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calisustom101 · 1 year

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Stay Fashionable and Comfortable with Cropped long-sleeve workout tops.

Regarding staying active, comfort and style go hand in hand. The fashion industry has evolved to cater to the needs of fitness enthusiasts, blending functionality with trendy designs. One such versatile staple that has gained popularity is the cropped long-sleeve workout top. In this article, we will explore the benefits of these tops, the latest active clothing brands to consider, and provide styling tips for an on-trend airport outfit. Let's dive in and discover how you can stay fashionable and comfortable during your workouts.

Benefits of wearing workout tops

Workout tops offer numerous advantages for fitness enthusiasts. They provide proper support, allowing for full movement while maintaining comfort. The fabric in workout tops is often breathable and moisture-wicking, keeping you cool and dry during intense workouts. Additionally, workout tops can help enhance performance by providing compression and support to muscles.

Overview of cropped long-sleeve workout tops

Cropped long-sleeve workout tops are a stylish twist on traditional activewear. These tops offer the benefits of a workout top with the added allure of a trendy cut. The cropped length provides a flattering silhouette, while the long sleeves offer warmth and protection during outdoor workouts. Wearers can comfortably transition from gym to street while maintaining a fashionable edge.

Trending active clothing brands

The market is filled with active clothing brands offering various options. From well-established names to up-and-coming brands, the choices are plentiful. Some notable brands to explore include XYZ Fitness Apparel, ABC Active Wear, and DEF Athleisure. These brands prioritise style and functionality, ensuring you can stay fashion-forward without compromising performance.

Styling tips for airport outfits

Airport outfits have become a canvas for showcasing style and comfort. Incorporating a cropped long-sleeve workout top into your airport ensemble allows you to travel comfortably and in style. Pair it with high-waisted leggings or joggers for a chic athleisure look. Add a statement jacket or oversized cardigan for an extra layer of style. Accessorise with a spacious tote bag and comfortable sneakers to complete the look.

The convenience of matching gym sets

One of the latest trends in activewear is matching gym sets. These sets not only provide a coordinated look but also save time when it comes to choosing your workout attire. Investing in a matching set, consisting of a cropped long-sleeve workout top and leggings, ensures you are ready for any fitness activity with minimal effort. These sets come in various colours and designs, allowing you to express your style while staying comfortable.

The allure of seamless sets

Seamless sets have gained popularity due to their flattering and streamlined design. These sets are made without seams, providing a smooth and comfortable fit. The absence of seams reduces the chances of chafing or irritation, making them perfect for longer workout sessions. Look for seamless sets with cropped long-sleeve tops to combine style and comfort seamlessly.

Embracing the versatility of crop tops and long sleeves

Crop tops with long sleeves offer versatility that can be adapted to various outfits. They can be paired with high-waisted leggings for your workout sessions or layered with skirts or jeans for a casual day out. The longer sleeves add a touch of elegance while keeping you warm during transitional weather. With various colours and designs available, you can experiment and create unique looks that suit your style.

The charm of a coral crop top

Coral crop tops are popular for those seeking a vibrant and eye-catching workout ensemble. The coral adds a refreshing pop to your outfit, ensuring you stand out. Pair a coral crop top with complementary black or navy leggings for a balanced, fashion-forward look. Whether hitting the gym or engaging in outdoor activities, a coral crop top is stylish and exudes confidence.

A black long-sleeved crop top is a wardrobe staple.

A black long-sleeved crop top is a must-have addition to any wardrobe. Black is a versatile colour that pairs well with almost anything. The longer sleeves provide added coverage, making it suitable for cooler weather. This wardrobe staple can be styled with colourful or patterned leggings, creating a chic and well-coordinated outfit. Whether heading to the gym or meeting friends for a casual outing, a black long-sleeved crop top ensures you look fashionable and put-together.

Laser-cut leggings: a trendy addition

To elevate your workout attire, consider incorporating laser-cut leggings into your wardrobe. These leggings feature intricate cut-out patterns that add a touch of glamour to your outfit. Opt for laser-cut leggings complementing your cropped long-sleeve workout top to create an eye-catching ensemble. Combining the two trendy pieces will make a fashion statement wherever your workout takes you.

Incorporating distraction and burst

Creating content that captures attention requires a careful balance of distraction and burst. The reader's attention is captured by engaging headlines, relatable anecdotes, and stimulating visuals. Drawing readers into the discussion by addressing their pain points and offering solutions keeps them engaged throughout the article. Incorporate meaningful transitions between sections to maintain the flow and coherence of the content.

Engaging paragraphs for the reader

A successful article is one that not only provides information but also engages the reader. Engaging paragraphs should be written in a conversational tone, utilising personal pronouns and an informal style. The reader can quickly grasp the main points by using active voice and concise sentences. Employing rhetorical questions and incorporating similes and metaphors adds depth and creates a connection with the reader, ensuring they remain captivated throughout the article.

Conclusion

Staying fashionable and comfortable during workouts is achievable with cropped long-sleeve workout tops. The benefits, versatility, and trendy options allow fitness enthusiasts to express their style while maintaining optimum comfort. By pairing these tops with coordinating bottoms, accessorising appropriately, and exploring trending active clothing brands, you can create fashionable and functional outfits that enhance your workout experience.

#matching gym sets #seamless sets #cropped long sleeve workout top #airport outfits #active clothing brand #coral crop top #crop tops long sleeve #black long sleeved crop top #laser cut leggings

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steampunktendencies · 4 months

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The Playa Crawler: A Kinetic Walking Chair for Burning Man

In 2017, engineer Mark Ellis designed an innovative kinetic chair called The Playa Crawler to navigate the vast expanse of Burning Man. Inspired by the Strandbeest sculptures of Dutch artist Theo Jansen, this unique chair is specifically crafted to withstand the alkaline terrain of the Black Rock Desert.

Mark Ellis wanted a personal vehicle that was both functional and original for getting around Burning Man. This led him to create a chair that walks using a system of articulated legs. This mechanism, invented by Theo Jansen, allows the chair to move similarly to Jansen's giant sculptures, which are propelled by the wind along the beaches.

Built from laser-cut aluminum and steel, The Playa Crawler is equipped with two electric wheelchair motors, batteries, and is controlled via a wheelchair joystick.

Video by Jessbeegood

#Burning man #Kinetic art #kinetic sculpture #kinetic chair #post apocalyptic #cyberpunk #steampunk

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lucidfairies · 10 months

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money [a.a]

pairing: ceo!abby x secretary!reader

synopsis: when you finally land the job of your dreams, you had no idea what your boss would be like. and damn, no idea you conjured could've done her justice.

warnings: top!abby, bottom!reader, age gap (reader is in her 20s, abby is in her early 40s), cunnilingus (r/a receiving), strap (r!receiving), praise + degradation, mommy kink, dirty talk, manhandling, pet names (sweetheart, sweet girl, angel, baby, whore, slut)

word count: 3.3k

it wasn't everyday that you landed a job with one of the most well known law firms in washington. for now you were just a secretary, someone to sit outside of an office and take calls, but your hope was to work your way up to one of their lawyers.

you had little prior experience with being a secretary, but it was just enough to get you this gig. the building was large, and the office you were to assist was on one of the highest floors, naturally where the head of the firm was.

you knew her, abby anderson. incredibly talented lawyer who even won over a supreme court case. though you hadn't met her in person, you were exhilarated to meet her. she was who you dreamed to be, especially by her age.

it wasn't until your third day, when abby was finally in the office, when you got a glimpse of what working here would actually look like. abby showed up in a well pressed black suit, armani logo drilling into your eyes like a laser, making you feel all that underdressed.

"do I know you?" she asked when you knocked gently on her office door and went in. she truly didn't mean to be rude - her son had been sick for three days and she was feeling it now - but you didn't know that. you automatically assumed she was an asshole, and that threw you off.

you cleared your throat, meeting her eyes and immediately shifting them again. she was intimidating, almost scary. "I'm y/n. I'm your new assistant." she looked you up and down, gaze still burning your skin, and the corner of her mouth turned up to a smirk.

"great. I take my coffee black, nothing in it. there will be a card on your desk that you can charge it to every morning. get yourself something. I expect you to leave before I do, as I stay late. by any chance, do you babysit?" your eyes found hers as you finally looked up.

"I mean, I can. I used to when-" she cut you off, uninterested in anything except the yes. you noted that for later.

"I might need you to pick up my son from school every couple weeks. not often, and certainly not until I've run a background check on you." she wasn't hardly looking at you now, eyes flipping between her papers and computer. "did I miss anything?"

"no ma'am," you said, standing up and instinctively wiping off your skirt, though there was nothing there. suddenly you were back at your desk, waiting for calls and bookings to come in while trying to make sense of that interaction.

the next day you arrived late, but in your defense, the line at the coffee place was long and traffic was even longer, and now you weren't even sure that the coffee was hot. abby was there when you gently knocked on her door, allowing your entry with a low 'come in.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, there was really bad traffic and the line-"

"it's okay, sweet girl." your stomach flipped. yesterday, when your eyes knew nothing but the floor, you hadn't exactly taken in her appearance, but today. today.

today she was in a black turtleneck, sleeves right around the muscle in her arms that just made her look so, so good. her black slacks were tight at her hips with a belt, and they were hugging her legs so tight that you were sure the seam would rip.

her hair was pulled into a nice bun and she wore no makeup, not that she ever needed to. she had freckles, beautiful eyes. rings. she had rings, that she could put inside of you any day.

"I'll be on time tomorrow, miss." your gaze dropped again as you turned to leave her office. this was surely going to be nothing but torture for the following months.

two weeks later was the first time she asked you to stay late. you originally had plans, but the way your name dripped off of her tongue like honey made you immediately cancel them. she had asked you politely to pick up her son, and you even acquired her number from the ordeal.

dealing with kids was not your specialty, but abby's son was a delight. he talked all about his mom, some about his dad and it made you wonder if abby was single or not. she never wore a ring to your knowledge, not even on a necklace, and from your speculation she almost looked like a lesbian. maybe you were just dreaming about the end.

if you had taken your apartment and multiplied it by ten, it still wouldn't be half the size of abby's house. she truly did have money, if the armani suits and porsche didn't say that already.

an hour into your babysitting, which almost just felt like hanging out with a kid in a mansion, abby got home. she walked in, greeting you with the first real smile you had ever seen on her face. your brain malfunctioned when you gently placed her hand on your arm and pressed an innocent kiss onto your cheek.

you were blushing profusely, pupils blown, almost dizzy, all she did was kiss your cheek, a very normal way of greeting someone and you were fucked. abby didn't fail to see you run your fingers over the spot and look at them before quickly turning back towards the two of them.

abby lived for it. lived for the you drooled over everything she did, lived for the way that she was sure her fingers would look so, so good in your mouth... and she tried not to think about it. how could she, when her son was standing right next to her, trying to tell her about his day, and you. you just looked so innocent.

you were engulfed in her smell, the perfect balance of pine and amber and erotica. she smelled like five hundred dollar cologne right off the shelf of valentino. you wanted to smell like that, wanted to smell like that, wanted to wear her clothes and have everyone think that you were together.

"thanks for coming, sweetheart. I'll see you on monday." you looked at her with your brows knit, knowing you had work the following day, friday. "take the day off. you did something for me, and I'm repaying you. use my card and get something."

the amount of money she had to just throw around was so attractive to you. she was an independent woman who brought in millions every year and was letting some secretary she had known for three weeks let buy anything on a day off.

monday had arrived, and you had purchased nothing with abby's card, naturally. you weren't one to spend someone's money just because they had a lot of it, or because they told you to. she would've had to buy it for you to accept it, at that.

it was nearing eleven when abby called you into her office by your first name, instead of one of the many nicknames she always seems to use. "sit." she demanded as you stepped in, and you did so.

"is something wrong, ms. anderson?" she wasn't mad, but she was irritated. she told you to do something, told you to put yourself first and you didn't.

"I told you to treat yourself on friday," her gaze left her laptop and met your eyes. "why didn't you?" you blanked for a moment.

"I just.. I didn't feel right spending money that wasn't mine." she gave you a disapproving look, before getting up and coming around her desk to stand in front of you. in a matter of moments, one of her large hands was grabbing your jaw and forcing your head up to look at her.

she bent down slightly, lips grazing over yours, and you were sure she could feel how much your face heated up. "next time I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. understand, sweet girl?"

"I don't-" your pupils were blown and you were so desperate for her to press her lips just a bit closer, fill the gap and just let you have it.

"say 'yes abby'."

"y-yes abby." she let go of your face and went back to her desk, pretending to pay you little attention, but she was acutely aware of the way you pushed your thighs together and squirmed.

"you're dismissed. I expect to see a charge by the morning." you got up and hurried out, going straight to the bathroom. your face was burning up, and you could vaguely see an imprint from her hand.

you were meaninglessly circling the mall, trying to decide what to spend this newfound money on. obviously you wouldn't get something big and glamorous, no matter how much she seemingly wanted you to.

every time you walked, you seemed to pass victoria's secret. It seemed like it was calling you to buy something, and after that interaction with abby earlier, you decided that maybe you should treat yourself and went in.

you looked around for a while before finding a cute blue set, with embroidered, lacy flowers. it was nothing special, just transparent and high waisted, but it was speaking to you. suddenly you knew what you were wearing to work the next day.

- - -

you felt completely scandalous wearing a short little skirt over the lingerie in the morning, with a button down, where the first few buttons were unbuttoned. it was different from your usual dress pants and blouse, but it definitely did what you needed it to do.

work was as usual for the majority of the morning, and you were suddenly doubting why you wore what you did. there was no point, you were seriously delusional and seriously needed help. what kind of freak where's lingerie and completely inappropriate work clothes to work after one minor interaction with their boss?

that was until you got a simple email from ms. anderson herself, reading nothing but;

my office. now, please.

you cleared your throat, brushed out your hair slightly and adjusted your shirt before nonchalantly entering her office. you sat, observing the way she remained quiet for a moment before clearing her desk and turning her attention towards you.

“did you think I wouldn't realize?” she asked, cooly, with her eyebrows raised slightly. “I mean, props to you, you did as you were told. but I checked the card. I'm not the only one who can see the transactions on that card either, sweetheart.”

you were immediately red. who else could see them? “I didn't r-really think-”

“no, you didn't. I bet the men in my finances would love to see you dancing around in whatever you bought, wouldn't they, baby?” she was standing before you could think, hands resting on the handles of your chair. “why don't you show me, huh? I know you're wearing it.”

“I'm not- we can't do that here.” you looked around, though you knew no one would ever bother her and her office had no cameras. “we're at work, abigail.” there was a fast switch in her eyes, the way they went from cocky to wide, almost needy.

“fuck,” her head dropped into the crook of your neck before she ran her nose along your jaw. “say it again. please, baby.” her tone, the gentle pleading made any rational thoughts disappear from your mind. your hand wrapped around the collar of her button down and pulled her in gently.

“abigail,” you whispered, “I want this,” with that, her hands were everywhere, all at once. she was pulling you up, wrapping her large hands around your hips as she pulled you in for a harsh kiss. she was forcing you onto her desk, keeping her lips to yours as your bodies molded to each other.

she left your lips, finding a perfect spot on your neck and sucking. you gasped when you felt her hand undoing the buttons of your shirt and pulling it out of your skirt. you were grabbing her by her waist trying to pull her closer as she continued to mark up your neck and grab your tits.

when she finally pulled away from your neck, her eyes became wide looking at your lingerie clad tits. you slid your shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it, looking up at her as you began to unbutton hers. she didn't let you get very far before she was gently pushing you back until your back was against the cool wood of the desk.

she unclipped your bra and pulled it off, tongue immediately meeting your nipple. she bit it and you yelped, grabbing her shoulders. her large hand was messing with your other, tugging gently and kneading. "I love your tits so fucking much, baby.” she mumbled into your skin while she kissed down your stomach.

she left more hickies on your ribs, but you desperately needed her in one place. she was pulling your skirt down in seconds, pressing her tongue against you like it was nothing and watching you arch and moan. she was eating you out through your underwear for a minute, before you grabbed her hair and pulled her head up.

"take them off." she smirked, and her head tilted slightly to the side.

"who said you're in charge, sweet angel?" the nickname was new, but you fucking loved that she always called you sweet. you were something sweet to her, and that made your brain lag every time.

"abby please," you bucked into her, chasing friction. that's when you felt it; the large bulge in her slacks that you hadn't noticed earlier.

"feel that, baby? that's all for you." she pulled down your underwear slowly, tossing it in the pile of clothes. she spread your lips, watching slick connect and drip down your thighs. your face burned and you covered it, embarrassed. "uncover your face or I'll stop." you did as told.

she pulled a ponytail off her wrist and pulled her hair into a bun before pressing her tongue into your clit and licking a fat stripe. your head hit the desk with a thud, reveling at the feeling. she worked your clit, sucking it into her mouth and painting patterns with her tongue while she pressed a finger into entrance.

she used her free hand to hold you down by your stomach, since your squirming was messing her up. you whined when she added a second finger, not used to her thick fingers. "if you can't take my fingers, how am I supposed to fuck you with my strap?" you moaned at her words, loving the dirtiness of it.

she returned to your clit and you got loud when she curled her fingers up into the best spot, whimpering and groaning. she remembered the time when you pressed your fingers to your cheek in her house, and brought her unused hand to your mouth, tapping your chin lightly. "open your mouth and suck," she instructed, noticing your confused look.

you took two of her fingers in your mouth and sucked them, which shut you up. your stomach coiled, a warm feeling rushing between your legs before you could even mumble a word. it felt like you just kept coming, until she finally pulled away from your cunt.

"are you gonna give me another one, angel?" she was unclipped her belt while you caught your breath. "wanna fuck you all day." she pulled her pants and boxers down just barely enough to get her strap out. "flip over, ass up." you turned over, fucked out muscles aching.

she ran the tip of her strap between your folds, letting your wetness lube it up, then lined up with your hole. she pushed just the tip in, groaning at the way you took it so well and swallowed her in. "what if I just fucked you like this, huh?" you whined.

"please.. need more," you pushed your hips back slightly, trying to push her in further. she pulled out, simply pushing the tip back in.

"desperate fucking whore," she thrust in on the last word, bottoming out immediately. you whimpered, the strap stretching you far more than her fingers. "aw, baby, does that hurt?" she pulled out far and fucked into you again.

she started fucking you, deep and hard, until you were moaning and grabbing onto the desk, trying to stabilize yourself. one of her hands left your hips and grabbed your hair, wrapping it around her fist and tugging. "fuck.. abby- abs.. mommy,”

your eyes widened at the name, which came out unintentionally. she stopped momentarily before groaning and picking her pace back up rapidly. "call me that again." the tip of her strap kissed your cervix and bumped against your g-spot every time. her arm wrapped around your waist, flicking your clit.

"mommy.. m'gonna cum." you slurred, cock drunk and fucked out. she kept her pace, hardly changing anything except for the fact that she was louder now, finding the perfect angle to get the harness to hit her clit.

"just wait a second, my love,” you held it for as long as you could, but it became too much, and she was hitting just right. your mind went absolutely blank as your vision went white, a wave crashing over you as you came.

you could hear abby moaning, but you were still going, and unable to think of anything. “fuck baby, you make such a mess.” you relaxed your tense body and look over your shoulder at abby's soaked harness, pants, and desk.

“m’sorry.” she slowly pulled her strap out and unclipped it front her hips, letting you lay for another minute before she grabbed your hips and helped you flip over and sit up. “wanna make you cum, mommy.” you looked at her with doe eyes, watching her eyes darken.

“I already came, sweetheart. don't worry about me.” you brought your hand down to cup her cunt and she took in a sharp breath. you ground your palm against her clit and she groaned, shifting her stance from foot to foot.

you slid off the desk with wobbly legs and kneeled in front of her, pupils blown. “please mommy,” you ran your nails over her abs and under her boxer strap lightly, making her muscles tense.

“such a slut, aren't you? want mommy to fuck your face?” you nodded, pulling her boxers down to her ankles. her blonde bush matched her hair, and you noticed her happy trail that you hadn't earlier. “stick out your tongue, baby, be a good girl.”

you stuck your tongue out flat, not even getting a chance to lick before she was pressing her cunt to your mouth. she fucked herself on your face, gripping your hair tight and grinding fast. you gently pushed her against the desk, lifting one of her legs to your shoulder and leaving the other one down.

she must have loved the new angle, because she was moaning and grunting more than you had ever heard her. her clit was twitching and puffy, wet from your spit and her slick. she let out an involuntary whimper, and it was like music to your ears. “gonna c-cum on your f-fucking face, angel.”

her legs shook as she came, ans you spent the following moments licking all of it up. you pulled away and stood up, still shaky. she pulled her boxers and slacks up, moving towards the pile of clothes and handing you what was yours. “do you wanna get dinner tonight?” she stopped what she was doing to button up your shirt and zip your skirt.

“yeah, that's great.” she smiled, kissing you softly.

“you can go home if you want to clean up. I can take my own calls for a few minutes.” it was your turn to smile, grateful to get out of your uncomfortable, wet clothes.

“I'll see you tonight?” you asked, looking over your shoulder once you got to the door.

“pick you up at seven.”

a/n: part two? 🤭

tag list: @shewantstoknow @baumbii @zombholic

#abby anderson #tlou #tlou2 #abby smut #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #tlou modern au #lawyer #ceo #ceo au #maya writes

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faeriekit · 6 months

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Feet on the Ground

loose phic phight fill for @oldfashionedbattlehymn

warnings for: murder attempt, discussion of child death

********

Danny wakes up in a garbage bag.

It isn’t as gross as it sounds. Danny’s the only thing in there, and it’s not like the lack of air is going to kill him; he could rip his way out, but honestly, going intangible is just as effective and twice as easy.

And, of course, once he’s phased his way out of the dumpster behind the gas station, Danny is very, very grateful that he didn’t even try. Everything else in there is….eeugh. He shivers.

Well. It’s got to be early morning now—it’s dark. There’s no other cars on the highway. Even the gas station itself is closed, and the stars have already lost their spark.

Time to head home.

Danny wakes up behind the gas station. Again.

…Okay?

The first time, Danny had just assumed he’d fallen asleep somewhere weird while flying around the neighborhood, but a second time is a pattern. It’s definitely not his fault this time either, because there’s no way he would have duct taped his arms and legs together or slapped a gag on his mouth.

That’s kind of. Ominous.

Danny frees himself of the garbage bag first— and thank goodness he doesn’t have to breathe— he floats himself out of the bag and the dumpster, which had…thankfully been given a good scrubbing since last time? There’s some other trash, apparently, but nothing sharp enough to cut through his durable, tape-based bonds. It takes some finagling and some eye lasers for Danny to finally get his arms free.

And. Hoo Boy. There’s no more liberating a feeling than peeling tape off your mouth, even if your mouth skin kind of comes off with it and you bleed a little. But it’s fine! It’s green, which means it’ll heal.

Fabulous. Danny zooms off invisibly into the night, more than willing to put the night behind him.

…Okay, the third time is what makes it more than a coincidence.

Danny shucks out of the bruise-tight ropes around his wrists, torso, knees, and legs, spits out his gag, and flies home. He finally has to give into the inevitable, and attempts the last resort:

“Jazz?” he whispers, slowly rocking his sister in her bed. Jazz mumbles in her sleep.

“Jaaaaazzy…” Danny tries again, trying not to look either too spooky or too imposing. Jazz’s reflexes are such that—

The laser she keeps under her pillow goes off. Danny loses a few millimeters of hair, which means that her aim is getting better.

He doesn’t have any trouble seeing in the dark (or, uh, not anymore, anyway), but it’s easy to see Jazz’s sleepy squint as she pulls herself somewhat upright. More like a shrimp with scoliosis, but, well. You know.

“Whuh,” Jazz asks. “...Danny?”

“Hey,” Danny whispers, a ghost at her bedside. Jazz grunts. “Uh. What does it mean when you keep waking up in a trash bag behind the gas station?”

Jazz blinks. Jazz rubs her eyes. Jazz blinks again, looking more sleepy than coherent but at least somewhat aware of her surroundings.

“Garbage bag?” Jazz asks blearily. “You were in a garbage bag?”

“Yeah,” Danny whispers back. “My legs were tied down?”

“...Danny, were you murdered?”

Danny stops.

“Huh?” says Danny.

“So, if you look here,” Tucker points out, finger not quite touching the glass of his CRT monitor, “That’s when Danny gets murdered.”

There is a collective eeew from the assembled viewers— Jazz, Sam, and Danny, all crowded in Tucker’s room.

“Yeah, Tucker agrees. The light from the black-and-white footage flashes in the reflection of his glasses. “Here’s where he’s tossed in…there. And this is when they tossed him in the dumpster.”

There’s no sound on the gas station surveillance footage, but Danny imagines that his body clanged on the way in. What the hell. Danny got murdered behind a gas station, and he didn’t even notice?!

They watch the archived footage of a Ford F-150 driving off the property, and then Danny’s dead body being unceremoniously tossed in a dumpster. It’s kind of surreal. No one had noticed. There was no one to report the crime committed.

“I can’t believe that guy just clocked you over the head, like that,” Sam points out. “It’s just a regular car jack. It shouldn’t have gotten you in the first place.”

The observation isn’t appreciated.

“Be nice! My brother was just murdered,” Jazz scolds. Danny doesn’t think she sounds as offended as she should be. “Either way, it’s certainly an attempted murder, if not a successful one. We have to do something.”

“…Can’t we just call the cops?” Tucker asks, turning away from the computer. “I mean. Look. That’s proof. We have proof right here.”

Sure enough, there is footage. Right there. There’s Danny’s murder, in 240p black and white.

“Where’s the body?” Sam asks dryly, and. Uh. That’s a problem they’ll have to solve.

Everyone looks at everyone else. No one has a good solution.

“…Do we have to do this?” Tucker realizes at the same second as the rest of them.

Jazz looks at Danny. Danny looks at Sam. Sam looks at Tucker.

Tucker stares back at them, entirely unenthused with the conclusion they’ve come to.

“…Okay then,” Jazz exhales. “How do you want to do this?”

Sam ends up on top of the gas station, a cell phone in her hand.

Tucker, PDA in hand, sits in Jazz’s passenger seat. The camera feed is ongoing and recording for posterity.

Jazz taps her fingers on the wheel of her car. There isn’t anywhere better to hide than down the road and around the corner, so she does, hoping that they’re on the other end of the road from whoever’s killing her brother every night.

Danny is, of course, wandering through the neighborhood.

Losing her baby brother—on purpose—is the worst thing Jazz can imagine. She feels sick. She wants to throw him into the car and speed away, and break every speed limit law in the county on her way out. She wants to pack him in bubble wrap and ship him expedited to France.

But she does leave her brother alone. She lets Tucker look over the footage as Danny roams around town, just as unaware and unsuspecting as his last few outings.

Tucker sees the man first.

He bolts upright, eyes on his PDA. “Jazz.”

Her head whips around. They watch, silently, as someone approaches Danny’s lone figure on the doorstep outside the gas station.

They can’t hear anything. That’s the scariest part.

“Call,” Jazz demands. Tucker does.

Doubtlessly, on the roof of the gas station, Sam is dialing too.

So. Danny knows this guy.

And. Uh. It’s kind of embarrassing; he’d asked if Danny was okay walking home alone at night a few hours before his dumpster wake-up call, and Danny had said it was fine.

Apparently, no, it wasn’t fine. That being said, Danny hadn’t been expecting a guy in a button-up and khakis to be the guy murdering him on the down low. He kind of looks like the dude who sells you televisions and burner phones at a Wal-Mart.

The guy comes all the way over to where Danny is sitting on the thin concrete step of the gas station. His breath fogs up from the weather and his eyes rake over Danny, up and down; down and up.

“Hey,” he says, looking all the world like any other concerned citizen. Danny’s heart throbs. “It’s cold outside. You need a ride back to town?”

“…No,” says Danny, who doesn’t.

“Your mom okay with you comin’ home late by yourself?” the man asks nervously, hands going to his hair.

Danny thinks about how many times he’s woken up in the dumpster. He thinks about seeing his own body on the camera tape. Prone. Dead.

“You still keep a car jack in your passenger seat?” Danny asks instead.

The man freezes. An attempted murderer he might be, but he’s not exactly an Oscar-winning actor. “What?”

“The car jack,” Danny repeats. He doesn’t know if he’s mad the man keeps targeting him, or whether he’s grateful Danny’s the only one who’s died so far. “It’s got a lot of sharp corners. They hurt, you know.”

The man…carefully laughs the statement off, but he looks. Nervous.

Danny doesn’t really need to confront him; he only has to stall long enough that Tucker or Sam can call the cops, so that they can see this man’s face and get him on the record. But.

There’s a part of Danny…

The man looks so human. Flush with blood. Solid enough to break. Fragile enough to be made broken.

Danny still resents being made dead. This man didn’t kill Danny—not in any way that mattered, but he’s an easy target.

He doesn’t breathe. The man watches a boy sit in the shadows of a building where he’s been dumping bodies, and Danny can taste his fear.

“It hurt a lot,” Danny says, and he isn’t referring to waking up in the bags every couple of mornings in the last few weeks. “It hurt so much. I was screaming.”

The man is silent.

“Do you like to hear the screaming?” Danny asks, suddenly curious. Did he care, if Danny had screamed, or if he had been too unaware to notice he was dying? Would he have cared, if there were others more breakable than Danny that he had hurt?

He doesn’t answer.

“I don’t like it,” Danny confesses. In a horrible way, it’s easy to tell his would-be murderer about his death—unlike Tucker or Sam, who witnessed it, or Jazz, who loves him, this man can’t be affected by Danny’s take on his own death. In fact, if he is hurt by the thought of Danny’s death…good. It’s better if he is. If there is remorse in him. “I don’t like to hear screaming. I screamed for so long, and so loud. It felt like forever.”

The man’s hands curl. He steps back.

Danny can’t help but to frown. If he leaves, the whole point of calling the cops will be for nothing, and he’ll be warier of coming back to where Danny’s body was dropped. “Where are you going?”

The man takes another step back. Danny rockets upright. He’s on his feet in seconds. “Weren’t you here for me?” Danny asks, genuinely confused, arms outstretched. “We’re here. You dumped me here over and over again.”

“Shut up,” the man snaps, startling the both of them with his volume. “He—you’re not real. You’re… Be quiet. I have real things to get done tonight!”

Danny’s dead heart throbs. Is there another dead kid? Did Danny let another kid get killed in Danny’s place? “Do you?”

The man loses his voice.

“We’re already here,” Danny points out. He steps closer—closer to the truck that drove his dead body around town, further from the dumpster where his body had been dropped. The disposal hadn’t been a funeral, but it’s closer than anything Danny’s ever had. “You’re here. I’m here. Aren’t you here for me?”

A choked breath. Danny gets closer. The ectoplasm in his skin is too warm and too cold—but he has no idea what he looks like from the outside. Is he glowing? Is he see-through? Does he just look like any other dead kid: a little too cold, a little too pale?

They’re eye to increasingly shorter eye. Up close, the man just looks like any other guy. Shaved in the face. Wrinkles around his eyes. A nose. A mouth.

Danny’s not afraid of him. His head tilts. “You’ve already killed me three times. What are you going to do now? I’ll just come back again. I won’t even notice. I died. I know what you look like—I know how to find you. It’ll be easy.”

The man’s pupils dilate—

And then there’re hands on Danny’s neck. And. It’s kind of painful, but Danny doesn’t have to breathe. So. He just kind of…pretends to be hurt?

He’s meant to be stalling for time. The cops are coming. All he needs is time.

So Danny makes some somewhat dramatic sounds and kicks out with his feet, because a fight lasts longer than a passive victim. He lands a hit to the man’s stomach, and another to his chest—he doesn’t drop Danny the way Danny might have expected, but Danny isn’t going to run out of air, so this can last forever until the man lets go. Or does something.

“Stop— coming— back,” the man snarls, and suddenly sounds nothing like the dudes who man the tech counter at the Walmart. “I got you— you should be gone!”

Danny is gone. But he’s also here. And he’s also been gone for a very long time, and he’s also getting choked out by a guy in a gas station parking lot. It’s been a rough few hours of waiting for this dude. He might as well make it worth it.

So maybe his body turns a little translucent. Just a little. Just enough to see the streetlight through his skin, probably, and the hazy road behind them.

Getting thrown to the concrete hurts, but, you know, not as badly as getting tossed into a wall by Skulker on a rampage. Danny’s barely going to be bruised after this.

The guy runs to his car, and Danny frowns, scrambling back up, and, wait. Wouldn’t having bruises be better? As evidence? They better not heal too quickly, or else that’ll be it of his physical proof.

“Where are you going?” Danny asks, more perplexed and angry than anything. Isn’t he supposed to try to kill the witness??

But the guy hauls butt into the cab of his truck— and then the lights go on and the tires start spinning, the engine roaring to life.

If Danny wasn’t actively on camera at the moment, it would be easy to fly after the car. As it is, he’s pretty fast, but he’s not quite quick enough on his feet to chase after a pickup truck careening down the highway in the dark.

The man’s gone in a few seconds. Honestly, Danny’s kind of annoyed about the whole thing. It would have been nice for it to work.

Sam climbs down from the roof of the gas station, phone in her hand. “No, I just— he choked out my friend and drove off! Send someone over here already!! You— do you need the license plate again?!”

Danny just looks at her. Sam covers her phone’s mic with a hand: “They’re saying five minutes,” she mouths.

Great.

Danny hunkers down, throat bruising, and Sam sits down beside him. They wait.

By the time the cops pull into the gas station, the guy’s more than out of sight. Sam’s the one who takes the lead on dictating their story. Danny sort of doesn’t realize how out of it he is until someone tries to throw a shock blanket on him. He almost hits the guy square in the face— and Sam’s the one who has to catch his arm.

Uh. Oops.

Jazz and Tucker roll in, hardly pretending to have not been nearby; Jazz wraps her arms around him, and Danny lets her.

Sue him. It’s late. He’s tired.

“...And I can’t believe you weren’t able to get down the road in time to catch a man who choked out my best friend,” Sam snaps, which, aw! Danny’s a best friend. The cop she’s attempting to strip down for parts looks less sympathetic than Danny feels. “You’re barely a ten minute drive up the highway! What were you doing, meandering?”

“No,” the cop grits out, eying Sam like a bug on his shoe. “We were telling the officer down the road what to look out for.”

Apparently, jamming the gas down hard enough to bust your speedometer gets you pulled over at the speed check.

The night is over before Danny knows it. Someone gets him to the station, someone takes photos of his bruises and takes his statement. Someone calls Mom and Dad and then Danny’s in the GAV, half asleep and exhausted beyond belief.

He falls asleep on the couch, Mom’s fingers in his hair.

It’s not like the Amity Park police tell them anything, but Jazz is the one who finds the report on the news.

She records it on the TiVo for him.

“Eustace Miller, from Tennessee,” Sam reads aloud, knee to knee on his couch. Tucker adjusts his glasses. “Looks like he was already on the run.”

“Or as good as,” Tucker agrees quietly. “Looks like they’re pinning a couple of cold cases to him.”

They watch; there’s pictures of him from his hometown, and from the towns he would visit on his joyride across the country. There were pictures of his family. There were pictures of kids Danny would never meet: kids who were already dead, and who had been for months. Years, even.

They’d looked so happy in the photos from when they were alive.

…Danny could relate.

Jazz turns the report off that night, thumb on the power button. And that’s all it takes for Danny to stop waking up in a trash bag.

#phic phight 2024 #tw murder #tw child murder #tw death #I think that covers it???#wait #tw choking #there we go #Danny works out some of his feelings about dying young #danny phantom #phic phight #this is very quickly being edited and posted on lunch break please bear w/ me #faer fic #sam manson #tucker foley #jazz fenton

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ckret2 · 3 months

Text

Chapter 55 of human Bill Cipher finally having a little fun for the first time in over a month of captivity in the Mystery Shack:

Bill does his level best to teach Mabel everything he knows about everything as fast as possible (while Ford eavesdrops). In the process, he finally reveals something about his home dimension!

But not everything about his dimension.

"Did you have rainbows in Flatworld?" Mabel had started drawing her shapesona again at the bottom of a fresh piece of paper. The heart was holding out one hand with several strips of glue shooting in a beam out from the palm; Mabel started shaking glitter onto the glue strips to make them rainbow.

"Not natural ones."

"Awww!"

"We could make them with flashlights and prisms, though."

"That's something." Still, it wasn't as cool as a real rainbow. She started carefully drawing Bill floating above her shapesona. (She probably should have drawn him before she put down glitter. She had to push up her sleeve and lift her wrist to avoid smearing the glue.) "When's the first time you saw a real rainbow?"

Bill didn't answer.

Mabel glanced at him. He had a hard look in his eyes. "Bill?"

####

For the first time in his life, the triangle was up—up but not north—in space, in the third dimension, looking down but not south at the plane where he'd spent his entire existence. It shuddered and rippled and cracked, contracting, as the entire universe crunched together around him.

Great walls of pale blue flame half a googol light years wide erupted into third dimensional space, where stars were caught and crushed between the quickly collapsing cosmic tectonic plates. He hadn't known his flat universe had stars of its own.

His home world shattered and crumbled, shrapnel and rubble spraying out, stone instantly pulverized into dust. Distant oceans rode the waves of the convulsing universe, flinging billions of gallons of water into space in a fine thin spray, glittering in the sunlight.

As the triangle watched, a great flickering rainbow ring formed in front of the ejected ocean, like the hollow eye of a hostile god staring at him in judgment.

He stared back.

And he felt himself fill with more and more and more power.

####

"Bill?"

"Sorry, I was trying to remember!" Bill sat back, laced his hands behind his head, and shrugged, "It's not coming to me. But I'm sure it was after I took charge of Dimension Zero. From time to time planets with weather systems would fall in through a wormhole, I must've seen a rainbow on one of them!"

"Oh." The answer disappointed her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She puzzled over it as she drew a fireball shape around Bill's hands in glue and shook on pale blue glitter.

Bill nodded at the page, "So what are we up to?"

"Fighting evil! With rainbow lasers and... whatever that magic fire thing you do is!"

"Hey, superheroes! Sounds fun. Who are we killing?"

"Superheroes don't kill people!"

"Fine. Who are we sending to the hospital with third degree burns?"

"I don't know, I haven't made up a villain yet." She almost asked Bill what kind of monsters existed in his world; but the question died in her throat. That might be too depressing a question. She added a heart-shaped glue outline around her shapesona and shook on a glitter rainbow, and set the picture aside to dry. She grabbed a fresh paper and tried to imagine what a two-dimensional butterfly would look like. Would it just have flat little stick wings since that was more aerodynamic? That sounded boring. She started drawing a two-dimensional squid instead.

Bill studied Mabel's latest finished work—the glitter-outlined heart, the glitter rainbow laser, the glitter fire, and the plain him. After a moment, he casually mentioned, "I used to wear body glitter."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Earlier you asked me about glitter in my dimension," Bill said. "Body paint was makeup to us. I wore it when I went dancing."

"WHAT!"

"And I'd cut open glow sticks to paint my arms and legs!"

"What color glitter did you wear?!"

"Usually gold."

"What?! Bill!" Mabel laughed. "You're already yellow!"

"But I didn't glitter. That's important!"

"You're boring."

"Shut up! I was gorgeous and I knew it! Why mess with perfection?!" He gestured down at himself, perfection, as though he'd momentarily forgotten what body he was in. "Listen, club fashion gets repetitive. If you've seen one equilateral in cutesy primary color gradients, you've see 'em all. There's beauty in simplicity—not a lot of shapes can pull off a solid color with a little light highlighting and still look flashy!" He'd sat up straighter, chest puffed out proudly, as he talked about how pretty he thought he'd been. "Buuut sure, sometimes I highlighted my points for fun. And to keep from stabbing people—it's hard for other people to judge distances with strobe lights on."

"What colors."

"Usually red, blue, or purple. You know—nice contrasts with gold."

Mabel grabbed another paper and started drawing Bill dancing. He leaned closer, elbows on the table, watching with more interest now. Mabel asked, "You had clubs with strobe lights?"

"Of course we did, we aren't barbarians." Bill picked up yellow and black markers out of Mabel's supplies, leaned over to her drawing in progress, and started adding a decorative border around the nearest edge of the paper in dots and dashes.

"What kind of music did you listen to?"

"It was... It's closest to the music in— You've never been to that dimension. Well, it kind of sounds like... I'll never hit those notes with human vocal cords." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Hold on. Let me get Questiony's piano."

####

It turned out that Flatworld club music sounded kind of like a broken tornado siren.

"It doesn't sound very good on a human piano," Bill said, giving the electric piano balanced on his knees a disapproving look. "The intervals between notes are tuned wrong, it's about four octaves short, and it's missing that tympanic membrane shredding tremolo when the treble jumps."

Mabel regarded the piano with some dismay. "Do you know how to play anything else?"

Bill sighed.

He played "Don't Start Un-Believing" for her. He even did that cool thing where you drag a finger up half the keyboard at once.

####

By now, Bill seemed a lot happier to answer Mabel's questions about his world; but she quickly worked out which ones he'd actually give a direct answer. He was the most free with science-y questions, hit or miss on the fun cultural questions, and instantly evasive when asked about his own life or uncomfortable political issues.

When she asked if shapes and their houses just kinda floated unattached to anything because they didn't have a home planet, Bill said they did have a home planet—hundreds of miles below, marking south by its gravitational pull—and they lived in the sky in between their planet and its rings. When she asked what kind of clothing they wore, Bill said they usually didn't wear anything, unless it was for practical purposes (gloves for gardening; goggles for chemistry; elbow-, knee-, and corner-pads for spelunking), and when she asked about his top hat he said slyly, "You mean my telescope?" and gleefully refused to explain further.

But when she asked if it was true that equilateral triangles were the lowest rung you could stand on before getting knocked off the social ladder altogether, Bill said that was a pretty rude question to ask a triangle. And then he said his world didn't have ladders.

When he casually let slip that he'd been able to see the third dimension when nobody else could, she asked how that was possible. He'd paused, looked up from his seventh completely incomprehensible drawing of an animal (she'd asked him whether Flatworlders had pets), and, with an eager gleam in his eye, he asked, "How much time do you have?"

####

Ford heard Bill's voice the moment he opened the door—"All right, star girl, pop quiz, let's see how much of that you kept in your noggin."

"Oh, I'm so ready!"

Baffled, Ford leaned in the living room doorway. The room was absolutely plastered in crayon-covered papers—illustrations, lists, mathematical and scientific diagrams—stars, cells, planets, vehicles. At the moment Bill was pointing at six papers taped together with a diagram on them that Ford thought was a Punnett square that had been expanded into a four-dimensional tessaract. "A polygon's sides are determined by...?"

"Genetic inheritance!" Mabel announced, the proud student who knew all the answers. "You have however many sides your parents have genes for!"

"And the idea that polygons increase by one side each generation...?"

"Is propaganda! Because if everybody hides their kids without enough sides, and they only talk about the kids that did go up a side, it makes everyone think that's what always happens and their family is the only one that's failing!"

"Perfect! And the highest natural amount of sides a shape can have?"

"Twelve! Decadoggins!"

"Close enough, dodecagons! But this isn't Greek class, I'll give you full points. So, any shapes with more sides than that got them through—?"

"Random mutation!"

"Correctamundo! Meaning the only way to get shapes with hundreds of sides is..."

"Crazy bonkers inbreeding! Because the same rich families just keep marrying each other!"

"With consequences including—?"

"Um..." Mabel puffed out her cheeks as she thought. "Skeletons getting all crackly, having a hard time making babies, and high—uh—infant morality!"

"Mortality."

"Lots of dead babies."

"Yes! And remember: when a mutation makes a body produce so much more of something than it needs that it starts harming the body, that's called...?"

"Cancer!"

"Meaning circles are...?"

"Tumors!"

"And what do we do with tumors?"

"EXECUTE THEM!"

"YES!" Bill ripped the Punnett tesseract off the wall. Behind it was a piece of paper that read, in blood red crayon, ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCISM. "You're ready to man the guillotines! A+, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"Yes!" Mabel peeled a sparkly purple star off a sticker sheet and stuck it on her cheek. Her face had over twenty star stickers.

Ford leaned against the living room doorframe, watching the scene inside with wonder. He was more than a little iffy about the political lesson—he, personally, was incredibly opposed to the idea that it was morally imperative to execute anybody with extra body parts, nobility or not—but the presentation of it was certainly captivating. It had been a long time since Ford had seen Bill like this. (It had been a long time since Ford would have trusted any lesson out of Bill's mouth.)

"Now let's get back to biangles." Bill picked up a fake crystal ball that he'd drawn various lines and shapes on with a marker.

"Awww, again?!"

"Hey. Listen," he said firmly. "I believe in you. You'll get it this time, I know it."

Ford looked around the room, taking in the scene more fully. The floor was scattered with drawings of aliens. A few of them were various polygons—regular and irregular, with the irregularities further broken down by whether they otherwise showed radial or lateral symmetry—each with thin limbs and an eye on a corner. Most were fantastical alien animals, a few that Ford had seen or been warned about on other worlds. Some had been scribbled out and redrawn when Bill's limited artistic capabilities didn't live up to his unknown standards; a few were in Mabel's art style, meaning Bill must have described them to her while she drew.

Twenty pieces of paper had been taped together on the wall behind the TV, with a drawing of a planet surrounded by a circular ring of small blobs—a planetary ring?—and a moon further out. The empty atmosphere between the planet and the ring was filled with squares and rectangles, which were grouped together in red blobby circles that were each labeled by letter: "Country △," "Country B," "Country C," "Country D (communists)," etc. A badly-drawn sea serpent slithered along the outside of the ring with the words "Here There Be Monsters" written over it.

A tall column of taped together papers was covered in examples of alien writing systems—some of them Ford recognized from his travels through other dimensions. From the ones he understood, it looked like the words were demonstrations of Mabel's name in dozens of alien writing systems. Sometimes Bill spelled her name Maybell or Mabelle.

And there were so many papers scattered around the room with little graphs and symbols and arrows Ford couldn't make sense of. And in the center of it all, Bill, alive, energetic, his full attention enthusiastically focused on his student.

Bill had to be up to something; but Ford couldn't imagine what, based on the bizarre assemblage of information in front of him. What nefarious purpose could be behind showing Mabel how to spell her name in alien languages? Unless his goal was to so enchant her with tales of other worlds that he could persuade her to help him open a new portal...? No, even for Bill that felt like a stretch.

He looked at the wall again. Surely, that wasn't Bill's homeworld. Ford had spent years of his life trying to find the world Bill was from; surely Bill hadn't just drawn it in the middle of Ford's living room. Had he?

"Okay, let's start with spherical geometry from the top," Bill said, polishing the crystal ball on his leggings to rub off the marker lines. "Don't tell anyone I can do this." He held up the ball, tapped it twice on the bottom, and it hovered in place when he let it go, freeing up both his hands to hold a ruler and marker. (How long had he been able to do that? Had he even noticed Ford was standing right outside?) He drew a line across the surface of the ball, "Pretend it's a planet. If you draw a line on a sphere, it's obviously curved, right?"

"Right," Mabel said.

"But now pretend you're on the planet. The surface of the world is a flat plane to you. From your perspective, you can walk in a straight line from point A to point B."

"But it's actually a curve. From space."

"Now you're catching on. That's what makes spherical geometry a little weird: when you're on the sphere you treat everything around you like it's 2D even though when you're off the sphere you can see it's 3D." Why in the world was Bill teaching Mabel about spherical geometry?

Bill drew two more lines to connect to the first. "So! You can draw a triangle on a sphere, no problem, right?"

"Right."

"And something you can only do in spherical geometry... is... pretend this is the North Pole and the South Pole..." Bill carefully rotated the ball under his marker as he drew a straight line from one "pole" to the other, and then drew a second straight line from pole to pole next to it. "Ta-da! If a tri-angle has three angles, a bi-angle has two angles. You've got yourself a two-sided polygon. Right?"

Mabel hesitated. "Right."

"You with me so far, Shooting Star?"

"So far," she said, with a tone that suggested she expected that to change very soon.

"But if you try to transfer that shape from spherical geometry to Euclidean geometry—" Bill turned to an expanse of still partially-uncovered white papers taped to the wall like a makeshift whiteboard, drew two points, and drew two straight lines, red and blue, between the points, "—it just doesn't work. You can't see a biangle in a flat world."

And now Mabel was squinting suspiciously at him.

Bill said, "I lost you."

"But where does it go!"

Bill shrugged. "You lost it when you lost the third dimension."

"But you said when you're on the sphere it's two dimensional!"

"From your perspective it's two dimensional, but there's still a third dimension enabling the sphere to exist."

"Then from my perspective when I'm on the planet shouldn't a biangle look like that?" Mabel pointed at the two straight lines on the piece of paper. "Since everything looks all 2D to me? But it doesn't! It's like flying from the North Pole to the South Pole through America and then flying back through China! China and America don't just squish together into the same place just because you're going in a straight line on a sphere!"

"I'd kill to hear you give a geography lesson to a Flat Earther convention."

Mabel gave him her best angry scowl.

"It was a compliment! I think you'd inspire some hilarious arguments, that's all!" Bill put two dots on the paper and offered Mabel the marker. "Look, try it for yourself! Draw a biangle."

Mabel took the marker and, after a moment of thought, drew two curved lines between the points, making a football shape.

"Those aren't straight lines, kid."

"Argh!" Mabel pulled the paper off the wallpaper, bent it into a curve, and shakily drew a straight line between the two points; but no matter how else she twisted or bent the paper, she couldn't find a path that would let her draw a second straight line between the points without overlapping the first line she'd drawn. She crumpled the paper, tossed it on the floor, and whispered, "It's witchcraft, Bill."

He burst out laughing. "I could name a few horror writers that felt the same way about non-Euclidean geometry."

"But whyyy does the biangle disappear when it goes from a sphere to normal flat paper."

"Because..." Bill groped for an explanation he hadn't already tried. He crossed an arm across his chest and tapped a knuckle just under the bow tied in his hoodie's draw strings the way some humans might tap a hand to their chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. How many times had Ford seen him make that exact same face in his true triangular form, whenever Ford was struggling to understand a lesson on portal physics and Bill was struggling to find a way to translate it into concepts Ford had encountered in his human education? "Let's try this another way."

The scene made Ford ache.

Look past the paper and the crayons, and the graph- and figure- and writing-covered walls looked so much like the advanced physics lessons and blueprints that Bill had coated Ford's starry blue dreamscape in during his sleep. Look past the flesh and bone, and Bill moved and gestured and spoke the way he had when he was teaching Ford how to build a bridge between worlds.

It was the first time since Bill's death that Ford had seen 100% of his personality shining—unhindered by grief, secrets, or a disdainful human audience. It was the first time in decades that Ford had seen Bill at his best.

In that moment, for a split second, Ford forgot how to hate Bill. He couldn't see Bill the traitor, Bill the invader, Bill the homicidal party animal. The only person in that room with Mabel was Bill Cipher the Teacher, Mentor, and Muse that Ford used to know so long ago. Like an ancient god who'd chosen to spend a day roleplaying as a giddy professor—Bill was holding back a tsunami's worth of vast, ancient, unintelligible alien knowledge so that he could drip out revelations at a faucet's pace, slow enough for his student to catch each drop in her hands.

Over thirty years ago, there had been moments when this Bill peeked out behind the above-it-all façade—and that had been the Bill that Ford was happiest to see, the Bill that Ford had thought of as a friend rather than a mere teacher... but each time, it hadn't been long before Bill seemly caught himself and turned off the faucet for the night.

Because he couldn't let Ford learn too much, or he would have seen through Bill's ruse.

Hatred tiredly crept back in.

"I've got it!" Mabel triumphantly flung her hands in the air. "It's like orange slices!"

"Orange slices?" Bill repeated.

"Be right back!" Mabel zoomed to the kitchen, shouting, "Hi Grunkle Ford!" as she passed.

Ford watched her go, then looked back at Bill; Bill had glanced at him for the first time. But all he did was frown and mutter, "I don't remember inviting you to audit this course."

Before Ford could decide whether to retort, Mabel charged back into the living room with an orange and a sharp knife. "Okay! If you draw a triangle on the orange," Mabel said, doing so with a marker, before cutting into it with the knife, "and then you—you cut it out all the way to the center..."

"Be careful with that," Ford said. Mabel was holding the orange in one palm and stabbing into it from the opposite side.

Bill said, "Lay off, Six Fingers. I'm keeping my eye on her, she's not gonna hurt herself."

"I'm being careful!" Mabel was struggling to get an even wedge cut all the way to the center of the orange; she eventually gave up and dug into the orange with her fingertips to tug out a messy mangled handful of fruit, attached to a roughly equilateral patch of orange peel about two inches to each side. She shook orange juice off her fingers. "Pretend I cut that out better."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Bill said. "It looks flawless."

She pointed at each corner of the peel triangle. "Okay so, these are the three corners of the spherical triangle, right?"

"Right."

"And if you want to make a regular flat triangle, you can... try to cut a straight line between the corners, like..." She squeezed the rest of the orange between her knees, held the edges of the triangular peel with her fingertips, and sawed off the orange pulp underneath, trying to cut a flat level plane as near to the triangle's corners as she could. Ford almost warned Mabel about the knife again, but glanced at Bill's face and his expression of unworried, keen curiosity, and kept quiet. Bill reached out and caught the sawed-off chunk of orange pulp before it hit the ground.

Mabel held out the peel slice. "There! Right? Spherical triangle on top and flat triangle on the bottom!"

Bill considered that, one hand on his hip. He popped the orange chunk in his mouth. "All right. So far so good."

"But if you make a biangle..." Mabel drew two lines between the top and bottom of the remaining orange, and cut a wedge free. "There isn't anything extra to cut off to let you make a flat shape. There's just a straight line between the two points!"

"Ha! Okay, all right, that works! Brilliant! What do you need me for? You just taught yourself the whole lesson!" Bill ruffled her hair so enthusiastically that he knocked her headband askew.

She shoved him away, laughing, and straightened out her headband. "Bill!"

"What did I say! Didn't I tell you you'd get it?" Bill was beaming at her, impressed, delighted, proud. "Congratulations, you've just mastered college-level geometry."

"Wh—What? Are you serious? This is college stuff?" She shook her head. "No way, you're lying."

Bill pointed at Ford without looking at him. "Tell her."

He felt a little like a dog being commanded to bark; but he said, "He's right. I didn't start studying spherical geometry until my second semester in college." He was sure he could have studied it sooner, if his high school had offered it; and he doubted Mabel had absorbed an entire semester's worth of spherical geometry; but he didn't see any reason to point any of that out when Mabel's face lit up in excitement.

Bill said, "There you have it! Way to go, star girl! Two big stickers."

"YES!" Mabel peeled off two jumbo-sized star stickers with smiley faces and stuck them onto her earrings. "So does that make a biangle a girl or a boy?"

And Ford was immediately lost again.

"No," Bill said.

Mabel sighed loudly and tried again. "Does that make a biangle a line or a polygon?"

"Still no, but for a different reason. Externally, they look like lines to anyone who isn't psychic. Internally, their anatomy usually functions like a polygon's. But socially, you've gotta ask. Some of 'em consider themselves lines, some polygons, some claim biangularity is neither linear nor polygonal. Personally, I say they're whatever they say they are. Because," he said grandly, "I'm just that open-minded and accepting."

Ford stifled a derisive snort. But Bill's self-aggrandizing aside, Ford's mind was reeling trying to keep up—spherical geometry, the (gendered?) socialization of shapes, Flatworlder anatomy—what did psychics have to do with anything? Ford's fingers itched for a pen. He wished he had his journal with him.

Bill grabbed several papers off the floor and the floating crystal ball and climbed on top of the wooden TV cabinet. He left the ball hovering behind him seven feet up in the air, tossed aside several papers he'd already used both sides of to let them flutter back to the floor, and taped the rest to the wall with their blank backsides turned out. "Now back to remote viewing." He drew a grid in blue lines on the papers, said, "Toss me that triangle wedge," used a marker to draw an eye on the triangular orange peel, tapped it twice like he had the crystal ball, and stuck it against the grid, where it sat unmoving.

And the entire time, Ford watched with his arms crossed tightly.

Almost a month ago, Bill had given Ford his manipulative trap of a birthday gift, a miniature grimoire, five pieces of paper, margins filled, two rows of text per line, packed with as diverse an array of magical spells and occult knowledge as Bill could fit. It wasn't a gift, it was a boast and a taunt: look at everything I know that you don't; look at what I could teach you if you let me live.

It was something Bill could have given him all along—effortlessly, with no cost to himself—but didn't, until Bill wanted something from him.

On his birthday, Ford had wondered, furiously: when this was what Bill could have been—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—why did he choose not to be?! It was an internal scream of rage, the howl of a wounded victim at the condemned criminal as he was marched to the gallows: you monster, you monster, you monster, when it would have been so easy for you to be something better, why instead are you a liar, manipulator, torturer, murderer, life-ruiner, world-ender? Answer for yourself: why are you this instead of someone better? How dare you?

It had made Ford want him dead even more.

This was the exact opposite of the grimoire.

The question in Ford's head wasn't a scream of rage anymore. It was grief. It was a plea. It was one last desperate attempt to understand:

Instead of being who he was, why couldn't Bill have been this person? This charismatic, energetic, ecstatic muse who ruled like a king over a classroom he'd constructed himself, eager to share a trillion years of collected wisdom with a fragile mortal mind, lighting up with joy whenever she grasped something that was trivially simple to him? This guide to the vast wonders beyond Earth, competent and encouraging and funny, delighting in the weirdness of the wide wide universe? The Bill that Ford had once liked so much—the Bill that he'd called his friend?

"Okay," Bill said, all sunshine and excitement, "Back to how to view the third dimension from the second dimension—"

Mabel said, "Can you view the fourth dimension from the third?"

Bill hesitated a split second, but said, "Sure! You can view any dimension from any dimension! You've just gotta bend your eye the right way to see higher ones!"

"What does the fourth dimension look like?"

"Well—hm. Imagine the way that the third dimension looks different from the second, and that's the way the fourth dimension looks different from the third."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"Eddie wrote an entire book about a square meeting a sphere because that was the closest he could get to telling other humans what seeing the fourth dimension is like! If I could still visit dreams, I could just show you, but..."

"Isn't the fourth dimension time? Blendo showed us the time stream! Is that what it looks like?"

"Nnn—close! You're close. The fourth dimension isn't time, but time is in the fourth dimension."

"How's that different."

Bill pointed at the floor. "If the carpet's the second dimension and the lamp's shining on it, the third dimension isn't light, but light is in the third dimension."

"Ohhh." Mabel gasped. "That's why you called some weird thing flying around in a higher dimension an eclipse! Because eclipses were in a higher dimension in Flatworld!"

Bill's face lit up in surprised delight. "All right, skip three lessons ahead, why don't you! In a week's time you'll be teaching people how my dimension works." He turned back to his papers and started drawing a branching river. "So! That time stream you saw isn't time itself! It's a visual metaphor being generated so humans can see time too—sort of a hologram projecting from the fourth dimension into the third—have I explained that the universe is a hologram yet—"

Why weren't you this person, Ford wondered. Why did you choose not to be this person? When it was so easy for you to be this? When this made you happy, too?

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why are you only like this now, when you're about to die?

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed Infodump: The Chapter. This is one of those chapters with something hidden in it that'll unravel the whole fic if you happen to find it, so have fun searching for that. Let me know what you thought of this week's chapter! And get excited—we've got Big Things coming up... soon.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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what-even-is-thiss · 6 months

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It’s amazing what they use to avoid showing blood in tv and movies for kids. Like making robots the bad guys, using magic, burning Anakin Skywalker alive and cutting off both of his legs with a laser sword on screen.

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takami-takami · 11 months

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Keigo never really stopped to think about his size before he met you.

He's aware he's big. He has eyes. But it never really mattered much to him besides the typical "huh, nice." when glancing down that men try to pretend they don't do.

So when he first tugs his cock free and your eyes practically pop out of your head, a whisper of "Jesus Christ" escaping, his first instinct is to worry.

He's about to ask "wait, is something wrong?" before he realizes it's not fear, but admiration he sees in those eyes that are laser-focused and transfixed between his legs.

Well. Maybe a little bit of fear. But it's a good kind.

It doesn't take him long at all to develop an ego.

By the third time he has you sobbing on his thick cock, insides stretched to the brim while his thighs grind against your ass, those sweet little words he coos carry an unshakeable confidence.

Words like, "you can take it baby, c'mon, it's okay. Shh, it's alright, so good f'me. Take me inside, baby. I'll make it fit. You've done it before, yeah? So proud of you, you take big cock so good."

Before long, he's faking obnoxious yawns next you on the couch— an excuse to place his arms behind the seat and spread his legs apart, enticing your predictable stare. He couldn't hold back that knowing grin if he tried. His boisterous laugh in response to your accusation of "stop being a slut, Kei'" only ceases once it's cut off by a moan, your knees thudding against the floor to properly kiss his prominent bulge through the clothes.

By the tenth time, he praises himself nearly as much as you.

"You love taking this fat fuckin' cock, don't you? Love being split open on my dick, yeah? Only mine? Shit— yeah, you do. Don't even care that it's stretching your guts, do you? Nah, you love it, you fuckin' love it. 'S that why you're screaming so loud, baby? Sound so pretty when you do. Get your head out the pillow, wanna hear you. Wanna hear that pretty voice scream my name when I take you."

"Mine," he snarls. "All fuckin' mine."

Once the post-nut clarity hits, he promises he'll go back to normal: wings drooping in apology like a kicked puppy as he thumbs away your thick tears of pleasure.

"Ah... Sorry, baby. Wasn't too rough, was I? You did so good. You sore? Want me to run a bath?"

All you're capable of providing is a shaky thumbs up.

#i think this is so funny #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #smut #x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha thirst #bnha thirst

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killakalx · 5 months

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kal i’m here for the second time today reporting from the darkest, nastiest part of my brain to share bsf!dick grayson thoughts 🎙️ you’re laying down with your best friend, leg thrown over his hips, js sitting in comfortable silence on your phones. occasionally he’s rubbing your back, every once in a while you share what you’re looking at with quiet giggles. you readjust, and suddenly the seam of your shorts is pushing up against you just right. immediately you feel bad — you can’t use your best friend to get off, that’s just wrong. a little empty headed and itching to chase the feeling, the horny, irrational part of your brain wins out and you adjust again, subtly. you keep making small, seemingly unnoticeable movements ‘til dick asks, “are you not comfortable?” you shake your head, keep still but he can feel the tension in your shoulders, hiding a smirk behind his phone. he knows exactly what you’re doing, and fucking loves it. he lets you think he hasn’t noticed, continue with those little twitches of your hips that make your eyebrows furrow. “you gettin’ off on me?” he’d ask so casually, and it would take herculean effort on his part to keep from laughing at the way your eyes widen and you freeze up. before you can fumble your way around some inadequate apology, his hand is slipping just barely under the waistband of your shorts, resting on your lower back and giving you a little nudge. “‘s okay, i’m not mad, keep going.” he’s grinning, phone abandoned with a laser focus on the way you hesitantly start grinding against him, growing a little more confident after his reassurance. he’d be happy to help, but he’s relishing in being used to get you off in such a juvenile way. i’m sick in the head, i know, but i can’t stop thinking abt him.

— 😵‍💫

YESSS BSF!DICK GRAYSON IS MY SHIT.

bc i’m a whore for thigh riding just think about you laying on your tummy and he’s sitting up a little further against the pillows. one leg over his and at first you start off a little far away from him. after so many silly posts you just had to show him though, you’ve inched closer. he sees the little movement in your hips and he’s engraved that night in his brain so deep that he knows you only move like that when you’re tryna get off.

“what would you do without me, huh?” he’s teasing you and urging you closer, and you’ll be damned if you don’t take the chance. greedy hands are pinching your hips and ass while he makes you keep going, then he’s tensing his thigh just to fuck with you. “y’want me to keep doing that, pretty thing?” ugh you should be ashamed of how fast you start nodding at him.

“mhm,“ you’re assuring him and you get cut off when he actually does it. buckling over and closer to his face, arms around his neck and now he’s just being mean when he leans his head away to stop you from kissing him. “friends don’t kiss on each other,” all while he’s guiding you back and forth and bouncing his leg. bastard.

in his defense all his attention is on the wet patch on his sweats, soaking through your shorts just from this. nonnie you are so right when you say he’s into it, the fact that you got desperate enough to even try getting away with grinding on your bsf. dick grayson as your bsf has made you cum without his cock plenty of times, just bc his ego blows up.

“ohhh, you gonna cum?” YES. yes yes yes. now he’s letting you get real close to his lips, forehead against yours as a gentle hand keeps your eyes focused on his. it’s somehow something much more intimate than kissing, still making you whine when you clench around nothing and ruin his thigh. and yeah there’s no second thoughts, he’s already tryna make you cum again after that shy little giggle once you remember why this happened in the first place. nonnie, if you’re sick then i’ve got a chronic disease.

#bit of a shameless plug sorry #kali ;; inbox #kali ;; wet dreamz #kali ;; dg #😵‍💫 anon !!#dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x reader #black!reader #dc x black!reader

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aizawaz · 13 days

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A short lil Logan drabble for you all <3

Am I projecting a little bit? Yeah. Am I ashamed to admit that? Not at all!!

Warnings: fem!reader , implied age difference , fingering , slight overstimulation , (first time) squirting , praise , humiliation if you squint real hard , Logan’s a nasty dawg

!NSFW below the cut!

The sensation builds in your stomach before your blissed out brain even realizes. A pressure deep in your stomach, one that’s both recognizable and foreign to you, and with every rapturous thrust of Logan’s fingers the feeling only gets stronger. It makes you hiccup in surprise when the realization suddenly hits you. Oh god, are you about to pee? Your hips squirm as weak protests begin to spill from your mouth.

“Lo-Logan, wait a second, I-“ You’re reaching back to pull his fingers out of you, to save yourself the humiliation of peeing during sex. “Sto-p, somethin’s we-weird!” You mewl, thighs trembling as the sensation engulfs your lower half. Logan merely hums and continues to incessantly piston his fingers into your sopping wet hole. “Gonna cum f’me again? Y’got it, let it all out, sweet’art.”

Something about the way he talks so casually, as if you’re not a blabbering mess in front of him, causes the dam to collapse in an instant. With a broken cry, you’re squirting your release all over the bed and Logan. He laughs in awe, the sound deep and husky as you make a mess of his forearm and the bedsheets below you. “Holy fuck, baby, yeahh,” he groans while his eyes are laser focused on the way your pussy spasms around his drenched fingers. He curls them experimentally, earning a jolt of your legs and a squeal. A prideful smirk pulls at his lips. “Didn’t know a pretty li’l thing like you could make such a fuckin’ mess.”

Even with your head spinning with ecstasy you still have the ability to whine in embarrassment at Logan’s words. Though you can’t help but think the same. That was the very first time someone has made you squirt. Hell, that was the first time you’ve ever done it, period. You don’t even need to say this because he already knows what’s on your mind.

“Never felt that good before, bub?” You hear Logan click his tongue, almost as if the thought disappointed him. “What a shame.” He’s sinking his fingers back into you, accompanied by a faint yet wet squelching sound when he buries himself to the knuckle. You shiver with a gasp, and Logan continues. “That’s alright, though. I’m gonna make up for it and have you do that again.”

—————————

A/N: Hi I hope this makes up for my long absence!!! This scenario has been plaguing my mind for so long and I just had to write it down

#logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlet smut #aizawaz

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ohbo-ohno · 11 months

Text

Kinktober Day 24 - Sex Toy(s)

Ghost x Reader - 1.5k (on ao3)

summary: Ghost is focused solely on your pleasure when he comes home. (Reader POV)

cw: overstimulation

note: this is basically just a ghost version of my soap x reader from day 2, so if you like this consider checking that out!

Ghost is always greedy when he first comes home from deployment.

You can’t help but feel a bit bad about how… you-centered the sex always is, but it’s hard to complain when he holds you down by the thighs and feasts on your cunt for hours on end. Seriously - you’d thought you might die of dehydration the first time you passed out and woke up to him still buried between your legs. He’s a demon.

Simon’s not a particularly open man, and you haven’t been together long enough to justify pushing for more from him, but as best you can gather (or assume), he goes from laser-focused on whatever missions they’ve got him doing to laser-focused on you.

All that militaristic focus, all the desire to serve, focused right on you. Sometimes it feels like you might drown beneath the pure force of him, but he drags you back up.

You’re having fun with whatever this thing between you and Simon is. At some point you know you’ll have to either cut it off or push for more, but for now you’re content to see him for just a few days every few months.

And, well… it’s easy to let yourself get dragged into him when he is home.

You never gave him a key, but somehow you’re unsurprised when you come home from work one day to see him relaxed on the couch, mask already pulled up to his nose.

You’re even less surprised when you’re pinned to the wall hardly a heartbeat later.

You certainly don’t mind - Simon’s a fucking fantastic kisser, all nipping bites and harsh sucks, pressing his whole weight into your face while he holds your body flush with his. The two of you stumble against each other as you make your way to the bedroom, falling into the walls.

You jerk away from him at the sound of a picture falling, just managing to glance over your own shoulder. “Simon!” You scold, slapping his shoulder when he lifts you up the wall and glues himself to your neck.

“I’ll… fix… it…” he promises between bites, sucking hickies across the column of your throat. You’d like to snap something back at him, but he manages to find every spot that makes you melt. It’s impossible to complain, so you decide you’ll get him back later and wrap your legs around his waist.

“You better,” you still manage, ducking low until you can find his lips and drag his attention back to your mouth.

The next minutes flash by as he carries you to the bedroom, slowly stripping each of you of your clothes. You find yourself dropped onto the bed in only your granny panties, Simon nearly tripping over himself as he tries to kick his jeans off.

You can’t help but giggle at the sight of this big strong military man falling over himself to get to you. “Need some help there?”

He glares as he finally gets his pants off and crawls over you, but the little spark in his eyes dulls the anger. “Just lay there all pretty, don’t need you to do anything here.”

You snort at that, situating yourself comfortably against your pillows. “Did you miss me, or just my body?” You smile at him to show you’re not angry, that you don’t mind that this is the extent of your relationship for now.

He holds himself above you with a hand on your thighs, presses an uncharacteristically soft kiss to your lips. You’re nearly positive you hear him whisper “Both,” before he pulls away, but you don’t get a chance to ask about it before he’s diving between your thighs.

Here’s the thing with Simon - he doesn’t eat you out to make you feel good, he does it because he likes it. Which means that he very rarely warms you up, instead just dives tongue first into your core and feasts.

You and your needs become secondary to his hunger for your body, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s easy to melt into the pillows, resting one hand on the back of his head for just a bit more contact as he forces your thighs to the mattress, holding you spread open for himself.

He moans nearly as loudly as you do when he first dips his tongue inside of your hole, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Missed this,” you pant, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He pulls away for half a second, shooting you a look that you can’t quite decipher. “Me, or my mouth?”

That shocks a sharp laugh out of you, and you catch the smile playing at his lips before he buries his face between your folds again.

“You’re…” you pant, shifting against his tongue when it flicks just right over your clit. “You’re a hell of a lot better than- than my vibrator. Less expensive than batteries, too.”

He lifts his head again - a bit shocking, since he usually ignores all of your sounds when he first comes home like this - and you can see an eyebrow cock beneath the mask. “You have a vibrator?”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I’m a grown woman, Simon. Of course I have a vibrator.”

He ignores the snark in your tone and pushes himself up to his knees. “Where?”

You wiggle underneath him, trying to draw his attention back to your dripping center. “Why does it matter? You’re here now, so c’mon-”

He lands a sharp blow on your inner thigh, making you yelp and then pout up at him.

“Faster you tell me, faster I get back to making you come.”

You sigh, knowing he’s not going to leave this alone. “Fine, it’s in the top drawer of my nightstand - you know, where everyone keeps their sex toys?”

He gives you another harsh tap as he leans over. “Less sass,” he rumbles, digging through the drawer.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t like my sass.”

He doesn’t respond, which strikes you as slightly odd, but you brush it off when he settles back between your legs with your hitachi in hand.

You raise your eyebrows as he settles onto his stomach, shifting so he’s eye-level with your pussy. He spends a few long moments fiddling with the hitachi, flicking between different speeds and vibrations. He’s so focused on the toy that you can’t help but giggle.

“Having fun?”

He looks back up to you, a rare smile fully lifting lips. “Y’won’t be gigglin’ like that in a few minutes, love.”

You hum, shifting your knees a little higher to spread yourself further open. “Big words, Si. Sure you can live up to it?”

It’s both the wrong and right thing to say - wrong because his eyes narrow and you just know he’s going to destroy your pussy, and right for the same reason.

You let yourself go boneless when he laves his tongue up your center, letting yourself fully relax into the pleasure. Sometimes Simon will spend hours working you up just to refuse to let you come, but never when he’s first home. You doubt he’ll break his pattern now.

And he doesn’t. He gets you off once before he even uses the vibrator, two fingers inside of your hole stroking against your g-spot while his tongue flicks over your clit quickly, drawing you right into a shivery orgasm that has your nerves sparking.

He doesn’t let you come down before you hear the soft buzzing or the hitachi, and then the near painful buzzing right against your overworked clit.

You nearly shoot up the bed, mouth open and eyes wide at the shock of pleasure. It almost hurts so soon after your first orgasm, rush after rush of sensation sending you toppling over another peak before you’re even aware.

“Not gigglin now, hm?” You hear him say, but you’re too drained to bother snapping back past a little tug to his hair. He pushes his fingers into you more harshly at that, and you moan again.

You carry on like that for what could be hours, for all you know. He alternates between using his tongue to thrust into you and sucking your clit between his lips to give you a break from the wand.

You’re sure that he mutters a few things every time you reach that deliciously horrible climax, but the blood rushing through your head and the low sound of vibrations blocks his voice out. All you can really hear - all you can really feel is the pleasure, the way your thighs shake by your sides, the drool slipping past your lips, the slick spreading across your thighs.

It’s a special kind of torture. The wand doesn’t get tired like Simon’s jaw, it’s merciless against your most sensitive parts, and Simon has no qualms with holding you down and forcing you to take it all for him. It’s both horrible and heavenly, painful and euphoric.

At some point, the world goes dark. You let yourself slip into a half-asleep state, knowing that you’ll wake up in the same position, your favorite military man glued to your pussy.

#sorry this is late it Bored me #ghost cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #kinktober #kinktober day 24 #bo writes #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kinktober 2023 #ghost riley x reader

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impala-dreamer · 1 month

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You Only Want Me When You're High

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ As the newest and most useless recruit to The Boys, Y/N is tasked with keeping an eye on Soldier Boy while Butcher sorts things out. Annoyed to be given such a ridiculous job, she tries to keep the defrosted supe at arm’s length, but there’s something in the drugs and in his eyes that makes him hard to resist…~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader, Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher

5,426 Words

NSFW, Sexual Acts, Excessive Drug Use, Just NSFW all around…

“I’m going to put my clothes on before you say anything else” for @jacklesversebingo

JacklesBingo Masterlist ~ My Full Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Sunlight illuminated a cloud of bluish-gray smoke and Ben took another hit. He breathed deeply, willing the drugs to seek out every cell in his preternaturally powerful body and corrupt them long enough to give him a little buzz.

It wasn’t easy. It would take enough drugs to kill a mortal for him to feel that sweet high, but excess was a word he wasn’t familiar with.

Eyes closed, he exhaled another stream of musky vapor into the rented room. He felt his brain shift to the left for a quick second as a faint bit of dizziness struck him. He grinned, leaned back against the headboard, and stretched his long legs over the hideous bedspread.

“There it is…”

Another hit boosted his mood and Soldier Boy sighed happily, momentarily at peace.

He cracked open an eye when the bathroom door opened.

He licked his lips when Y/N walked out with a dingy white towel wrapped tight around her damp body; her hair pinned up and safe from the shower.

He whistled when she crossed the room, heading for her duffle bag.

“Fuck off,” she snapped, rolling her eyes as his grew darker and more locked on her form.

Ben chuckled under his breath. “Hey, sweetheart, you can’t walk around naked like that and expect me not to get stiff.”

He shifted on the bed, tugging at his pants to accommodate the growing length against his thigh. She stared at his hand as it teased the shadow creasing the fabric, and swallowed hard. He was gorgeous but the price of a quick romp wasn’t worth the pain in the ass.

He winked.

She groaned. “Asshole.”

“Oh, come on-” Ben took a long pull on the blunt and held it in, voice tight on the inhale. He grabbed his cock. “You know you want some of this.”

“The weed yes…” She turned her back on him, grabbed the bag, and tugged open the noisy zipper. “Your dick… no.”

He scoffed. “You’re shit at lying, Y/N.”

Her cheeks burned but she tried to ignore him as she searched the bag for her clothes. “Am I?”

The wide tip of his pink tongue flashed over his lips and Ben sat up, focusing on her. “Sure are,” he replied, tracing her spine with his gaze. “You’ve been acting like you don’t want to get on your knees, but I know you’re hot as hell for me. You’d suck my dick in a second if I whipped it out right now, wouldn’t you?”

He watched the muscles in her back tighten as she struggled to hide the shiver that slid from head to toe.

“You’re a pig.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged and leaned back again, bringing the joint to his lips. “Don’t mean I’m not right.”

Y/N glared at him over her shoulder. “Butcher should have left you on ice.”

Ben grinned. “I’m still a little chilly,” he teased. “Why don’t you come warm me up?”

“In your dreams, Grandpa.”

He patted his thigh. “Come on, Sweet Cheeks, hop on up here and show me those perky tits.”

Arousal and anger swirled in her gut and Y/N grit her teeth. “Things don’t work like that anymore. You can’t just snap your fingers and have women swoon over you. This isn’t the ‘40s.” Her glare cut through him as sure as Homelander’s laser eyes could and his nostrils flared in annoyance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put my clothes on before you say anything else.”

She turned to head back to the bathroom, but he moved like lightning, blocking her path. She gasped when his big hand locked around her arm.

“What are you doing?” She twisted her hand to break free and the bundle of clothes fell to the floor. “Let me go.” Her voice was shaking but as firm as she could make it.

He laughed and tightened his fingers around her wrist. “Your pulse is racing.”

She looked up and sneered. “That’s because you’re annoying the crap out of me.”

“Or maybe, it’s because you want me to do this-”

Soldier Boy tugged her arm and she crashed against his firm chest. She inhaled quickly, sucking in the heat of him, the dark woody scent of his body, and the stink of the drugs. Her head clouded and he took advantage, pressing his lips to hers in a rough kiss. Unconsciously, she opened for him and his hot tongue snaked against hers. She couldn’t hide the way her heart pounded- he could hear it. She couldn’t conceal the flush of her skin- he could feel it. She couldn’t obscure the dampness between her legs- he could smell it.

When he let her go, Y/N stumbled back and shook her head to clear her vision.

Towering over her, Ben smirked proudly and licked her taste from his lips. “Told ya.”

Her palm cracked hard against his cheek and he cringed for her benefit.

“Fucking asshole!”

Staring up into his emerald eyes, she felt herself weaken but refused to give in. She hit him again.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Another slap made a soft smile pluck the corner of his mouth and Y/N raged, giving into the rushing arousal that swarmed her thoughts and pushed away her common sense. She raised her hand again, but instead of a slap, she clawed at the nape of his neck and drew his lips down to hers, kissing him hard.

Ben sucked in a breath, shocked by her aggression. He hummed when she licked into his mouth; slipped his free hand down her sides when she bit his bottom lip. His fingertips dug into the meat of her hips and she pulled back, looking up into his freckled face.

The end of the joint smoldered between his fingers, crumbling to ash like a pillar of Pompei. Y/N wrapped her delicate hand around his wrist and brought his fingers up to her mouth.

Holding his gaze, she puckered her lips and sucked in a deep breath, pulling the drugs into her lungs. She shuddered and coughed, senses overtaken by the strength of the bud.

“Fuck…”

Ben bent down to take a final drag and the cherry died. He dropped the dregs and pulled her close, slowly exhaling the smoke through her parted lips.

She inhaled and her eyes rolled. Her balance skewed and she swayed against him.

“Now…” He cleared his throat and slid his hand against the back of her head, holding her there. “How about you get on your knees and show me what a good girl you are.”

Y/N laughed and shook her head. “I have a better idea.”

He cocked a brow. “Really?”

“Mhm…”

Taking a step back, Y/N released the knot in the towel and let it fall to her feet. Immediately, Ben reached for her, but Y/N caught his hand, shoving it away.

“I told you, things are different now.”

Reaching up, she dragged her fingertips down his cheek. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering slightly.

“It’s not just take, take, take anymore…”

Her hand moved slowly down his throat, tracing the thick muscle down to his shoulder.

“Sometimes, you gotta give.”

His forehead creased in confusion, and Y/N explained without words, pressing his shoulder down and urging him to his knees.

In awe of her suggestion and high as a kite, Ben slid to the floor and looked up with full-blown pupils and wet lips. As he watched, she ran her hands over her breasts, plucking each nipple until the flesh darkened. He swallowed hard. Her right hand dipped down between her thighs, carrying his gaze to her pussy. She spread her legs and rubbed gently, slicking her fingers with arousal.

He parted his lips, ready to shoot another one-liner her way, but Y/N silenced him quickly. She pushed her wet fingers into his mouth and rubbed her juices on his tongue.

His eyes closed and he moaned around her fingers. “Fuck…”

She spread her legs and grabbed a handful of his thick hair. “Time to give, Soldier Boy…”

Y/N forced his face into her cunt, but he needed little prodding. As soon as her flesh hit his face, he started to lick and her body arched back in mounting pleasure. She tugged at his hair as he sucked on her clit; bucked her hips against his mouth when he pressed two hot fingers into her.

He came up for air, sitting back on his heels and craning his neck looking up at her. His face glistened and his lips were swollen. He pressed his palm down over his cock and groaned.

“Wanna fuck you,” he breathed, roughly stroking himself through his sweats.

Y/N smiled devilishly and shook her head. “That’s so sweet,” she mocked, “but no.” Again, she grabbed his hair and yanked until he fell forward. “This is all you get.”

Ben sank into her pussy, driving her wild as lingering smoke faded around them.

He watched her through the car windows, staring as she walked down the street with Hughie by her side. They were arguing about something he couldn’t hear. Hughie’s lanky twig arms were waving in the wind as Y/N stood with her arms crossed and a hip popped in annoyance. Ben couldn’t give less of a shit what they were fighting about, he just wanted out of the damned car. He wanted to stretch his legs and wreak some havoc on that bleached blond, cape-wearing dickwad Homelander.

Instead, he crushed another pill in his strong hand and snorted it back, humming loudly as the jolt hit his brain. “Goddamn, that is good shit.”

Again, his eyes flew to Y/N and he licked his lips, remembering the sweet taste of her pussy and the noises she made while cumming on his tongue.

As if she could feel his eyes on her ass, Y/N suddenly turned and met his gaze. She shuddered a bit but didn’t look away, staring into his eyes from across the street.

Hughie waved a hand in front of her face, drawing her attention back.

“Hello! We’re not done here,” he snit; baby face screwed up in anger.

Y/N tilted her head and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Hughie. I’m not in charge of this shit. I’m just a babysitter.”

She looked at the car again and found Ben still admiring her form. He had his right arm on the window ledge and his forehead against the door. She couldn’t see his left hand, but she could imagine where it was as he pressed his tongue against his top teeth and dropped his eyes down her body.

Y/N sighed out a delicate moan.

Hughie gagged. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

He grabbed her arm, turning her back around. “Are you fucking him?”

Y/N startled and dropped her arms. “What? Who?”

Hughie’s face reddened. “Who? Soldier Boy!”

Shaking herself, Y/N cringed. “Ew. No! Why the fuck-”

“Well, you’re staring at him like he’s a fucking vibrator.”

Y/N laughed. “First off- that’s disgusting. Do not insult my vibrator like that. She’s one of my best friends.” She rolled her eyes. “Secondly, if I was gonna fuck anyone around here, it would not be that sexist junkie.” Hughie held his breath and stood up a little straighter. She laughed again. “Calm yourself,” she advised, turning away. “It wouldn’t be you either…”

Ben slowly rubbed his cock through his pants, eyes glued to her curves. He laughed when she threw her hands up, obviously annoyed with Hughie and his problems. The twig man cowered slightly and his face blushed hot red.

Soldier Boy laughed. “What a pussy.”

Three hours later, Y/N was half asleep in the front seat of the busted Lincoln, desperate to stay awake

Night had fallen as they waited in the woods, trapped in a car by her sharp-tongued, bearded leader Butcher. Y/N wanted to get into the fray and stab something, but she had been bound to Soldier Boy’s side, tasked with keeping him content and docile until needed.

She hated it.

He was humming to himself in the backseat, happily learning how to access porn on her smartphone. It had taken some time to get him to understand the mechanics of the swipe, but once he did, he was off like a racehorse, Googling the most depraved acts he could think of.

“Holy shit-”

Y/N rubbed her tired eyes and looked at him in the rearview mirror. His face was lit by the screen and his green eyes were wide; his plump lips stretched into an awed smile.

“What now? You find Hentaied yet?”

Ben looked up, confused, but immediately went back to his discovery. “No. What? No. There’s… well, there’s two girls… and one cup… and-”

“No! No. No.” Reaching into the backseat, Y/N grabbed the phone from his hands and quickly shut it down. “You’re not watching that crap on my phone.”

He laughed. “Crap.”

“Ew.” With a heavy sigh, she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. “You’re gross.”

“It was on your phone.”

“Because you looked it up- I- It doesn’t matter. Just shut up. Please. My head hurts.”

Ben watched as she rubbed her temples gently. “Ya know… I have something that’ll cure your headache.”

Y/N glowered at him. “Don’t you dare take your dick out.”

“Not yet.” He chuckled and produced a prescription bottle, quickly popping the top. “This.”

She leaned over to look at the three white tablets as they tumbled into his palm. “What is it?”

He grinned. “My old friend Bennie.”

“Um… pass.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll feel better… it’ll… wake you up.” Ben winked and closed his fist, crushing the pills to powder. Unfurling his fingers, he offered the drugs again.

Y/N declined with a simple shake of her head.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” With a loud snort and a flip of his long hair, the pills were gone, launched up into his brain like a rocket ship. “Fuck!” He shook himself and laid back, pupils wide and skin tingling.

Y/N couldn’t look away. He looked normal for once. The grumpy, disgusting aura was gone, replaced with a relaxed yet wired look that was more appealing by the moment.

She huffed.

He tapped a single tablet into his open hand.

She held his gaze and nodded.

“Good girl.”

The drugs flew up her nose and instantly shook her brain. A bolt of lightning struck her head and every part of her came alive. Her pulse rose, her skin prickled, her pussy throbbed. She felt elated and wild. She wanted to rip her clothes off and run through the trees, feel the earth beneath her bare feet, howl at the half-moon.

“Nice, right?”

Ben smirked and her attention shifted from the fantasy of a naked nature waltz to a dream of him.

Y/N bit her lip and reached over the seat to grab the collar of his shirt. The cotton rumpled in her tight fist and Ben fell forward, pulled by her lustful tug.

She kissed him.

He hummed and shifted closer.

She pushed her tongue between his soft lips.

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her delicious neck.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he growled, pressing his lips to her pulse. “I wanna eat you alive.”

Y/N moaned and dipped her head to look into his eyes. The move pulled her hair harder and the pain spread like concupiscent fire through her system. “Maybe later,” she teased.

Her tongue shot out and lapped at his lips.

He sighed lustfully. “For now?”

Y/N bit down on his bottom lip and let it fall slowly from her teeth. His eyes rolled and she kissed his deeper.

“For now…” Her lips slid across his cheek and settled by his ear. “... I want you inside of me.”

Ben growled and grabbed her waist, easily lifting her over the seat and into his arms. She fell into him and went back to tasting his lips, moaning with every electric kiss, every twitch of his fingertips over her skin.

He snuck his hand beneath her shirt, pawed at her tits, and teased each nipple in turn.

She pushed down on his lap, shivering when she felt his erection poke through the layers of fabric between them.

“Please,” she moaned. “Please fuck me.”

Her hands fell down his big chest and Ben’s breath grew ragged and heavy. He kissed her one last time and then shoved her away. She gasped at his strength as she ended up on her back with her jeans tugged away. He moved with lightning speed, removing her panties and kicking away his clothes.

There was no hesitation when he was ready, no need to warm her up. Y/N was wet and tight, ready for him like she’d been edging herself for weeks.

The moment his cock pressed against her cunt, she was gone, clawing at his arms and letting out wild curses of pleasure.

He fucked her hard, pushing in deeper with every thrust. He watched her eyes roll and her muscles clench. He heard her heart struggle and the blood flow to her pussy. He knew her then inside and out and used every bit of his power to bring an orgasm crashing down upon her.

“Fuck!” She dug her nails into his shoulders while the pleasure wrecked her body. “My god!”

A cocky smirk played on his lips and Ben grabbed her hips. He lifted her like a doll as he settled back against the seat. Her legs spread around his trim hips and she instinctually sank on his cock, impaling her still throbbing pussy.

“Fuck, fuck!” She bit her lip and locked her tiny hands around his thick neck, holding on as she began to ride him.

The threat of her fingers on his pulse was enticing and Ben bucked his hips hard, fucking up into her as she struggled to stay upright. When she crumbled, he held her up, his big hand closing around the nape of her neck and keeping her spine straight. She was truly a ragdoll in his hands: a wet, hot, sexy toy for him to use.

Y/N shuddered with another orgasm and Ben let go as she tightened around his cock. With a rumbling growl, he came, shooting up into her with a powerful spray that she could almost feel going deep into her core.

Butcher had one foot out the door. He would have had both out and halfway down the motel hallway if not for Y/N’s hand fixed around his elbow.

Her fingers dug into the soft leather of his sleeve and he paused, looking down at her.

A strange mixture of anger and pathetic innocence filled her eyes and Butcher laughed.

“You’ll be fine, kid. He ain’t gonna bother you none.”

Y/N groaned. “Please. Just give me something else to do. I can’t stand it anymore. He’s such an asshole. He spent forty minutes this morning talking about Susan Summers and how good the ThighMaster was at tightening her pus-”

Butcher held up a hand, silencing her.

“I gotcha, but ya need ta realize I got a lotta balls in the air right now and I need that ball under lock and key.” He pointed behind her to the bathroom. The edges of the closed door were glowing as smoke and steam escaped, leaking an odorous marijuana and Old Spice vapor into the room. “And you, darlin’,” he continued, poking Y/N in the chest, “are the lock.”

She shook her head. “And where’s the fucking key so I can get out of here?”

Grinning, Butcher shoved her back a pace. He grabbed the door and stepped into the hall, pulling it behind him. “That’d be me.”

Her fist hit the door and her knuckles bruised instantly.

“God- fucking- damn it!”

One door closed and the other opened.

A naked Soldier Boy emerged from a dense fog of spiked steam like Jesus descending back to earth on a cloud.

Y/N caught herself staring at his dick and shook herself, turning quickly away.

“You can look,” Ben said, planting his bowed legs wide apart and setting his fists on his hips. “I don’t mind.”

She gagged dramatically. “No thanks.”

“Come on,” he urged proudly. “Take it all in. Bask in the glory!”

“You really are a tremendous piece of trash, aren’t you?”

With a shrug, he broke pose and went in search of pants.

“You didn’t seem to mind it last night,” he mused, bending over a bag of random clothing articles.

Y/N tried not to stare but his tanned skin was glistening with wetness from the shower and the muscles of his back were tight and twitching as he searched. Her eyes fell down his spine, lingered on his ass a moment, and then sank into the thick muscles of his legs. His thighs looked like tree trunks, his calves like branches she could entangle herself in and dangle forever.

“Yeah, well… I’m an idiot sometimes.”

Ben fished a pair of soft white boxers from the bag and turned, eyeing her as he toyed with the elastic hem, finding the front.

“Sometimes?”

She cleared her throat and narrowed her gaze, pushing every bit of annoyance into her stare. “Fuck off.”

Ben smirked and tugged on the shorts. “You know, you’d get a lot more attention if you were nicer. Smile more. Be respectful. Put some damned makeup on.”

Anger sizzled in her gut. “You didn’t seem to mind last night,” she echoed.

Pressing his tongue between his lips, Ben nodded. “Touché.”

Time passed slowly.

Y/N sat at the head of the bed, leaning on the headboard with a bottle of Jim Beam slowly emptying into her.

She stared at Ben despite herself, always looking away, arguing with herself, and then looking back, getting stuck on something about him. His hair was so perfectly long in all the right places, and somehow gorgeously always in place. His beard was thick but soft like he’d been grooming himself for the last forty years. His eyes cut right through her resolve anytime he looked at her. At times she wondered if he had x-ray vision or could see into her soul.

Still shirtless and refusing to get dressed, Ben paced the room. His bare feet dug into the thin carpet as he walked back and forth, seething with energy.

“Sit down already!” Y/N yelled. “You’re making me dizzy! You’re like a fucking pendulum going back and forth.”

Pausing by the door, he grit his teeth and glared. “Give me something to do, then.”

Y/N shrugged. “If we had anything to do, do you really think I’d be sitting here? With you?”

Giving up his worn route, Ben took a seat at the little round table in across from the bed and grabbed a wrapping paper.

“Why do you hate me so much? What’d I ever do to you? Kill your grandmother?”

“What? No.” Y/N scoffed. “I hate you because…”

Her thoughts trailed off when her eyes fell on his broad shoulders. They moved languidly as he rolled a giant spliff, muscles rippling under her gaze as if her world had switched to slow motion.

“Uh…”

He brought the joint up to his lips and Y/N gasped slightly when his tongue jutted out to wet the seam.

“You…”

Green eyes locked onto hers and Y/N felt her pussy throb.

“I, um…”

Ben chuckled to himself and twisted the ends of the paper tighter. He sat back in the chair and clicked the lighter Butcher had left him.

“You know what your real problem is?” he asked, letting the flame grow high before setting it to the end of his cigarette.

Her heart was pounding, her skin on fire for wanting him. “What’s that?”

“You only want me when you’re high.”

It was so absurdly true that she laughed out loud. Y/N shook her head and tipped the whiskey back, taking a deep drink. “You’re incredible, you know that? It’s like everyone has to love you but when they don’t, you make some shit up. Nuh-uh. You’re… shut up. I hate you.” She took another sip for good measure and huffed in his direction. “You suck.”

Ben licked his lip and took a drag. The exhaled smoke haloed his gorgeous face and Y/N hated every drop of booze in her system. They were all dragging her mind to nasty places that she’d rather not go.

“It is true,” he argued, blowing a smoke ring high about his head. “And I think you like it.”

She stiffened. “I do not.”

“I think you do.” Ben sat forward and pulled in another hit. The drugs flooded his brain and he smiled happily. A few moments of bliss before trauma struck again. “I think you need it.”

“Need what?”

She watched with building lust as Ben stood up and walked to the foot of the bed. With the fag balanced on his thick bottom lip, he crawled onto the mattress and moved towards her.

“You need the release,” he explained, hand over hand moving closer. “You need to be high so you can forgive yourself for wanting me.”

Her heart skipped when he reached her feet. He was right and she hated it. He was terrible and she loved it. He was right there and she wanted him.

“And honestly, toots- if that’s what you need, that’s fine with me.” Sitting back on his heels, Ben offered her the joint. “Go on. Smoke the guilt away.”

As if moving in a dream, she took the pot from him and pressed the wet end to her lips. He held her gaze as she inhaled, set his hand upon her ankle while she closed her eyes, and slid it higher when the smoke billowed around them.

“There’s a girl…”

Whiskey and cannibus swarmed her senses and Y/N ran a finger down the middle of his chest. He was smooth and firm and covered in constellations of pale freckles. She leaned forward as he bent down and her lips caught his left nipple. He hissed when she sucked hard.

“Damn…”

Y/N looked up innocently while dragging her hand down lower. It brushed against the base of his cock and he sucked in a quick breath.

“Another,” he urged, pushing the joint back up to her mouth. Her lips parted and she breathed deeply. “So fucking hot…”

Eyes fluttering and thoughts swimming, Y/N gave in and reached into his shorts. She fit her fingers into a tight circle and stroked down the length of his cock, waking him up fully and making his chest expand with heavy breaths.

“Fuck…”

She grinned when he cursed; drooled as his head fell back with a pleasured moan. “More?”

Ben dipped his chin and chewed at his lip, nodding. “Oh yeah.”

Another hit did her in and Y/N shifted onto her knees. She pressed up against him and licked at his lips before shoving the joint between them. Ben breathed deeply and the cloud rose around them as she kissed her way down his body. She opened her mouth and lay it over his erection, breathing out, hot and heavy. He shuddered and his ass clenched.

“Fucking hell…”

Feeling somewhat outside of herself, Y/N looked up with hungry eyes and hooked her fingers into his waistband. “Oh, just wait,” she whispered, tugging his shorts down to his knees. “It’s my turn to give…”

She licked at the tip of his cock and sucked a wet kiss over the groove underside. Falling fully onto her hands and knees, Y/N teased him with her lips, running her mouth up and down his shaft until he was bouncing on her tongue, fully engorged and leaking.

“We need to keep you stoned off your ass twenty-four-seven,” he mused, halfway between a moan and a whimper.

Y/N pulled back and gently rubbed his sack. “Why don’t you get more comfy?”

Ben cocked a brow and grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

He turned and fell onto the bed, taking up her old spot against the headboard. She fit perfectly between his knees and went right back to work, shoving her hot mouth down his cock. She gagged and he groaned. She slurped and he yanked at her hair. She swallowed and he pushed her face down as far as she could go.

“Now this- this is fucking fantastic.”

Ben took a deep drag and blew the smoke down into Y/N’s face. She inhaled and her eyes rolled back, deeply aroused and stupidly high.

She used her whole body to pleasure him. She scrapped her nails down his sensitive inner thighs, swirling her tongue over his sack, rubbed his cock between her tits. Her ass wiggled and her pussy dripped, throbbing and so close to cumming from simply sucking him off.

When she slowed, he bucked his hips. When she choked, he pushed her down further. When she shuddered with an unexpected orgasm, he egged her on with gravelly moans and curses that stunted her thoughts.

“Gonna drown you in cum, sweetheart,” he grunted, straining to hold still while she worked her magic.

Y/N hummed rapturously, daring him to do it, to murder her with his release.

Ben lay his hand flat on the back of her head and gently held her there. He was ready to explode and he wanted her to stay and swallow every single drop.

When the door opened, he was mildly surprised, but unwilling to stop. He jerked his hips up into her pliant mouth and Y/N squirmed between his legs.

“Holy fuck! Come on!” Hughie quickly shielded his eyes, but the damage was done. Y/N was sucking Soldier Boy’s dick like a porn star while the hero smirked like a moron.

“Hey! It’s Baby Hughie!” Ben tapped Y/N on the head, but she refused to stop. She was enjoying the slick slide of his cock over her tongue too much to give it up.

Hughie shook his head and turned away. “Y/N! What the fuck!”

Ben laughed before a tight groan worked its way through his chest. “Don’t get pissed at her,” he warned. “She’s a fucking expert cocksucker.”

Y/N swallowed hard and his thighs shook.

Hughie gagged visibly. “I’m gonna- this is- gross.”

Taking one last hit of the dying joint, Ben narrowed his gaze on the lanky man shadowing the doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “Did you wanna get down on this?” He held out his hand, offering both the drugs and Y/N’s ass.

Shocked, Hughie shook his head. “What? No!” His cheeks burned bright pink and Ben laughed.

“Come on, ya pussy. I’m sure she won’t mind…”

Y/N voiced her opinion with a harsh scrape of teeth down his cock.

Ben hissed at the pain and shrugged at Hughie. “Sorry. It appears she does mind.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N pushed her face into the soft patch of hair around his pelvis and Ben lost his mind. He gripped her hair tight and pulsed his hips in quick, short thrusts.

Hughie gawked at the scene and then struggled to leave. He spun in place and grabbed the doorknob, unable to turn it and escape with quaking hands and blurry eyes.

Y/N could feel Ben’s need throbbing on her tongue and she pulled back for a second to scold her friend.

“Get out already!” she shouted, shooing Hughie off with a wave of her spit-soaked hand.

Ben called her back, grabbing her cheeks in one big hand and pinching her lips into a tight circle. “Oh, he’s leaving,” he told her, guiding her mouth back to his throbbing cock. “Or he’s gonna see some things he can’t forget.”

Hughie slammed the door behind him and braced himself against the wall. His head fell back with a thud and he struggled to wipe the memory clear. He didn’t care that Y/N had lied about fucking Soldier Boy, but seeing her blitzed and working his cock was more than Hughie could take. An old “Say No To Drugs” poster from grade school flashed through his thoughts and he cringed.

When Ben’s orgasmic roar flooded out into the hallway, Hughie booked it, strangely looking forward to spending the night alone in the car.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #jacklesversebingo23 #soldier boy x y/n

165 notes · View notes

leclerc-hs · 8 months

Note

Heyyy I saw you were looking for some Charles inspo and I’m just putting this out there: getting shitfaced with bestfriend Charles, doing something you totally should(n’t) and waking up in bed together the next morning

A/N: this has been sitting in my inbox for a while now and i felt the need to finally write it!!! this is my take on it (i didn’t include the morning sorry) and i hope y'all like it!!! let me know what you think!!! :) don’t be shy warnings: smut under the cut!!!! minors do not read. xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You’re not sure what exactly got you into this predicament but you didn’t care. You couldn’t find yourself to care or complain. Not with the little baby blue bullet vibrator pressed to your clit, and especially not with Charles fingers curled against the heat of your walls rubbing them with the exact speed and pressure you liked.

With an exasperated yet playful tone, you urge, “Oh, c’mon Charlie!” The living room of Charles apartment is alive with energy as you twirl in a circle around the furniture, the glint of excitement in your eyes. The neck of the tequila bottle is firmly held in your fist, “Dance with me!”

As your legs stumble slightly, Charles’s callused hands firmly grip the soft skin of your hips. The delicate flesh exposed from the tiny baby tee and sweatpants that hang almost too low on your hips, bringing a halt to your twirling spins. The contrasting sensations of the rough hands and the exposed skin create a moment of electrifying tension. Your eyes twinkle when meeting his green ones, both swaying gently to the music as you tossed your arms over his shoulders and behind his head languidly. The tequila bottle swayed behind Charles back, hitting him a few times in the shoulder blades, but he didn’t mind. He was too enraptured in the joy on your face.

You bring the bottle to your lips with one arm, taking a sip from it, the burn barely even noticeable with how shit-faced you almost were. Charles took the bottle from your hand, phrases like ‘relax, cherie’ and ‘slow down, baby’ spewing off his lips in a comforting cadence. Although he was very biased, taking a swig from the bottle almost immediately after, sparking laughter between the both of you.

You’re not sure what changed but the next time your eyes met, you felt the heat build in your tummy, and the need to press your thighs together is hot on your mind. You always were a horny drunk, but never like this. Not with your best friend.

Charles seemed to have noticed the inner turmoil you were facing. Maybe it was the fact he saw your thighs press slightly together, or the change in your dilated pupils. Whichever reason it was, he was all hands-on deck. Or maybe it was the fact that he has never been more turned on by someone in his life. He wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he was going to take his shot regardless.

“Open your mouth for me, cherie.” Charles takes a sip of the tequila, his eyes locked on yours as he towers over your small frame.

In that fleeting moment, your head tilts ever so slightly, a delicate dance of confusion and curiosity etched across your features. The slight glimmer in your eyes reveals a layer of excitement beneath the surface.

You oblige happily, jaw widening and mouth hanging slack. Almost instantly Charles’s hands are gripping your face in a tight grip, locking you in place as he dribbles the tequila from his mouth into yours. He brings one hand to the bottom of your chin, his thumb swiping any liquid that missed, before commanding your jaw shut.

“Swallow.” You don’t hesitate. The searing hot ache between your legs only growing more at his commands.

You notice the change of his pupils as he watches your swallow, his eyes focusing on the center of your neck like lasers. His eyes are half shut, and the loopy grin on his lips has your stomach doing somersaults.

Is this really about to happen?

You both knew you shouldn't cross that line. But, neither of you cared in this given moment. In this given moment, all you could think about is the intensity of his eyes on you and how you never wanted him to look away. In this given moment, all he could think about is what it would feel like to have you. Finally have you. He wanted to be consumed by you.

In an instant his mouth is hot on yours, tongue swirling around your own as you both moaned into each other's mouths. Your tongues pressed against each other in a heated dance, as if you couldn't get enough of each other. You both taste the hints of tequila on your tongues as they slip against each other.

The answer is yes. Which is how you find yourself in said predicament.

“Mm, ça a un putain de gout délicieux, chérie,” Tastes so fucking good. He’s moaning loudly into your pussy, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Because he couldn’t. One hand pushes the tiny vibrator harder onto your puffy clit, your arousal seeping out of you, while the other grips your thigh tightly, his arm wrapped around it as he pushes that leg over his shoulder, spreading you wider for him.

His tongue is hot on you as he traces his tongue around your dripping hole, sucking up anything you’ll give him. He pushes his tongue into you, flicking it in and out of you with such speed, that it has you careening forward with a sharp cry.

His pulls his face up for some air, not that he wanted it, shoving two fingers into you while he rambles on almost incoherently.

“Tu vas être une bonne fille pour moi?” Gonna be a good girl for me? He shoves his thumb into you, staring at the way it slips into you and your pussy flutters around it.

“Oui!” Yes! You were shouting, the bullet vibrator now rubbing in slow, languid circles, but the vibration on the highest setting, his fingers pummeling into you with such dexterity.

Charles finds himself involuntary flexing his hips into the mattress of the bed, trying to receive some relief from how turned on he was. He swears his cock was about to explode.

There was nothing slow about this, Charles was eating you out much like he drives. 200 mph, with limited "braking", and pure skill. He didn’t bother to tease you; he was full on feasting like your pussy was the last meal on earth for him.

“Une si bonne fille.” Such a good girl. He groans deeply in his chest at the sight of you bucking your hips, small gasps leaving your glossy lips as you shut your eyes with such force.

“I’m gon-“ You began to warn, but Charles didn’t need the warning. He could tell by the squeeze of your pussy on his fingers that you were about to cum, and it only encouraged him to speed up his fingers, sending you quickly over the edge. "Oh fuck- oh my, mmm,"

Your orgasm was earth-shattering, tears sprang from your eyes as you squeezed them shut tightly. Charles chucked the vibrator aside and pressed his face into you while you bucked your hips against his face, completely riding his face now. He held you in place, your thighs nearly suffocating him as they clamped shut tightly around his head.

He curses into your pussy repeatedly, loving every single drop you gave him. So sweet, so fucking good. You were completely fucked out, your body falling limp to the mattress as Charles pulled up from between your thighs, his lips completely coated with you. A cocky grin on his face as he looks at you half passed out on his bed.

Je n’arrive pas à croire que nous ne l’ayons pas fait plus tôt.” Can’t believe we never did that sooner.

“Pouvons-nous le refaire?” Can we do it again? Your words were jumbled and hushed but Charles must have understood you loud and clear. The shit-eating grin on his face told you more than enough. And the grasp of his hands onto your hips, rolling you over to your stomach, and the slip of his cock into your hot, wet folds was far better than a simple ‘yes’.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x oc #charles leclerc x you

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undertheorangetree · 11 months

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Competition

Summary- Aemond is a big fan of healthy competition.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Modern AU. Mutual edging. Handjob. Fingering. Blowjob. Surprisingly fluffy?? Straight up porn.

Author's Note- I wrote this instead of studying for my midterm lmao. This was a request and therefore a tumblr special so I'm posting the full story here below the cut :)

Usually, she finds the competitive nature of her relationship funny.

Aemond has always been competitive. Whether it was a board game amongst friends or trivia night at the pub or something as simple as an arm wrestle, he loved to win. Most of the time, she found the trait endearing and knew it was a habit she shared, especially when he was there to egg her on.

But it is at times like this she thinks perhaps his need for competition has gotten out of hand. Laying naked on their shared bed, Aemond on his knees beside her with his hand between her legs, two fingers pumping in and out of her ceaselessly. Her hand is wrapped around his cock, doing her best to match his pace even while the pleasure his hand is wringing from her licks up her spine, leaving her dizzy and half boneless. He had gotten it into his head that even this had to be a competition, that whoever forced the other to beg to come first would be declared the winner. She doesn't even remember what they're playing for, not now, but she does know that losing is not an option.

Already, they’ve denied each other twice, pulling the other away in their attempt to win. Despite the desperation that is sitting heavy in her gut, her cunt already hyper sensitive and the feeling only getting worse, she can’t make herself look away from Aemond’s face. His eyes are half lidded, the pupil in his real eye blown wide and turning the blue near black, chest heaving with every breath. His hips buck into her hand weakly, matching her strokes as if he wants nothing more than to let the bliss of it pull him under, his need to win the only thing holding him back. She’ll never get tired of that look, the way his features have gone soft and pliant as pleasure runs through him. She wants to immortalize it, stamp it in her mind’s eye and look at it forever.

She knows she looks just as desperate as he does, legs shaking as she feels her orgasm racing toward her. He keeps a steady pace, the sound of her cunt all but echoing through the room while his thumb circles her clit. It’s almost insulting, how well he is working her up even while she does the same to him. She had half hoped that the pleasure running through him would be some kind of distraction but he seems laser focused, staring between her legs as if he never wants to look away. And she's so close. She can feel it right there, knows that if he keeps going she'll fall over the edge, but just as her orgasm is about to run over her, she knocks his hand away. A desperate whine leaves her, hips bucking up to chase his hand despite having been the one to push it away, and she hears him let out a low groan, his wet fingers closing around her knee.

"Fuck, look at you." His other hand comes up to brush across her tits as if he can't stand the thought of not touching her, catching her nipple between his fingers. She jerks, knowing that was more calculated than it was loving, and slaps his hand away irritably. It doesn’t deter him. "You can give up any time you want, baby, just say the word."

Though she's breathless, frustration and disappointment churning in her gut, she knows he hears the petulance in her voice when she says, "Same goes for you, baby."

He grins, hand falling back between her legs again to play with her clit. There's a smugness there she doesn't like, as if he's sure that she will be the one to beg first, and she decides to wipe the arrogance from his face. Turning slightly, she shuffles a little closer, licking the weeping tip of his cock and before sucking the head into her mouth, fist still pumping at the base. She looks up at him with big doe eyes, trying to look as innocent as she can with his cock in her mouth, and very nearly grins at what she sees.

The effect it has on him is almost immediate. His stomach tenses, mouth dropping open and hand going momentarily still as he watches her, black swallowing the blue of his eye whole. She takes full advantage of his distraction, taking him into her mouth a little deeper and hollowing her cheeks. She knows him, knows every mannerism he has just before he falls apart, and she knows from the look on his face and the way he starts thrusting helplessly into her mouth that he's half a second away from finishing.

Unfortunately, he notices it too and she feels his hand in her hair, tugging her gently off his cock with a frustrated groan. A thin cord of spit connects her to him and he lets out an almost pitiful moan at the sight of it, bringing a grin to her face.

He almost sounds as though he's whining as he says, "You're cheating. Don't cheat."

She tilts her head as she takes him back in hand, reveling in the whimper he lets out. "Why? 'Cause you're gonna come?"

"Because I can't put my mouth on you. S'not fair."

She feels her grin broaden. "And we both know how much you like putting your mouth on me."

He very nearly growls at that before all but tackling her to the bed, forcing her onto her back once more. He kisses her hard, almost punishingly, and she moans into his mouth, both hands coming up to capture his face in her hands. She’s happy for the reprieve, the want burning between her legs too distracting, and takes her time kissing him, in feeling his lips pressing against her own.

"You're such a brat," he mutters against her mouth and she laughs, nipping at his bottom lip to further prove his point. His hand falls to spank her lightly in retaliation, making her jolt again before her own hand drops to find revenge in another way.

It takes him less than a second to follow suit, his fingers running through her to collect the arousal that’s gathered there before pushing a finger back inside her, crooking it up immediately to rub against the spot he knows makes her squirm. They’re both on their sides now and she slings her leg over his hip in an attempt to get more comfortable, still kissing him in the hopes that it will be enough to distract her from falling apart. It does little to help, the pleasure rolling to a boiling point in her belly. In any other circumstance, she would be grateful knowing that her boyfriend knew exactly how to touch her, how to work her up so perfectly, but now she knows that it will be her downfall unless she takes matters into her own hands.

Her mouth drops open, a moan escaping her when he begins circling her clit again, fast enough that her whole body shudders. Knowing now that she is sure to lose should he keep that up, she speeds up her hand in an attempt to bring him over the edge before her. She runs her thumb along the head of his cock, stroking at him faster, and fights the urge to giggle when he pulls away to moan, his head dropping to rest against her shoulder. His lips drag along the skin there, leaving lightning bolts of want in his wake, and her free hand comes up to twist in his hair, lifting herself up slightly.

“Please let me make you come,” she breathes near his ear, biting her lip when he moans faintly in response to it. “You look so pretty when you do. Just want to make you feel good, baby, please.”

She grinds down into his hand subconsciously, rolling her hips in her desperate need for more, and revels in the groan he lets out. She can feel herself clenching around nothing, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside her, but she refuses to succumb to her want now. Once she wins, she will gladly keep him in this bed all night and let him do whatever he wants to her. But before then, she wants to watch him fall apart.

“C’mon. Be a good boy for me.”

That does it. He lets out another whiney sound, this one half a moan, as his brows knit together, bucking his hips up into her hand. She strokes at him quickly, once, twice, until he spills himself over her fist with another moan, thrusts stuttering as he finishes.

Though his hand stalled while he came, he picks up where he left off the moment he has recovered, not giving her any time to mourn the loss of her fading orgasm. His fingers comes back up to her clit, circling it as hard and fast as she can handle and pulling a yelp from her. His free hand falls to the leg that still rests across his hip, holding her in place as he rubs at her faster and faster, that familiar coil in the pit of her stomach snapping almost as quickly as it begins to form. She writhes beside him as her orgasm washes over her, a whine leaving her as her head tips back, giving him enough room to press a litany of open mouthed kisses across her throat.

All at once, the room falls silent, the faint droning of the TV in the next room still humming on where they left it. They’re both panting and Aemond turns onto his back, his hand keeping her leg splayed across his lap while he does it, a faint stretch burning in her thigh.

"I win," she announces breathlessly, wiping her hand clean of him before flopping onto her side, cheek pressing tight against his chest.

He vibrates under her face with a huffed laugh, his hand comes up to stroke at her hair mindlessly. "I think you already got your prize."

She turns her head up to meet his eye. "And if I want another one?"

He turns down to kiss her again. This time, it’s much gentler, all the desperation that had filled the air between them simmering down to nearly nothing. A part of her thinks that he may be content to simply lay here with her in their disheveled bed but then he reaches for her ass again, using his grip there to tug her to lay flat on top of him. His cock is already half hard between them and she feels the side of her mouth quirk up at the realization that he is, in fact, not quite done yet.

“That can be arranged.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon smut

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gynoids-over-androids · 4 months

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finally my art residency is over, culminating in an exhibition. i created an installation about tech liberating women from a radfem perspective, through re-mater-ializing women's history. specfically female warriors, queens and goddesses from one matriarchal society that ACTUALLY existed in 400 bc. i remodeled and 3D printed artifacts of this society, depicting these warriors, goddesses and queens (the smaller parts of the installation). if tech in male hands can erase and dismember women, it can also do the opposite in ours. i succeeded in making a piece that doesn't mention moids at all and inspires #hopeforwomen by combining a futuristic aesthetic and ancient female history.

the installation is made from wood that i cut by saw and by laser. it's a shrine that is separated in three parts: the mother (bottom disk, depicting a vulva, symbolizing reproductive creativity), the maiden (the middle disk that looks like an electronic circuit, representing curiousity, thirst for knowledge, innovation - scientific and technological creativity ) and the crone (top parts, artistic creativity and history, features 3D printed Scythian artifacts that depict their matriarchs and goddesses, and laser cut red plexiglass that symbolizes menstrual blood and radiates technomatriarchal vibes from the top of the piece lol). the maiden/circuit part has an NFC tag. If you touch it with your phone, it opens the historical resources about the Scythian matriarchy&amazons. the maiden and the mother disk are connected by a reprinted Scythian artifact that depics the Great snake-legged Goddess.

the exhibition opening was a huge hit and there were several hundreds of people who visited it, a record for that gallery. i heard praise of my work and one woman was so touched (it reminded her of her spiritual yonic awakening) we exchanged contact information :) common radfem W all around

#i still cant believe its real lol #radfem art

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justwinginglife · 2 months

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Civilian Life Ft. Soshiro Hoshina

About a year ago now, a couple of lower class kaiju had made their way into your small suburban neighborhood. You had been babysitting some kids at the time, as you were friendly with most of the people in the neighborhood and liked to help out where you could. You and the kids were playing out in the yard when you felt the ground start to shake. Now it was normal to get earthquakes, but something in your gut told you something more sinister was on its way.

With a sweet smile, not wanting to scare the kids, you told them you'd make them treats if they wanted to go inside with you. They eagerly left their lawn toys strewn across the yard and raced inside. You didn't bother to pick up after them, you just followed closely behind them, making sure to keep your eyes laser fixed on them even though every fiber of you wanted to turn around to face what was coming, not wanting to leave your back exposed. You ushered them inside and locked the door behind you. Then for good measure, and for your own peace of mind, you pulled the bookshelf and the couch in front of the front door as though a kaiju couldn't break through it if it wanted to. It was the thought that counted. If you believe it will work, it will, you thought to yourself knowing how naïve that sounded. In these times, any bit of hope was needed.

You grabbed the metal baseball bat by the door and headed to the kitchen with the kids. You set the bat against the cabinet next to your leg as you started slicing some fruits with a knife, gripping the handle tight. Noises from outside started to bleed in through the house walls and the kids looked around for the source. You smiled again, trying not to let your nerves stain your face.

"Boy, someone is watching their tv really loud, huh?" You joked to the kids. "Hey let's all go downstairs and snack on some fruit, yeah?" They scurried down the stairs excitedly and you just hoped you could protect that innocence. You tucked the baseball bat under an armpit and then followed them, carrying the tray of fruit in one hand and squeezing the knife so tight in the other you thought it might meld into your skin.

You started to hear screaming outside and you winced, wanting to go out and help whatever poor soul was out there, but you waited with the kids, huddling them close to you and feeding them strawberries, whispering "Such a loud tv, such a loud tv."

Eventually a kaiju did break through the house and you heard it stomping around upstairs. "Hey, let's play a game." You told the children, moving them to a supply closet. "Be very quiet and the person that is the most quiet wins a prize afterwards okay?" You kissed them on the head and closed the closet door, positioning yourself in front of it with the bat and the knife at the ready. You knew it wouldn't do much good but you'd do your best. You inhaled and exhaled, the stress so excruciating that every breath felt like it might slice open your lungs.

Out of nowhere the kaiju smashed through the ceiling and crashed down in front of you. You didn't give it time to react, you plunged the knife deep into its eye socket and then used the bat to ram the knife further and further into its skull. You didn't think, you didn't breathe, you just kept hitting and hitting until suddenly it split in half. You blinked. You didn't think a bat could cut something so clean down the middle.

The corpse fell to the ground at your feet, revealing a dark haired man wielding a sword behind it. He cleaned the kaiju blood off his sword. "Of all the things. A kitchen knife and a baseball bat." He chuckled to himself, looking down at the body and your handiwork, still wiping at his blade.

You stood still, frozen in shock. Who... what?

His eyes met yours and he grinned. "Hey there."

You collapsed to your knees and just stared up at him. His eyes widened at your sudden movement and he knelt down in front of you. "Hey are you hurt? Talk to me." Concern spilled out of his throat. His beautiful throat.

You quickly looked back up at his eyes and shook your head no. He sighed, relieved. "I'm Vice Captain Hoshina with the Defense Force's Third Division, we're going to take care of you alright?" Then he looked at the door behind you as he realized you'd taken up a protective stance in front of it again even on your knees.

He stood up and pointed to the door as if asking for your permission to check behind it. You didn't even realize you were still blocking the way and you blinked trying to process what was going on. He sighed and helped you to your feet before gently moving you aside so he could examine the closet.

He was shocked to find that inside there were a bunch of children sucking on sliced strawberries peacefully. He laughed again, shaking his head this time. "You are really something," he turned back to face you. "What's your name, civilian?"

And that's how you met Soshiro Hoshina, Vice Captain of the Third Division of the Japan Anti-Kaiju Defense Force.

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

Soshiro was back again, this time with a box of pastries tucked under his arm and a wide grin plastered across his face.

"Ohhh Y/N!" He calls to you, in a singsong voice. "I got the goodies."

You laugh and step away from the door, allowing him space to come inside.

He launches himself onto your couch and your eyes widen as you move to protect the box of pastries from getting squished. He's got it taken care of though, he knows what his priorities are. "You've got to try this. It's from that bakery we like, these are brand new items!" He exclaims excitedly, tearing open the box and plunging his hand in to grab you a treat. Before you can react, he's shoved it into your mouth. You chew and think for a moment, before smiling warmly.

"This is going to be my new favorite." You sigh happily as you continue munching on it.

He grins watching you eat. "Knew it." He wipes some powdered sugar off your chin.

After that fateful day when you two met, every month, on the dot, Soshiro came to visit you. He didn't have much time off but what little time he had, he spent with you. Riding bikes, going fishing, taking walks, just living the civilian life. He just thoroughly enjoyed your company to no end. Whether it was being impressed by your appetite, laughing at your jokes, gazing fondly as you took care of your neighbors, and of course- worrying about you taking on more kaiju alone with nothing more than what you could find around the house, he always seemed to find some meaning and contentment in being able to take part in this life of yours.

"-and so then, I told him that what he really needed to do was just..." You trail off after realizing Soshiro has just been staring at you in a daze this whole time you've been talking. You wave a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Soshiro Hoshina. Vice Captain, come in Vice Captain."

He grabs your hand and kisses it softly, his eyes warm as he gazes up at you. "Sorry. Distracted."

You roll your eyes. "And it was such an interesting story too." You tease.

He gets on his knees and bows multiple times, his forehead touching the floor each time. "Sorry sorry. Wouldn't want to interrupt one of Y/N's great stories." He grins cheekily.

You ruffle his hair to get back at him and he laughs, but he sits there and lets you continue anyway because he loves the feeling of your fingers in his hair.

The day goes on and you cook for him, you cuddle him on the couch while you watch mindless tv together, you stop watching tv and decide to talk about your hopes and dreams together, you even try to draw him at one point on a dare from him and you proudly hand him a stick figure of himself on a piece of paper. He teases you endlessly but you don't miss that he folds up the piece of paper gently and tucks it into his wallet tenderly.

Finally the sun starts to dip below the horizon and Soshiro sighs, knowing it's time to go. You feel his weight shift on the couch as he prepares to leave. To his surprise, this time you throw yourself on him and whisper into his chest, "Just stay this once."

His eyes soften at your words and he gives you a small smile but then he shakes his head no. "Duty calls, dear." He pokes you in the forehead but then gives it a tender kiss right after. You pout but you walk him to the door anyway, wanting to soak up any second you can get with him.

"Same time next month?" You ask sadly, leaning on the door frame as he takes his first step outside.

He turns to look back at you and tries to muster up another smile for you but you know he doesn't want to go either. "Count on it, baby." He pulls you in for a deep kiss and then releases you moments later. You don't want to open your eyes just yet, wanting the scent of him and the taste of him to linger a little longer and preserve the feeling of him in your arms, but when you finally do open them he's gone.

"Until next time." You say to no one but the air.

#soshiro hoshina x reader #soshiro hoshina #kaiju no. 8 #oneshot #anime

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