgive me, but at least I can help here.” Ford said quietly, taking the knife from Stan.

“You got conned, Ford. He'll forgive you.” Stan replied quietly.

Ford smiled weakly at Stan, turned to Fiddleford, and held up the knife.

“Woah there, stranger!” Someone said from further in the cave.

They both jumped and looked into the darkness as a hooded figure emerged.

“Don't worry, I am a refugee, too, but I have a better tool for that.” The figure said.

“A refugee?” Ford asked.

“In the Nightmare Realm. You're from another dimension, yes? We have been hiding from the Euclidean, too.” They said.

“Euc-a-what-now?” Stan asked.

“Bill. The Euclidean. We could hear him speak to you, and we can help. We should help your friend there, first, though.” They explained.

Stan and Ford glanced at each other then back at the hooded figure, and nodded.

The figure approached and pulled a knife from under their cloak. They knelt down on the other side of Fiddleford and hit a button on the knife that made it hum and glow a bright purple.

“It's a plasma knife.” The figure said. “It will cut and cauterize at the same time, but hold them down- I wouldn't want them to move and cut more than necessary.”

Stan and Ford nodded and held Fiddleford down.

“I'm sorry, Fidds.” Ford mumbled as the figure lowered the knife.

“On three.” they said. “One, two, three.”

The knife hissed and burned as it cut clean through flesh and bone. Fiddleford's eyes shot open and he screamed, looking up at Ford as he tried to pull away from the pain.

“I'm so sorry, Fiddleford.” Ford said again, tears streaming down his face as he let up on his grip so Fiddleford could move.

“It's done.” The figure said.

Fiddleford looked over at the figure and screamed again, shooting up and backing away until his back was flush against Ford’s chest.

“It's okay, Fidds. They were helping us.” Ford said, wrapping his arms around Fiddleford to try and calm him down.

Ford felt Fiddleford relax at his touch, but it only lasted a second before he realized his arm was missing.

“What in the fiddle-hoppin’ heck did y'all do?!” He screeched.

“Fidds, we had no choice- Bill crushed your arm.” Stan said.

“He-” Fiddleford said, then his breath hitched, and didn't stop. He started to hyperventilate and Ford held him tighter.

“I'm so sorry, Fidds. I'll fix this.” he mumbled into Fiddleford's hair. “I'll stop him, and I'll fix this. I- I- I'll kill Bill. He won't win.”

“We'll kill him.” Stan said, placing a hand on Fiddleford's leg.

Fiddleford’s breathing started to slow as he dug his fingers into the arm Ford had around him.

“I'm going to need an arm.” he said quietly between breaths.

“We can help.” The cloaked figure said. “Come. We can give you what you need to start your journey.”

_____________________________________________

This is not written well. Ignore that.

Might do more badly drawn comics from here on out since it's less serious plot, but there will definitely still be more written chapters.

I start my new job in like... 10 minutes... so expect less frequent updates. But there will be updates!

Also I know Fiddleford got over that panic attack hella fast... but he gets a bit more ooc from here on out because he realizes the only way to save the dimension his son still resides in is to fight back, and he knows he can help.

Anyways. Enjoy, I guess!

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The US Copyright Office frees the McFlurry

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I have spent a quarter century obsessed with the weirdest corner of the weirdest section of the worst internet law on the US statute books: Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the 1998 law that makes it a felony to help someone change how their own computer works so it serves them, rather than a distant corporation.

Under DMCA 1201, giving someone a tool to "bypass an access control for a copyrighted work" is a felony punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500k fine – for a first offense. This law can refer to access controls for traditional copyrighted works, like movies. Under DMCA 1201, if you help someone with photosensitive epilepsy add a plug-in to the Netflix player in their browser that blocks strobing pictures that can trigger seizures, you're a felon:

https://lists.w3.org/Archives/Public/public-html-media/2017Jul/0005.html

But software is a copyrighted work, and everything from printer cartridges to car-engine parts have software in them. If the manufacturer puts an "access control" on that software, they can send their customers (and competitors) to prison for passing around tools to help them fix their cars or use third-party ink.

Now, even though the DMCA is a copyright law (that's what the "C" in DMCA stands for, after all); and even though blocking video strobes, using third party ink, and fixing your car are not copyright violations, the DMCA can still send you to prison, for a long-ass time for doing these things, provided the manufacturer designs their product so that using it the way that suits you best involves getting around an "access control."

As you might expect, this is quite a tempting proposition for any manufacturer hoping to enshittify their products, because they know you can't legally disenshittify them. These access controls have metastasized into every kind of device imaginable.

Garage-door openers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Refrigerators:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/12/digital-feudalism/#filtergate

Dishwashers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/03/cassette-rewinder/#disher-bob

Treadmills:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/22/vapescreen/#jane-get-me-off-this-crazy-thing

Tractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

Cars:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty

And even printer paper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#dymo-550

DMCA 1201 is the brainchild of Bruce Lehmann, Bill Clinton's Copyright Czar, who was repeatedly warned that cancerous proliferation this was the foreseeable, inevitable outcome of his pet policy. As a sop to his critics, Lehman added a largely ornamental safety valve to his law, ordering the US Copyright Office to invite submissions every three years petitioning for "use exemptions" to the blanket ban on circumventing access-controls.

I call this "ornamental" because if the Copyright Office thinks that, say, it should be legal for you to bypass an access control to use third-party ink in your printer, or a third-party app store in your phone, all they can do under DMCA 1201 is grant you the right to use a circumvention tool. But they can't give you the right to acquire that tool.

I know that sounds confusing, but that's only because it's very, very stupid. How stupid? Well, in 2001, the US Trade Representative arm-twisted the EU into adopting its own version of this law (Article 6 of the EUCD), and in 2003, Norway added the law to its lawbooks. On the eve of that addition, I traveled to Oslo to debate the minister involved:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/28/clintons-ghost/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

The minister praised his law, explaining that it gave blind people the right to bypass access controls on ebooks so that they could feed them to screen readers, Braille printers, and other assistive tools. OK, I said, but how do they get the software that jailbreaks their ebooks so they can make use of this exemption? Am I allowed to give them that tool?

No, the minister said, you're not allowed to do that, that would be a crime.

Is the Norwegian government allowed to give them that tool? No. How about a blind rights advocacy group? No, not them either. A university computer science department? Nope. A commercial vendor? Certainly not.

No, the minister explained, under his law, a blind person would be expected to personally reverse engineer a program like Adobe E-Reader, in hopes of discovering a defect that they could exploit by writing a program to extract the ebook text.

Oh, I said. But if a blind person did manage to do this, could they supply that tool to other blind people?

Well, no, the minister said. Each and every blind person must personally – without any help from anyone else – figure out how to reverse-engineer the ebook program, and then individually author their own alternative reader program that worked with the text of their ebooks.

That is what is meant by a use exemption without a tools exemption. It's useless. A sick joke, even.

The US Copyright Office has been valiantly holding exemptions proceedings every three years since the start of this century, and they've granted many sensible exemptions, including ones to benefit people with disabilities, or to let you jailbreak your phone, or let media professors extract video clips from DVDs, and so on. Tens of thousands of person-hours have been flushed into this pointless exercise, generating a long list of things you are now technically allowed to do, but only if you are a reverse-engineering specialist type of computer programmer who can manage the process from beginning to end in total isolation and secrecy.

But there is one kind of use exception the Copyright Office can grant that is potentially game-changing: an exemption for decoding diagnostic codes.

You see, DMCA 1201 has been a critical weapon for the corporate anti-repair movement. By scrambling error codes in cars, tractors, appliances, insulin pumps, phones and other devices, manufacturers can wage war on independent repair, depriving third-party technicians of the diagnostic information they need to figure out how to fix your stuff and keep it going.

This is bad enough in normal times, but during the acute phase of the covid pandemic, hospitals found themselves unable to maintain their ventilators because of access controls. Nearly all ventilators come from a single med-tech monopolist, Medtronic, which charges hospitals hundreds of dollars to dispatch their own repair technicians to fix its products. But when covid ended nearly all travel, Medtronic could no longer provide on-site calls. Thankfully, an anonymous hacker started building homemade (illegal) circumvention devices to let hospital technicians fix the ventilators themselves, improvising housings for them from old clock radios, guitar pedals and whatever else was to hand, then mailing them anonymously to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#medtronic-again

Once a manufacturer monopolizes repair in this way, they can force you to use their official service depots, charging you as much as they'd like; requiring you to use their official, expensive replacement parts; and dictating when your gadget is "too broken to fix," forcing you to buy a new one. That's bad enough when we're talking about refusing to fix a phone so you buy a new one – but imagine having a spinal injury and relying on a $100,000 exoskeleton to get from place to place and prevent muscle wasting, clots, and other immobility-related conditions, only to have the manufacturer decide that the gadget is too old to fix and refusing to give you the technical assistance to replace a watch battery so that you can get around again:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/9/26/24255074/former-jockey-michael-straight-exoskeleton-repair-battery

When the US Copyright Office grants a use exemption for extracting diagnostic codes from a busted device, they empower repair advocates to put that gadget up on a workbench and torture it into giving up those codes. The codes can then be integrated into an unofficial diagnostic tool, one that can make sense of the scrambled, obfuscated error codes that a device sends when it breaks – without having to unscramble them. In other words, only the company that makes the diagnostic tool has to bypass an access control, but the people who use that tool later do not violate DMCA 1201.

This is all relevant this month because the US Copyright Office just released the latest batch of 1201 exemptions, and among them is the right to circumvent access controls "allowing for repair of retail-level food preparation equipment":

https://publicknowledge.org/public-knowledge-ifixit-free-the-mcflurry-win-copyright-office-dmca-exemption-for-ice-cream-machines/

While this covers all kinds of food prep gear, the exemption request – filed by Public Knowledge and Ifixit – was inspired by the bizarre war over the tragically fragile McFlurry machine. These machines – which extrude soft-serve frozen desserts – are notoriously failure-prone, with 5-16% of them broken at any given time. Taylor, the giant kitchen tech company that makes the machines, charges franchisees a fortune to repair them, producing a steady stream of profits for the company.

This sleazy business prompted some ice-cream hackers to found a startup called Kytch, a high-powered automation and diagnostic tool that was hugely popular with McDonald's franchisees (the gadget was partially designed by the legendary hardware hacker Andrew "bunnie" Huang!).

In response, Taylor played dirty, making a less-capable clone of the Kytch, trying to buy Kytch out, and teaming up with McDonald's corporate to bombard franchisees with legal scare-stories about the dangers of using a Kytch to keep their soft-serve flowing, thanks to DMCA 1201:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cold-war

Kytch isn't the only beneficiary of the new exemption: all kinds of industrial kitchen equipment is covered. In upholding the Right to Repair, the Copyright Office overruled objections of some of its closest historical allies, the Entertainment Software Association, Motion Picture Association, and Recording Industry Association of America, who all sided with Taylor and McDonald's and opposed the exemption:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/10/us-copyright-office-frees-the-mcflurry-allowing-repair-of-ice-cream-machines/

This is literally the only useful kind of DMCA 1201 exemption the Copyright Office can grant, and the fact that they granted it (along with a similar exemption for medical devices) is a welcome bright spot. But make no mistake, the fact that we finally found a narrow way in which DMCA 1201 can be made slightly less stupid does not redeem this outrageous law. It should still be repealed and condemned to the scrapheap of history.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[hasnomoxxie]

Could you tell us more about Dan from Levity Rises?

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME AB LEVITY RISES

I recently updated the designs for them so I'll talk ab them all if you don't mind :]c

I'll add the most information on Dan though just for you bbg!

I do plan on making a few screenshot redraws (and potentially an intro animatic because an awesome person actually made a theme for this au)

THE MYSTERY TWINS ⇆ THE ORIGINAL MYSTERY TWINS

Stanley and Stanford Pines take on the roles of Dipper and Mabel! Stan's curious and is the more mystery focussed one whereas Ford is more energetic and active than his base counterpart.

Stanley is an adventurous young boy, looking for the next interesting trip to go on, initially thinking spending the summer at Levity Rises was going to be a waste of time. Though after arriving and finding the scrapbooks alongside the anomalies happening across Levity, he and his brother quickly became obsessed with finding out the secrets of the Rises, as well as who the mysterious Smile Pup(swapped with bill cypher) is.

Ford (often going by 'Six' or 'Sixer) is a happy go lucky and optimistic young child who is alot tougher than his base counterpart was at his age. Since it's typically only just been him and his brother, so he's eager to make the best of his summer by meeting new people, though he hides his polydactyly with gloves he changes frequently.

DIPPER ⇆ STANLEY

Dipper takes the role of Grunkle Stan in this au!

Owner of the mystery shack, Grunkle Mason- or (Big) Dipper to people around Levity Rises- is the resident faux scientist of the town. His personality is more eccentric, tending to get hyper fixated on paranormal paraphernalia, to the point in where he does lock himself away for periods at a time.

Not much is known about his origins, he just kind of always existed on the outsidea of the town, but after opening the shack to the public, people quickly accepted his presence due to his quirky personality.

MANLY DAN ⇆ SOOS

Dan actually takes the role of Soos in this au, being the resident handyman of the mystery shack! Though often the lines blur between his role and Wendy's from the original. Wanted to keep it flexible yk?

Dan's a real dude's bro, pretty dim witted and blunt but often chill and level headed- Unless he's challenged- dude's competitive as hell, it's actually crazy. His mother, dubbed 'womanly wendy', is the toughest lady in town, owning a diner, aptly named 'Wendy's'.

Dan enjoys working at the Shack as it's one of the few places that'll let him freely experiment with his logging with the nearby trees for his own projects and adding fixtures onto the shack, which Dipper is pretty thankful for since he can focus his efforts on other things. It's also because of this reason that Dipper puts up with Dan's outbursts and semi airheaded personality. So it's safe to say, he's there the majority of the time.

Stan admires Danny alot and the events of 'Into the bunker' happens with Dan in place of Wendy. This does mean Stan had a passing crush on Danny during the episode, but even afterwards Stan kind of puts him on a pedestal. Ford enjoys Dan's company often being called 'little man' and playfighting on occasion. The twins act like his little hype men and he enjoys hanging with them.

As for Soos in this au, he initially built the mystery shack and is frequently seen around Levity Rises taking on odd jobs and making people as happy as they can be, though it's implied that he hasn't found his true calling yet.

LAZY SUZAN ⇆ WENDY

Lazy Suzan takes the role of Wendy in this au! Hazy Jane is a part time worker at the mystery shack, and is stan's first crush upon arrival to the Rises. She's a bit of an odd soul with a less than perfect memory, but is incredible at making a homely environment for the shack. Despite that, she can be extremely co-dependent in some situations, especially with her boyfriend. Otherwise she's earnest and does her best at her job. The events of 'Soos and the real girl' occur with Jane instead of Soos (and Rumble instead of GIFanny). Despite wanting to help, Stan is incredibly pouty throughout the episode.

Here's the design line up as well as initial notes I made when redoing them!

Hope this answered your question about Dan :]

RAUGH THANKS SO MUCH FOR ASKING THOUGHHHHHH

(EDIT)

SOMEONE SUGGESTED A BETTER SWAP FOR BILL, I JUST HAD TO ADD IT!

(EDIT EDIT)

I'm fixing wording and stuff so it's easier to read soz :p