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ahqkas · 6 months ago

Note

Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?

♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .

— gn!reader, fluff

BRUCE WAYNE

becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious

bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.

it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.

“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”

“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.

sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”

you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”

but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”

you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”

his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”

it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.

the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.

( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )

finds excuses to be helpful

bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.

it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.

“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”

he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”

when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.

but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.

“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.

“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.

he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”

“that’s not the point!”

“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?

DICK GRAYSON

finds excuses to touch you

for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.

but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.

“you know i can walk, right?”

he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”

and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.

“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”

but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.

teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)

teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.

if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”

it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.

“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”

but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.

“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”

the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.

“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.

he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.

“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”

his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”

you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”

JASON TODD

acts nonchalant but is always nearby

jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.

take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.

he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”

you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.

“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.

a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”

it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.

and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.

“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.

it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.

fixes things you didn’t even know were broken

jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.

it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.

until one day, it suddenly stops.

you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?

“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.

he doesn’t even look up. “what?”

“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”

he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”

you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.

the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.

you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.

“jason, did you—?”

“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.

“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.

he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.

TIM DRAKE

gets shy when you’re too close

tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.

it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.

his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”

it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.

you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.

if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.

sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.

but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.

follows you around during patrol

it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.

tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.

he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.

he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.

it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.

he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.

the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.

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vampzity · 4 months ago

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1-800-hot & fun | BC

★ DAY TWELVE: PHONE SEX WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: best friend! bangchan x f! reader

after a long day of studio work, bangchan just wants to relax. except all he can think about is you. he tries to take care of it, only to get a call from you with complaints about the day you had. little did you know how much your voice turned him on.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+ !!!, smut, drabble, phone sex, masturbation, mentioning of circulation play, reader has no idea what chan’s doing, pet names (baby, babygirl)

word count: 1.4k

Bangchan sighed to himself as he leaned back in his chair, head thrown back with his eyes closed. He held his throbbing cock in his hand, jerking it softly as he scrolled through the countless photos he had of you.

They weren’t anything lewd, in fact it was far from that. Simply normal selfies you took and sent to him for his opinion on which to post.

He was beyond exhausted from today’s work in the studio, just wanting to wind down a bit before he took to the road. Though his mind was racing with sensual thoughts of you and it wouldn’t stop.

You two weren’t together— in fact he wasn’t even sure if you liked him, but he knew one thing for sure. Bangchan had the biggest crush on you, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure if he was being obvious about it, though one may say so with how possessive he was about you when the rest of the boys were around.

He scrolled through every photo of you, landing on a couple of pictures from your modeling gig. You had on light pink lingerie, lace that sat nicely upon your curves. The positions the camera caught you in were vulnerable, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It was everything he imagined you to be.

Innocent and sexy.

Your doe eyes stared into his as he worked his angry cock, groaning at the thought of your plump lips around his tip. The way it would feel for you to suck him off as cum leaked out of him. How well he would train you to take his size into your mouth, the tears that would run down your cheek from his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He scrolled to the side, seeing a close up of your body in the lace outside. His eyes widened, heart racing as your tits sat nicely in the cupped bra, your cunt making a small pint in the fabric. The way the babydoll casted a slight shadow of your silhouette.

Bangchan was practically in heaven, his hand fastening its pace around his cock. He could feel himself about to burst at any moment, until he felt his phone buzz in his hand. Startled he quickly shoved his member into his pants and answered, clearing his throat to mask his previous situation.

“Hello?”

“Channie! You wouldn’t believe the type of day I��ve been having.”

Chan smiled at hearing your voice, as it’s been a while since you two have talked at all from your mix of busy schedules.

“Hey babygirl, what’s up?”

You scoffed on your side of the phone, rolling your eyes at his personal nickname for you.

“Well I got to the studio for my modeling gig and my coffee just fell!! It tasted perfect too like how upsetting is that,”

He listened to you ramble on, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as his mind started to race with thoughts of you once again. He thought about you in different types of lingerie, imagining how nicely your body must fit into them this time around.

He pulled his member from his pants, his tip leaking as it ached to be touched. He stroked it softly, throwing his head back in pleasure as he tried his best not to be heard.

“And if that wasn’t enough, my makeup is so splotchy. I think i’ll have to redo it too!”

Bangchan tightened his grip on his cock, fastening his strokes as he listened to your complaining whines. He tried his best to focus to what you were saying, but his mind was fogged with dirty thoughts of you. Dirty thoughts of you all over him, of him ripping that little lingerie off of you.

“Mmm, I’m sorry to hear that baby.”

A soft moan escaped him, making him freeze up in hopes that you didn’t hear him.

“Everything ok, Channie? Was it a rough day in the studio?”

He chuckled to himself slightly, his thumb rubbing across his leaky opening. He began stroking his cock again, twisting his hand with the motion.

“Yeah, yeah.” he panted heavily, watching as his cock leaked some more. “But hearing your voice made it better.”

You blushed softly, taking your phone and posing in the mirror. You took a picture of today’s outfit— one of many that you’d be wearing and sent it to Bangchan, eager for his reaction.

“What do you think? Too slutty?”

His jaw practically dropped at seeing you. His ears grew red, feeling as if the room was heating up from seeing you in such an outfit. The black polkadots weren’t nearly enough to cover how see through it was as your nipples still peeked through.

Bangchan stopped himself from groaning outloud, struggling to keep his composure toward you.

“You look beautiful as always.” He leaned over his desk, spotting your hair tie next to his computer.

He grabbed it, closing his eyes as he vowed to never give it back to you again. Especially not after what he was about to do. He placed the hair tie on his cock, a long sigh leaving his lips as it tightened around his length.

“Should model for me, yeah?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” you raised your eyebrow, unaware of what he meant. Chan quickly caught himself, trying to cover up the sultry meaning behind his sentence.

“My company, I mean you should model for my company.”

You laughed, going on a tangent about all the things wrong with his entertainment. As much as he’d like to listen, he just couldn’t. He was too drunk on the thought of you and your body in this newfound picture. Your pussy barely covertly the small piece of fabric, your tits practically spilling out of your bra.

He stroked faster, quicker, not stopping his movement as his cock throbbed in his hand. With every throb, every time it tried to swell, he could feel himself getting closer as your hair tie held him back.

And of course, you were still as oblivious to what was going on.

Bangchan quickly muted himself, setting his phone down as he groaned out in pleasure. His precum drooled down the side of his cock as he thrusted into his hand.

“Fuck, fuck baby.” he admired your picture once more before throwing his head back.

“Gotta cum all over that pretty face of yours one day.”

His groans soon fell into whimpers as he stroked faster. Your hair tie was suffocating him, making it harder for him to hold himself back. He imagined you in his head; thinking of you riding his cock while your tits bounced in front of his eyes.

He imagined how it would feel for your cunt to suffocate his dick in the same way while it pounded your sweet spot. He wondered how your sweet sounds would be, how much you’d beg as his tongue toyed with your swollen clit.

“Fuck, I would stuff you so good.”

That was all it took.

Within seconds his hand was covered in cum, dripping onto the chair as he slowed his strokes. His breath was staggered, heart racing and shaking ad he tried to bring himself back to reality.

“Channie?”

Oh fuck.

He quickly cleaned himself off, picking up the phone to answer you.

“I’m sorry.. I was trying to focus on this track we’ve been working on.”

He heard a small laugh come from the other end of the phone, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to figure out what you could be laughing for.

“Yeah, and I bet you didn’t notice you were unmuted either, huh?”

His heart sank and his face flushed red. He froze, unsure of what to say to you as he was beyond embarrassed. You had no idea— maybe not even a thought of Bangchan ever liking you, as you always thought he’d seen you as a close friend.

Funny, since he had thought the same.

“You don’t have to apologize Channie.” you looked at the time on your phone, realizing you had to start your shoot soon.

“Maybe when I’m done here,” You bit your lip, thinking of the lewd sounds you heard coming from his end of the phone.

“I can stop by your place and give you what you want.”

Bangchan instantly agreed, his cock itching at the thought of being able to feel you, be in you. You giggled, sending him a farewell and hanging up the phone. His phone lit up with the precious picture of you in your lingerie, a small smile creeping onto his face.

He was about to see you dressed like this in person, right before his eyes and it would take everything in him not to rip it off of you.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: day 12, this is a short one! if you haven’t noticed a change in the masterlist…. i’m planning some bonus days as a thank you to those who showed so much support to my series! :3

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @h4untedgrl @rvereri @scarfac3 @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @tiredlittlevirgo @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @evidive @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @nickgurl4life @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @bluesungology @katsukis1wife @unbel1ve4ble

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#—♡vampzity #—♡︎vamp’s valentines #—♡︎vamp’s hard hours #stray kids #bangchan #stray kids x reader #bangchan x reader #stray kids smut #skz au #skz smut #skz bangchan #bangchan smut

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jjkamochoso · 11 months ago

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Matchmaking Mina

Fluff

Soshiro Hoshina x gn!reader

Your kind-hearted captain has taken it upon herself to stoke the flames of love between you and Soshiro!

Warnings: none

Captain Mina Ashiro may act aloof, but she wasn’t blind. Anyone in the Third Division could see that you and Soshiro were the perfect match for each other. If neither of you were going to make the first move, it was only right that she, as your trusted leader, guided you in the right direction. Only, of course, after assessing the situation to make sure you two really did like one another.

*Click*

Her phone captured a snapshot of you at lunch one day, laughing at something Kafka had said. Your head was thrown back and your eyes were creased with joy—you looked positively radiant. Mina made her way to Soshiro’s office, eager to begin her investigation.

“Captain,” Soshiro saluted, “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“Just stopping by. Checking on the status of your report from last week.”

“It’s almost done. I’ve been hard at work,” Soshiro grinned, sticking his pointer fingers out.

He’s in a pleasant mood. Let’s see if that changes.

“Good. I also came to show you a new picture of Bakko from the other day.”

It was a plausible excuse; Soshiro was a fan of cats as well and Mina was known for subjecting her friends and subordinates to monologues about how cute Bakko was. The vice captain was now standing by her side, peering over her shoulder at the phone in her hand.

“Here it is—oops! Wrong picture.”

Your picture was the one currently being displayed and from her peripheral vision, she saw Soshiro gulp ever so slightly, his eyes opened a bit wider. She was in no hurry, taking her time to slide her finger over the screen to the “correct” photo.

“Sorry about that. It was a cute photo, though, wasn’t it? Didn’t y/n look nice?”

“Huh? Yeah. I mean, sure,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears a rosy hue.

Now for the real test.

“I’d never seen them laugh so hard, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re around Kafka, right?”

There was an immediate shift of mood in the room, tension filling the open space like a dam had burst. Soshiro had gone from blushing to bloodthirsty in a millisecond and Mina was thankful she’d been blessed with a poker face or else she’d be bursting in laughter at his very apparent jealousy.

“If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I should finish this report.”

Soshiro saluted her again before sitting at his desk and Mina took her leave.

Well, that was informative.

Now she knew that Soshiro definitely harbored a crush for you and a hatred for Hibino. As she walked down the empty hallway, she let a small smile grace her lips.

She loved love.

Mina did the exact same experiment to you a few days later. As a fellow cat enthusiast, you were very excited at the prospect of seeing new Bakko content, quickly taking a seat next to your captain. This time around, she had managed to take an extremely flattering picture of Soshiro during training. He was standing outside, slightly flushed from the previous physical exertion, with one hand on his hip and the other pushing his hair out of his face.

Maybe if I ever retire I’ll become a photographer.

“…and there’s Bakko-oops. Not this.”

Your mouth was partially agape and she spied how you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the man on the screen. His tight fitting shirt hugged every curve of every muscle. His physique and pose were reminiscent of a model you’d see on a billboard in downtown Tokyo or on a runway in Paris.

“T-that’s a great picture you got of Vice Captain,” you breathed out in awe. “He looks so… hot.”

“If you’re into that sort of look, sure,” she answered.

“I definitely am,” you said dreamily, clearing your throat with embarrassment when you realized you said that out loud. “I mean, yeah. If someone was… hypothetically, like… into that sort of… thing.”

Mission 100% accomplished; they’re very much into each other.

Next up was the hard part of figuring out how to get confessions from the two of you without meddling too much. That’s why she was hoping today’s training, with you being partnered with Kafka, would be enough to stir up those same feelings and visceral reactions you both had while looking at the photos of each other not that long ago. So far, it was working splendidly. Kafka would say or do something ridiculous, causing you to howl with laughter and Soshiro to shoot Kafka a burning glare that could rival the intensity of a wildfire. Meanwhile, Soshiro would take his frustration out on the sparring training dummies, in turn leaving you dumbstruck at the way he moved so majestically and remained the most handsome man on earth, even in a state of sweaty exhaustion. When training was finally over, Mina couldn’t slow the buildup of anticipation deep inside her, eager to see the lovebirds admit their feelings, or at the very least, converse with each other. Neither of those things happened; you and Soshiro didn’t even exchange eye contact before going your separate ways.

Mina frowned. Didn’t she plant the seeds of attraction, water the foundations of a relationship, nurture the-

Looking back, I guess I didn’t do all that much.

“L/n.”

You turned around immediately at the sound of your captain’s voice, saluting as the dark haired woman approached you. You had just finished showering after a grueling day of exercise and were on your way to your room to get some much needed rest

“Come with me, please.”

“Right now?” you asked incredulously, eyes raking over the cat pajamas you were sporting. “Should I change into my uniform really quick?”

“No need,” she replied, “it’ll only be a moment:”

“Alright then.”

You were thoroughly confused but who were you to question your captain? You followed behind her dutifully, like a child following their mother to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk after a nightmare. Your eyebrows knit in confusion as she brought you into Soshiro’s office. He, too, had just showered, but he had changed into a fresh tracksuit, presumably because he never stopped working.

“Captain! What can I do for… you?” Soshiro faltered when he saw you peek out from behind Mina.

“I’m horribly underdressed for whatever’s happening. I sincerely apologize,” you said, bowing your head as to not meet his eyes. You weren’t that far below Soshiro’s rank, being a Platoon Leader, but you didn’t want your superior seeing you in such a state of disarray with your wet hair and casual attire in the office. Soshiro, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Y/n! I didn’t see you back there at first. I like your pajamas, cats are always a good choice.” His fanged smile brought you a sense of comfort.

“Thank you.”

You two would’ve gotten lost in each other’s eyes if it weren’t for Mina reminding you she was still there.

“Let me explain what’s going on. Y/n, Soshiro likes you. Soshiro, y/n likes you.”

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop from across the base. You and Soshiro broke eye contact at breakneck speed, becoming self conscious and wary.

Mina was confused. Weird. Aren’t they supposed to kiss or something, like how it happens in books?

“I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”

Mina practically ran out of Soshiro’s office, getting hit with a whole slew of mixed emotions as she made her way to her own office. Was she wrong for getting involved in her subordinates’ love lives? Did she somehow misread the signals you both were giving off? Was her conclusion incorrect, leading her to be labeled a fool, unfit for a leadership position? She fretted all night thinking about the lack of response you and Soshiro had about the great news. The next morning, as she got ready, she thought of all the ways she could explain her behavior and hoped this situation wouldn’t lead to her getting fired (worst case scenario) or you and Soshiro feeling awkward around each other (bad case scenario). You two worked extremely well together, neutralizing kaiju with just glances and nods, no words needed, and she’d never forgive herself for ruining such a good team.

Mina fiddled with her jacket one last time before lifting her chin up and making the trek to her office to start the day. To her surprise, the door was ajar, you and Soshiro apparently waiting for her arrival.

Goodbye Third Division, hello HR…

“Captain,” you began, “Soshiro and I really appreciate what you were trying to do for us, but-”

“I overstepped my boundary,” she cut in. “I’m ashamed that I let my self control slip and I put my subordinates, the people in my care, in an uncomfortable position. I don’t know if I can ever regain your trust again, but I swear that I-”

“Captain.”

This time it was Soshiro who spoke out of turn. “My deepest apologies for interrupting you, but you don’t need to be sorry. Your intuition was correct—y/n and I do like each other.”

Mins could’ve cried tears of happiness hearing that, especially knowing that her job wasn’t at stake anymore, but her joy was turned to confusion when she noticed you and Soshiro share a glance, making a wordless agreement, and then both reaching into your shirts…?

She watched with curious eyes as a chain entered your grasp, previously hidden from view under your shirt, a small ring hanging down from it. Soshiro did the same, a matching ring gleaming under the fluorescent lights. It was then that the inquisitive, intelligent, intuitive captain made the connection—

“Soshiro and I are married,” you said, sheepishly glancing over at your husband. Now it was Mina’s turn to be deadly silent. However, you could tell she wasn’t upset, she was busy comprehending everything that was revealed to her.

“We didn’t tell anyone,” explained Soshiro, “because we didn’t want it to become an issue at work. In retrospect, we could’ve hidden it a bit better.”

He scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “Though Kafka doesn’t ever seem to get the hint.”

“But we know we can trust you with our lives and we should’ve at least told you. I’m sorry for lying to you, Captain Ashiro,” you said, your head hanging low.

That’s when you heard the strangest sound.

Captain Mina Ashiro… was laughing?

“This was an interesting turn of events,” she eventually said, catching her breath. “It turns out I was correct, but not in the way I thought.”

She strutted over to her desk, sitting down and starting the computer. “If that’s all you had to report, then you’re dismissed. It’s time to go to work.”

She looked up one last time, quirking an eyebrow. “Or are you on your honeymoon?”

#soshiro hoshina x reader #soshiro hoshina fluff #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #kn8 x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8

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cyberlillies · 4 months ago

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how caleb gets you used to his huge cock!

wc: 1.3k

you have always whined about how caleb's too big, and that you are afraid that you won't be able to take him. caleb's solution? make you cockwarm him any and every opportunity he gets. maybe he's reading a new physics book, or assembling a new plane model, or maybe playing the latest console game, he will always have you split on his huge length.

he'll have you wear short skirts and thongs around the house, making sure he has easy access to you. all he needs to do is flip over your skirt, push aside the thin material of your panties and you're ready, almost always dripping wet for him.

"we'll make your pretty little pussy mold to the size of my cock. you want it to fit, right, pipsqueak?”

you nod fervently as he settles you on his lap, facing him. barely pulling his boxers down, he pumps his cock, getting it hard and ready to penetrate you. his other hand works furiously on your clit, fingers rubbing random shapes to get you nice and wet for him. you let out small moans as you grind on his hand, nudging his fingers towards your slit. he knows what you want, you know that he knows what you want, yet he'll delay giving it to you till you have orgasmed atleast once from your clit.

his fingers find your hole, two of them thrusting into you and wasting no time in making you cum. you moan uncontrollably as you shake on his lap, his fingers curling inside you, stretching out your walls and pressing against the bumpy surfaces. you can hear the squelching sounds and feel the cold air hit your stretched hole as caleb sets an unimaginable pace on your poor pussy.

you soon squirt all over his lap, wetting his pants with your juices. red tinting your cheeks, you gingerly look down at the wet patch on his jeans, and then back up at him. he doesn't care in the slightest. instead he's bringing up his fingers to lick away at the nectar you released, groaning at your taste. maybe it was from all the apples he fed you, but he could swear you taste just like them.

his cock remains neglected, standing proud and tall, veins climbing up and rushing blood into every part of his thickness. his tip is gleaming with the precum it released and you're tempted to taste him, just like he tasted you. before he could register it, you swipe the precum building on his slit, a glob of it now sitting on your index finger as you wrap your lips around it. you feel him, he's salty and thick, with an earthiness that had you moaning.

"you naughty girl." caleb can't help but groan, his cock quivering from the slightest touch to his slit.

"you did it first." you stick out your tongue at him.

he laughed, a hand squeezing your face. "you really like it huh? how about we train your mouth next? you can taste me all you want.” he playfully slaps your cheeks a couple times.

your eyes widen, betraying your excitement at his suggestion. he can't help but chuckle, "fuck... you're so desperate, pipsqueak. i'll give you everything you need, all in due time.”

he's rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds, preparing to push in. you whine as he enters you, pushing past your tight walls. you feel like you're getting torn apart from how thick he is, despite this being like the millionth time you've taken him. tears line your eyes as you hold the hand guiding his cock into you.

"it hurts? do you want to stop?" caleb sounds concerned, his thumb swiping at the tear building in your eye.

"n-no... let me... let me do it at my own pace…”

your arms are wrapped around his neck as his hands find your waist, guiding you slowly down his length. you can't help but roll your hips as he breaches into you once again. your walls clench around him, making it harder for him.

"relax." he winces, your tight walls suffocating him.

"i-i'm trying…" your chest heaves up and down, trying to steady your breathing and relax your muscles.

“shh.. i’ve got you.” caleb runs soothing hands down your back.

you continue sinking down his cock, his head soon hitting your g-spot. you throw your head back, stilling in his hold. your legs are trembling as you feel the burn in your lower area. you feel so completely full, yet when you look down you can see a considerable amount of caleb’s cock still left unsheathed.

you whine in frustration, “you're too big!”

“should i take that as a compliment?” caleb smirked.

you roll your eyes, a pout on your lips.

“you don't like it?” he’s like a kicked puppy.

“i never said that.” you reply a little too quickly. “just… i want to take all of you… but i can't!”

caleb caresses your face. “we don't need to hurry, pipsqueak. we have all the time in the world. i assure you i’ll make it fit.”

you look at him, forehead scrunched, still doubtful at his words.

“do you trust me?” caleb asks.

“yes.” there's no question about it.

“let me take care of you then.”

caleb lifts up your hips a little, letting his cock rub against your walls, stimulating and loosening them. he presses you down, his tip now hitting the spongy mouth of your womb. your walls clench around him as your juices leak down his shaft. he grunts in your ear, still trying to push upwards, trying to get whatever inches remain inside you.

your voice rings across the entire room. eyes rolled back into your skull, nails scratching caleb’s arm, you have never been touched so deep. you roll your hips, trying to get comfortable, causing caleb's cock to twitch inside you. he holds you still, his self-control millimetres away from fraying away.

you like how he's trying to hold back, it makes you want to tease him. rolling your hips again, this time a slow, deliberate grind, tightening your walls around his cock, you glance at him, lips curling in a smug smile. sweat coats caleb's forehead, his darkening gaze locked onto you.

“don't get cheeky with me.” caleb warns in a low voice, his deep tone igniting a new fire in your gut.

“what, can't control your—ahhn!” you yelp as caleb punishes you with a mean thrust of his hips.

you can feel his balls hit your folds, he was now completely inside you. a warmth bloomed inside you, his thickness at the core of it. his head is squishing your womb and his cock literally reshaping your insides. his shape is imprinted on you, the bulge on your lower belly a reminder of how tight of a fit it was.

your whole body is constricted by a foreign force. unable to move even an inch, you helplessly whimper. you're completely at caleb's mercy. his hips stutter, thrusting into you shallowly, still reeling from your mischief earlier. your walls constrict his cock, sucking him in and holding him snug inside. he runs a comforting palm over your womb, tracing his form on you.

“f-fuck, you love acting like a brat, don't you, pipsqueak?” he breathes out the nickname that once held an innocent connotation. you moan his name in response, neither a denial or affirmation of his question.

minutes pass and caleb feels your walls relax. he releases his evol and you immediately hit his chest with your fist, grumbling as you wrap your arms around him, nestling into his chest as he remains sheathed deep in you.

“i’ll get back at you for this, just you wait.” you fake annoyance.

caleb’s chest rumbles against your flushed skin as he lets out a laugh at your sinful, yet adorable visage.

“sure, sure. now stay still and be a good girl for me, okay?”

#love and deepspace smut #lads caleb smut #lnds caleb smut #caleb smut #caleb x reader smut #lnds smut #lads smut

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kissandtellus · 7 days ago

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Hello hello. Can I request the LADs boys with an obliviously sexy hot mc. Like she does not know her own strength and cuteness and how it affects them. I can just imagine my poor boy Raf seething with rage like "I have literally told this girl I like her. HOW DOES SHE STILL NOT GET THE HINT!!" thank u and good day

Perfect

❀ Synopsis: When you are feeling a little down on yourself, your man is right there to pick you up.

❀ Warnings: Mentions of weight, mentions of self-counciousness, feeling down on yourself, happy ending.

⟡ Xavier

You were the picture of beauty Xavier. Everything from the curve of your hips to the tips of your fingers and everything in between. You stared at yourself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of your Hunters uniform.

Was it too tight here? Too loose around there?

Xavier stood behind you with arms crossed over his chest.

“You know, not even the brightest star in the sky could hold a candle to you.” He steps closer to bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. You giggle at the ticklish feeling of his breath on your skin.

“I don’t know. It just-“

“Just nothing.” He grabbed one of the fuzzy blankets he kept on every inch of your apartment and threw it over the floor length mirror. “Now that THAT is taken care of-“ he lifts you with ease, his arms tucked under your thighs. “How about I show you how perfect you are?”

The way your hair fell in-front of your eyes in the morning light was perfect. It was too early to be up anyways.

“No, no, nooo!” You whine, kicking your feet. “We are supposed to be training!”

“It can wait. Showing my girl how perfect she is, can’t.”

⟡Rafayel

“Pretty girl, what are you doin’?” Rafayel’s voice broke you out of your trance. You’d agreed to be his model for a painting but you were clutching the sheet too tight to your chest.

Volunteering to be a nude model wasn’t in the bodyguard description. Rafayel wiped the bead of sweat on his forehead away with the back of his hand. “Are you self-conscious again?”

“No!”

Yes.

Rafayel could read you like the back of his hand. He sat down his paintbrush and kneeled next to the chaise sofa you were lounging on.

He flicked blue paint over the tip of your nose. You wrinkled up your face and tried to draw into yourself.

He pulled the sheet away from your body, and then the hands that tried to hide the most unloved places on your body.

“How many times have I told you? I don’t paint ugly things. I only paint the most beautiful sceneries.” He pouted, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Now stay still and let me finish my masterpiece.”

⟡ Zayne

Zayne looked over your chart for the 3rd time since your appointment. “You are completely healthy.” He stated, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest. “I-I read these articles online. I should be a certain weight and I’m nowhere near that. I can’t-“

“What have I told you about those inaccurate websites?” His voice cut through your rambling. Your mouth snapped shut as he placed the clipboard on his desk. “So this is about the way you see yourself then?”

Zayne sighed and took off his glasses as well. He walked around his desk to stand before you. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your chin upwards.

“I’ve wrote many research papers in my life. About everything under the sun,” he leaned forward so his forehead was pressed firmly against yours.

“But I could never write enough to tell you how perfect you are.”

⟡ Caleb

Caleb was brushing his teeth, watching you try and pin your hair up in different hairstyles. Lazy mornings with you were always the best, but right now you were freaking out about a bad hair day.

With his toothbrush in the side of his mouth, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. You had your hair in a makeshift ponytail with your hands. You let out a low groan and threw your head back in anguish.

“I just can’t do it like you can…my hair looks so bad…” The curls that framed your face were angelic to Caleb.

He spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. His strong hands gently combed your curls over your shoulders as he looked at you in the reflection of the mirror.

“Leave your hair down,” he kissed the side of your head when he saw you pout.

“I think the world deserves to see how perfect you are. Do you know how many nights I pray that our kids will have hair like yours?”

“But C-“

“Nu uh, Pipsqueak. Down.”

⟡ Sylus

Sylus loved dressing you up in the finest of clothing. The floor length dress was made for you down to every seam. But somehow, you felt like a stranger to your own reflection.

Sylus buttoned a cuff link as he turned the corner. A sleek smile graced his features.

“You look per-…Kitten?” You tried to wipe away the tears from your cheeks before he could see. His curious red eyes softened immediately as he ate up the distance in a few strides. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s-it’s stupid…” you sniffled, trying to compose yourself. “You spent so much money on this dress and our date and-“

“Let’s stay home.”

“What?”

Sylus cupped your shoulders, his thumbs rolling circles on your skin. “Then let me take you out. Let me show the entire N109 Zone how beautiful of a woman I have in my arm.” His breath ghosted your lips.

“I just feel inadequate to even be with you.” You whisper against his soft lips. Sylus gave a soft chuckle, his long fingers stroking your cheek.

“It’s me who is unworthy. What did I do to deserve such a goddess in my presence?”

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lambcultist · 16 days ago

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꒰ ♱ ꒱ sugar mommy!caitlyn kiramman headcaons ┆ fashion designer!caitlyn, sugar mommy!caitlyn, serious bdsm dynamic, mommy kink, bondage, sex toys (strap-on), lingerie and collars, free use kink, size kink, aftercare, oral (c!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), dom!caitlyn, sub!reader, femme!reader, age gap (reader in early twenties and caitlyn in her early thirties), i want her :( ♡ MINORS DNI ( 18+ )

♱ caitlyn was born into wealth, the kiramman name already highly influential. she had big shoes to grow into, and from a young age she had found an unusual way to transform the success of the family name into her own; fashion.

caitlyn had an eye for style since she was young, and began learning how to draw fashion sketches and develop new patterns as soon as she could wrap her small hands around a pencil. trained to sew by the seamstresses her parents often commissioned, caitlyn was equipped with everything she needed to dominate the industry; the skill, the knowledge, and the personality, all of which shone through every piece she designed.

she won awards as young as eleven years old for her creativity, was crowned best dressed in the yearbook as she graduated private school, and was praised for the uniqueness of her style. caitlyn had a natural gift; there was a rareness in the approach she took to fashion. something the industry wasn't used to.

inspired by the elegance of royalty, the dramatic flair of victorian era trends, and a feminine twist on traditionally masculine pieces, caitlyn carved her name into the industry by force. she wouldn't slow down for anyone.

she was driven by passion. if her latest line wasn't selling the numbers she wanted, she'd waste no time getting back into her studio to make something better. almost always, she'd make a comeback greater than the last. she bought a magnificent cabinet with the goal to fill it with awards and plaques to commemorate her success. the kiramman name would dominate catwalks—the high fashion industry was never the same as it was before she had touched it. other designers worked hard to keep up, but caitlyn's pace was relentless.

♱ she had everything she ever wanted. caitlyn had made her mother and father proud, she was reaching every goal she wanted. but she was lacking somewhere.

caitlyn could have any woman she wanted, she knew this and often was unafraid to use this to her advantage, but the older she grew, the less satisfying it had became to see a different woman each night. she needed someone loyal. for the first time in her life she felt stagnant. and then she met you.

the loveliest service she had received in any restaurant, michelin star or otherwise, had been from you. it was terribly busy but you had an eye for everything happening all at once. you handled it with a poise caitlyn hadn't witnessed before, and she rewarded you with a hefty tip and a request to have your contact details—it took her pulling a few strings to get this, but she could get whatever she wanted in this world.

♱ you were desperate. every calm reaction to meticulous dining requests and customer issues was due to your desperate need for tips, bills and rent piling higher and higher over your shoulders at the time. the moment caitlyn found this out, she wanted to assist you.

caitlyn hadn't considered herself the type for a transactional relationship like this, but it was an easy decision to make once the idea struck. she wanted devotion, you needed help. she could throw away as much money as she liked on you, it was pennies to her.

but most importantly, you revived her. caitlyn was quick to run to her studio, inspired by your beauty.

♱ soon, everything you owned was kiramman. your clothes, your makeup, your perfume, your shoes, your bags. she made custom pieces for you, her most special muse. you'd be posing in the middle of her studio for her to run her hands over your body with a tape measure, trying on half-finished pieces, modelling every new item for the catalogues and online store.

if you were to be seen publicly at her side, caitlyn would have you dressed as appropriately for the event as she desired.

♱ she had changed your life. from waitress to full-time model, and, unbeknownst to the public eye, her submissive.

your lingerie was kiramman. your collars were kiramman.

caitlyn was never cold. she was intimate and tender, a guiding hand. your mommy, who never punished, and only ever rewarded you. if you misbehaved, she never knew about it.

♱ caitlyn would give you anything you ever wanted. she ensured you were still making your own money via your modelling, but she gave you a sizeable weekly allowance as her baby, and 'bonuses' given to you at random if you needed a little extra to buy something you liked.

she kept you happy. financially or otherwise, caitlyn was very focused on keeping you close. if you were insecure or afraid, she supplied loving snuggles on her couch with her cats. if you were cold, she'd sleep by your side in luxury bedding. she had a perpetually warm body, her bosom the most comforting pillow to lay your head.

every kiss of caitlyn's was expensive, flavoured by hundred dollar lipsticks and sophistication.

♱ the filth of your sex life, which was certainly alive, was so special because it was something nobody knew about. people could speculate how your life was under caitlyn's wing, but they didn't know the ins and outs of her like you did as her sub.

it was part of your deal, after all. caitlyn could have you whenever she liked. if she wanted you, she would have you. you would kneel on the floor by her desk while she worked. she'd tug on your leash every now and then to remind you of your place and to demand your silence as she focused. she would bind your wrists with ribbon to restrain you while she touched your body. she'd tell you it's only so that you'll have an easier time being a good girl and not squirm too much.

if you were ready for bed, but looked too pretty in the sleepwear she designed, she'd pull your slip over your hips to curl those long, mean fingers into your pussy.

if you were bored, or looked lost, she'd call you over and coddle you, letting you suck on her clit to entertain yourself for a little while.

designing your lingerie was her favourite. it was always in her favourite colour. rich, custom made navy lace and silk were always her go-to fabrics to use. she'd design it so that you would match with whatever she wanted to wear as well.

she liked any position, from doggy, to cowgirl, to missionary. she was taller than you, stronger than you, and could manipulate you into any position. fucking you with her strap was the most therapeutic act. the continuous cries she pulled from your lips, the repeated 'mommy, mommy, mommy', and the tears that glimmered down your cheeks in the low light, were the most pleasing to her. she could overwhelm you so easily.

♱ aftercare was luxurious. caitlyn would immediately scoop you up, gathering you into her lap and letting the tactile sensations steady your heart. then she would ready a bath, treating it like a spa day. expensive soaps lathered over your body, not a single spot missed by her slow hands. you'd be dried with a soft towel after and put to bed in her arms as she enjoyed a cup of tea and a book, your breathing slowing as sleep finally overtook you.

♱ caitlyn could say it was simply transactional, and she took much pride in being such a great sugar mommy, but she didn't want to accept that you were much more than just her sugar baby. you were the loyalty she needed, the inspiration she needed, and you were so pleasant to look at she would feel her heart swell every time. especially at every photoshoot. she was fond of you. perhaps more than she should've been.

um, hi... hehe... now that i've finished my big ellie one-shot (posting on the weekend if you missed it) i am back to regular posts. until i focus on something else. which, i do have lots of longer fics lined up that i'll want to work on soon.

🏷️ @abbysdollie @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @emmap3rkins @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @angelxvs @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @tennisthatcher

#.caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn x reader #arcane x reader #kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x fem reader #femme4femme fic #sugar mommy!caitlyn #sugar baby au #arcane smut #caitlyn kiramman smut

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mononijikayu · 2 months ago

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love means everything — ryomen sukuna.

“So, hey.” he said, voice dropping into that mellow drawl he only really used with you. “You always ask me what I’m doing in the off–season. You know, working out less, spoiling you more, trying to figure out the difference between a flat white and a cortado…” You laughed softly on the other end, and he smiled just hearing it. “But I never asked you. What about you, huh? What does your off-season look like, Starstuff–sensei?” You let out a breath, half a sigh, half a smile. “Off–season? You mean the mythical time when I’m not being held hostage by quantum models and satellite firmware?” He chuckled. “Yeah. That one. If it ever existed.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Fiancee! Sukuna, Fiancee! Reader;

Words: 8k words.

Note: this was inspired by some clips ive seen from people talking about their spouses. and then you have me listening to coffee by bts??? yeah, it works out. anyway, i got home (after a disasterous time in the airport) and am able to write again!!! i hope you enjoy this one!!! i love you all <3

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OFF SEASON WAS ALSO A TIME TO WORK ON OTHER THINGS REGARDING HIS EVER GROWING FAME. That’s why he was told to come here, since people wanted to ask to interview him and want to know more about him, especially now since he just won a gold medal with his team in the Olympics.

The studio was sun drenched, sleek and minimalist, dotted with tasteful awards and blown up stills from the magazine’s latest photoshoot. Ryomen Sukuna, Olympic gold medalist and captain of Japan’s national volleyball team, was dressed in a relaxed open-collar shirt and slacks.

He was more toned down from the striking editorial wear he'd posed in just an hour ago, which he liked better than anything else. It’s not that the editorial wear was bad. He was just more comfortable with this sort of fit. He should take a picture, though. You’d enjoy it more than he does.

Though the cameras continued to roll silently from then and now as he went and sat there, waiting for the interview to begin. The interviewer, who was smiling behind the camera, flipped to a page in their notes.

“Alright, Sukuna–san.” The interviewer began, voice gentle and curious. “You’ve spoken about your post season training, your comeback for this upcoming national season, and your Olympic gold medal win on the international stage. But tell us a little about your off–season. What do you do when you’re not spiking balls into orbit?”

Sukuna chuckled, a lowly amused sound, one hand dragging lazily through his pink-tinted hair. “Honestly? Not much... At least, nothing glamorous. I like to be at home. I’m a homebody, more than people think. Just love being at home with my fiance and our dog Marin.”

“And what does home look like for you now? You recently got engaged, right?”

He smiled, really smiled this time and the camera caught the softening in his expression. “Yeah. I did. She’s a really smart astrophysicist.” he said, pride lacing his voice. “Which basically means her brain runs at the speed of light even when I’m still trying to find where I put my protein shaker in the morning.”

“She must be something then! But you must spend a lot with her during the off–season.” The interviewer laughed, prompting Sukuna to go on.

“I mean, we both try to make sure we have time.” Sukuna retorts, smiling wider. “But of course, she also has work. I mean, off–season’s really when she gets busier. Her field doesn’t break, and they’ve got a pretty vital role where they work. So while I’m off the court, I’ve kind of made it my job to take care of everything at home. Make her comfortable when she gets home, y’know?”

“Oh? In what ways does an Olympic champion do that?”

“I got my barista license this past season. I just figured if I can read plays mid-air, I can learn how to make coffee right.”

The crew echoed quietly in awe behind the scenes. Ryomen Sukuna leaned forward a little, face warming at his revelation to all of them. The interviewer raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Sukuna’s revelation.

“A barista license, huh? That’s impressive! But I’ve got to ask, Sukuna–san. What else do you do to take care of her when she’s so busy?”

Sukuna chuckled, leaning back slightly in his chair, his demeanor relaxed but there was an underlying warmth in his eyes that couldn’t be overlooked. He was surely thinking about you right now with all he could.

“Well, like I said, she’s got this crazy demanding job.” Sukuna starts to say. “I know how it feels to be locked into something you love, where you don’t even notice the hours passing. So when she gets home, I try to make it feel like a break. I keep the house cozy, cook meals, set things up so she can just unwind without having to think about anything else.”

The interviewer nodded, clearly impressed by his thoughtfulness. “That sounds so sweet. You really seem to know what she needs.”

Sukuna smiled wider, a rare, genuine expression that softened his usual fierce persona. “I do. I pay attention. She doesn’t ask for much. Just a quiet space, a hot meal, and good coffee.” He grinned mischievously. “Oh, and sometimes I throw in a bit of flirting to remind her I’m still the same guy who makes her laugh.”

The interviewer chuckled, but there was a twinkle of curiosity. “So, back to this coffee thing. Is it just a way to spoil her, or do you have a deeper connection to it?”

“Honestly?” Sukuna leaned in a little, his voice dropping a touch lower. “It’s a way for me to make sure she’s taking care of herself. The first time I made her coffee when we were teenagers, I realized how much she needed it.”

“Oh, wow! It’s been that long?”

“Yeah, we’ve been together for so long. And at that time, I realized that she didn’t just need it.” He continues to say, a smile on his face. “It’s not just about the caffeine for her or for me. It’s this small moment of peace in her day. And I don’t want her to go without that, even if it’s just for a few minutes. So I got serious about learning how to make it perfect.”

“That’s actually such dedication, Sukuna–san!” The interviewer reiterated back in awe of him. “Some courses take quite a long time and by your words, it must have taken some time. You did it during the off season? Shouldn’t you be taking care of your health then, since you have to be training soon after that?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But that wasn’t anything too big of a big deal. There was a training course a few blocks away from home. I did it after my run and my training sessions. It wasn’t too bad. Just a few weeks.”

The interviewer’s eyes widened, clearly taken by how deeply Sukuna had thought about this. “That’s really thoughtful.”

“So now, every morning, no matter how early, I make breakfast. And coffee.” Sukuna laughs. "I don’t let my baby go without it. Even if it’s 4 a.m. and she’s still running numbers or checking satellite data or whatever astrophysicists do.”

He grinned again, eyes glinting with something boyish. “She’ll say she doesn't need it, but she’ll always finish the whole cup. Then she’ll ask for more. I know how she likes it. No measurements anymore. I just know it by memory.”

“That’s a bold statement to make, Sukuna–san. It’s hard to cook by memory most of the time, without measurements.” The interviewer teased.

There was a pause, the room a little quieter as his words settled. Sukuna shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “It was a challenge, but I liked it. She does so much for me and the world. I really should pull my weight as a man, you know?”

“I bet she loves that. To have someone to rely on like that, with such a busy lifestyle.”

“She does! Even if she pouts, and never admits it. I can see it in her face.” He lets out a hearty laugh. “It’s the best part of my day, everyday. Where I can just love her right with the ways that I can do it. She’s always worth it.”

The interviewer gave a dreamy sigh, clearly smitten with the answer. “That’s… kind of perfect. Wish all men were like that.”

“I wish the same for all women out there, wait, cut that. Everyone deserves to be loved like that.” Sukuna says, scarlet eyes narrowing slightly serious. “If your partners refuse to love you like that, leave them! They’re not worth your love!”

“Yeah, I agree with that!”

Sukuna shrugged, but there was no hiding the fond curve at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t play about my girl, you know? I just love her so much.” he said simply. “Even in the off-season, love shouldn’t stop for my baby.”

The camera zoomed in a little towards the man with eyes full of love. The camera in this moment was capturing the gold medalist not as the usual overconfident towering champion.

Instead, he was a man quietly in love, tending to his morning ritual and waiting for his favorite person to take their first sip. The interviewer leaned in, clearly enchanted by the quiet domesticity wrapped around the Olympic athlete’s words.

“Aside from becoming a full-fledged barista for your fiancé.” they said with a light chuckle. “What else do you like to do during your off-season?”

Ryomen Sukuna tilted his head for a moment, as if considering the question seriously, then answered with that casual confidence of his. “There’s quite a bit, actually. I mean, I play around with games and stuff like that. But I think that’s boring compared to what I do with my fiancé.”

“Your world revolves around your fiancé, no?”

“Happily so! We’ve been together since we were kids. I always do everything to make her smile. Like, I try to make date nights happen. Or, well, date moments.” he said, lifting two fingers in air quotes. “As I said, her schedule’s kind of brutal. Astrophysics isn’t exactly a nine-to-five thing.”

The interviewer nodded, intrigued. “There are weeks where the only time she’s home is for like what?—an hour around lunch, since her office is near our home too. So I started planning what I call ‘thirty-minute date lunches.’”

A soft chorus of awws rippled through the crew. Sukuna grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. He talks about it as much as he doesn't. Yet when it comes to you, everything is love. Your love is everything, his love is everything. Showing it to you was no problem to him.

“I’ll cook something quick but good. Set the balcony table. Nothing fancy, just… nice. I’ll make her laugh, get her to forget orbital calculations or whatever hell equations she’s still wrangling about. We’ll eat, talk, and they’ll be gone again. But I think those little pockets of time matter.”

There was a pause. At least just enough to let that picture settle. “And on the rare days they do get time off?” he continued, voice a little quieter now. “I'll go all in. Reservations, walks, bookstores, rooftop stargazing. Whatever makes my baby smile.”

“That probably eases her feelings a lot, helps ground her back to earth.” The interviewer points out. “With such a demanding job, its meaningful to do something like this.”

Sukuna grins as he nods. “Yeah, it means a lot. But sometimes, space works too. She loves that stuff. Sometimes I’ll rent out this tiny planetarium near the research institute if it’s really been a rough week. Just for us. She’ll get to look up and talk about stars without worrying about the math behind it.”

The room fell silent, even the assistant with the clipboard frozen mid-scribble. The interviewer blinked, mouth parted like they’d briefly forgotten how to speak. “That’s… that’s unbelievably romantic.”

Sukuna smirked, unapologetically smug. “I told you. I’m off–season. I’ve got time to love my baby right.”

A crew member actually clutched their chest. The interviewer gave a sheepish, breathless laugh. “You’re setting the bar high, Sukuna–san.”

He leaned back in his chair with a shrug that somehow managed to be both cocky and affectionate. “Well, what can I say? I might be captain on court but she’s the gravity I orbit.”

The interview was still rolling, the room thick with soft lights and focused silence, when Ryomen Sukuna’s phone vibrated on the table just beside him.

He glanced at it briefly, just a flick of his scarlet eyes but the moment he saw your name on the screen, his whole posture changed. He smiled, subtle and immediate, the kind of smile that didn’t need to be big to be completely disarming.

“Ah—sorry, one sec.” he said, raising a hand toward the crew, already reaching for the phone. “It’s [name], my baby. It’s her only break window today.”

The interviewer blinked, then gave a quick nod. “Of course, yeah—go ahead.”

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t wait for the official pause. He stood up from the interview chair, walking a few steps away with the phone to his ear, voice already softening as he answered. He smiles as your breath echoes through the phone.

“My love, hi!”

“Hey, babe.” he murmured, leaning against a nearby counter. “You good? Just got a ten-minute break?”

Your voice continued to crack through the line, laced with fatigue and static from the lab but still bright enough to make his expression soften even more. He could see it fully in his head as he waits for you to reply.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me.” you said, sighing through what sounded like the background hum of machines. “We’re calibrating the prototype’s rotation module again. I’ve been staring at solar panels and trajectory mapping for six hours. I needed to hear your voice.”

Sukuna chuckled, low and warm, and ran a hand through his hair. “You're insane, you know that? Designing satellites while half running mission control on caffeine and half a protein bar.”

“You made me that protein bar, so whose fault is it, really?” you teased.

He laughed, eyes flicking up briefly at the camera crew still waiting politely across the room. “Hey, babe.” he said, gently, “I’m mid-interview, but I told them to wait. You’re more important. I’m all yours for the next ten minutes.”

You exhaled softly on the line. “You really didn’t have to—”

“Yes I did.” he cut in, voice firm but fond. “You never stop working. I’ll always make time when you finally stop.”

There was a beat of silence between you. There was nothing awkward, just weighted with how much the two of you knew without saying it. You know that he was not going to care, no matter what you say. You were going to be his priority, no matter what he’s doing.

“So, babe.” he continued, grinning now. “You want the espresso rundown for today? I’ve got a new blend waiting for you when you get home. The new coffee beans just arrived!”

“You spoil me so much.” you whispered.

“You build satellites without rest. Let me have this.”

From across the room, the crew watched quietly. The interviewer, still seated, whispered to someone off-camera, “He’s totally gone for her..”

Sukuna didn’t even seem to notice. He was still leaning against the wall, smiling as he nodded at your words and replied back to him. He happily replies to you once again.

The crew was quietly resetting for the next segment when Ryomen Sukuna walked and leaned further against the counter, still on the phone with you. One hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding the phone a little tighter now, like it grounded him.

You laughed softly on the other end, and he smiled just hearing it. “But I never asked you. What about you, huh? What does your off-season look like, Starstuff–sensei?”

You let out a breath, half a sigh, half a smile. “Off–season? You mean the mythical time when I’m not being held hostage by quantum models and satellite firmware?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. That one. If it ever existed.”

There was a pause, like you had to actually think about the idea. Because rest didn’t come easy when your work literally reached the edges of space. But you know that if you could, if you had the chance to do it, then you know what you wanted to do.

“Honestly?” you said. “If I get downtime... I just want to be around you. Take care of you even more. That’s it. No labs, no screens, no math. Just... you. Even if it’s quiet. Especially if it’s quiet.”

Sukuna’s fingers curled a little around the edge of the counter, his heart doing that annoying little thing where it picked up speed without permission. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, my love.” you retorted, gleefully swooning about your fantasy. “You’re the only person I can sit next to in silence and feel like I’m actually resting. I don’t want a beach, or a trip, or some grand thing. Just the balcony with you. Or the kitchen. Or even the gym if you’re doing those dumb push–up challenges again. We can bring Marin too!”

He laughed, rich and warm, and tilted his head back to hide how much that meant. “Dumb push-up challenges.” he repeated, grinning. “Okay, that one’s on you for watching every rep like it was the Olympics all over again.”

“You make it hard not to stare, my love.” you said, and the flirt in your voice was clear enough that Sukuna had to bite back a smug little noise. “I’m crazy about you. You know that.”

“Stop, babe.” he said, eyes glinting. “I’m still mic’d up. I’ll short out the camera guy’s equipment if you keep that up.”

You giggled again, softer now. “I should get back to the lab in a minute.”

“I know, babe.” he murmured, glancing at the timer on the wall, already counting down the seconds you had left.

“Thirty seconds, my love.” you said before he could, reading his mind. “Guess it’s your turn to say something cheesy.”

He looked down for a beat, then spoke low. “Come home safe. Your coffee’s waiting. And I miss you, even in ten–minute pieces.”

Silence, again. But the kind that held a smile inside it. “Love you, my golden love.” you whispered.

“Love you more, my genius baby.” he replied, and the line clicked off.

Ryomen Sukuna turned back toward the crew, slipping his phone into his pocket like he hadn’t just been pulled halfway into orbit by your voice. “Sorry, you guys.” he said, settling back into the chair. “Where were we?”

The interviewer, still recovering, just blinked. “Right. Uh. You were saying something about cortados…”

But all anyone could think about was how the gold medalist, the fierce, untouchable captain had stars in his scarlet eyes for someone who charted galaxies for a living on the other side of town. And he never fell back to earth.

YOU WERE HAPPY AND NERVOUS ALL AT ONCE. The atmosphere was electric in the room filled with bright lights and excited reporters. The Japan Prize ceremony had wrapped up in a whirlwind of accolades, handshakes, and applause.

You and your colleague, Dr. Maryu Hana, stood side by side, both holding your newly awarded prize with pride. It had been a long, intense journey to get here, you both know that.

It was so many countless nights in the lab, endless calculations, and years of dedication to your groundbreaking research in astrophysics. But today, it had all paid off.

As the camera crew prepared to capture you and your partner, a bright eyed reporter turned toward you, eager to ask the questions that everyone was dying to hear. The reporter smiled brightly as they began to speak.

"Congratulations, [last name] – sensei, and of course, to you as well, Maryu–sensei. What an achievement! You've made such an impact with your work.”

You smiled, nodding at them. “Thank you so much.”

“But there’s one question that’s been on everyone’s mind: you’ve been very public about your relationship with someone who’s quite famous himself—Ryomen Sukuna, the Olympic gold medalist and national volleyball team captain. Could you tell us a little about how you balance such a high–profile relationship with your demanding career?"

Your heart warmed at the mention of Sukuna’s name, the very thought of him always bringing a soft smile to your face. You glanced at Hana, who was grinning knowingly. She had been there for quite some time now, watching the bond between you and Sukuna grow. She knows how you feel, how overwhelming love has consumed your heart.

“Well…..it’s a lot." you began, your voice steady but warm. "But I think it’s all about mutual support. Both of us have incredibly demanding careers, but we’ve learned to make time for each other, even if it's just small moments. When he's off–season, he's incredibly present, and when he's in the thick of competition, I try to be there in whatever way I can."

The reporter’s eyes widened, clearly intrigued. "It sounds like you and Sukuna–san really understand each other. What’s it like to have such a public figure as a partner?"

You smiled, your fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of your award. “I don’t really think about him as ‘Ryomen Sukuna, the volleyball captain’. But at home, I just think of him as Sukuna."

"He's just your beloved Sukuna." The reporter supplies to you.

You nodded at them, smiling. "Exactly. He's just him. He's my fiancé. And Marin's cheerful energetic dad. He’s… the one who makes sure I’m well-fed with good coffee when I’m buried in research. He makes me laugh even when I’m on my hundredth sleepless night.”

The interviewer’s smile deepened as they jotted down a few notes. “You mentioned coffee, [last name] – sensei. We’ve heard rumors that Ryomen Sukuna’s barista skills have become legendary. Is that true?”

You laughed softly, unable to hide the fondness that bloomed in your chest at the thought of him. "He got his barista license during the off – season, yeah. He learned how to make the perfect cup of coffee just for me. "

"Which takes a lot, I heard he did at least twenty sessions cause he wanted to make it perfect!"

Well, he said he wanted to be able to spoil me during those rare moments when I can take a break. So, he did what he thinks he could for me. That's just love, you know?" You laugh softly, eyes full of tenderness. "Yes, I do get spoiled with the best coffee. Best in the country, best in the world, even.”

A soft chuckle passed through the crew, but the interviewer’s curiosity hadn’t been fully sated. “That sounds like a perfect balance. But what about the challenges? How do you two navigate the pressures of your individual careers?”

You took a deep breath, considering the question. “It’s not always easy. Both of us have high expectations for ourselves, and we’re driven by the work we do. But we’ve learned that we don’t always have to be together physically to support each other. Sometimes it’s just sending a text during a long day, making sure the other knows you’re thinking of them. When you’re in a partnership like that, it’s the small gestures that matter the most.”

Hana, who had been quietly listening with a knowing smile, nodded beside you. "I've seen the two of them quite a lot when Sukuna visits the lab. There’s a quiet understanding there. They both give a lot, and they both understand what the other needs, whether it’s space to work or moments of rest.”

The reporter’s expression softened, clearly moved by the connection between you and Sukuna. “It’s clear that you two have something special. And now, with such a significant achievement under your belt, what’s next for you both?”

You looked at the interviewer, then at Hana, and finally allowed your mind to wander toward Sukuna. You could almost picture him in the back of your mind. Sitting on the couch with your beloved dog son and waiting at home, the hum of the coffee machine brewing. He would stand up, your loving dog barking and asking you if you want coffee.

“Well…..” you said with a twinkle in your eyes. “I think we’ll both take some time to celebrate this. I mean, national title in the bag and a Japan Prize? It’s massive. But of course, the work never really stops for either of us. I’ll be back in the lab tomorrow, and he’ll be gearing up for his next season. But... I think we’ve got a good thing going. And no matter what comes next, we’ll continue supporting each other, no matter the stars we’re chasing."

The reporter grinned, a little mischievously this time. “Alright, you’ve painted such a sweet picture of life with Sukuna. But let’s be honest—no one’s perfect. What’s something he does that ticks you off a little… but you also can’t help being fond of?”

You laughed, the kind that comes from years of endearment wrapped in mild exasperation. “Oh, there’s definitely something.”

The reporter leaned in, intrigued. “Oh, please tell, sensei!”

“He has this thing, my love.” you began, eyes already gleaming with affection. “It’s where he refuses to fall asleep unless he’s holding my hand. Every single night. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of summer and we’re both melting into the mattress. So, he’ll lie there, completely still, not even pretending to sleep, just... waiting. Silently. Until I give in and reach over.”

You shook your head with a fond sigh. “It used to drive me crazy. I’d be tossing and turning, trying to stay cool, and he’s just lying there like some stubborn heat source, hand outstretched like I’m the one being difficult.”

The reporter chuckled, clearly loving every bit of it. “And now?”

“Now?” you smiled softly. “Now I can’t fall asleep either unless I know he’s holding my hand. I guess it just became our thing. I grumble about it every summer, but honestly… It's one of the little things that remind me how much he loves me. That quiet, constant presence. It’s annoying, it’s ridiculous, and it’s so him. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

The reporter scribbled something quickly, then looked up with a smile. “Sounds like the best kind of trouble.”

You nodded. “Yeah. He’s exactly that.”

The reporter’s smile lingered, soft and a little dreamy now. “That’s such a vivid image. I think everyone just collectively sighed at the thought of the Demon King refusing to sleep without holding your hand.”

You laughed again, this time covering your face briefly in mock embarrassment. “He’s going to kill me when he goes and watches this.”

“Worth it, isn’t it?” the reporter grinned. “It’s those tiny rituals that make a relationship feel real, y’know? Oh, but one last thing before we wrap. When you think about everything, the early mornings, the wins, the stress, the quiet nights with your hand in his….what do you think makes your love last?”

You paused, the question settling over you like a blanket. And for a moment, your expression softened into something raw and honest. You become flustered, but there was a smile on your face. “Gosh, that’s quite a big question.”

Hana smiles at you, tugging at your shoulder tenderly. “Just be honest about it. He’ll love that.”

“I think… it’s the choice, always has been.” you said quietly. “Every day, we choose each other. Even when we’re exhausted. Even when we argue. Even when it’s easier to turn away. He waits for me to hold his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he knows I’ll always reach back. And I do. That kind of trust? That’s what keeps us going.”

The room seemed still, like the story between the two of you had settled into the space, warm and undeniable. You smiled, already picturing the moment you’d get home. Everything about going home just makes you feel like life is beautiful, more beautiful than any utopia.

You imagine Sukuna on the couch, probably pretending he wasn’t waiting up. Your beloved dog wagging his tail, your favorite mug set beside the couch. And later, when the lights go out and the room is still, that familiar hand reaches for yours in the dark. You’d reach back. Always.

The interviewer smiled, clearly touched. "You’ve both certainly reached for the stars, and now you're holding them in your hands. Congratulations again, [last name] – sensei, and Maryu–sensei. And best wishes to both of you and your incredible futures."

The drive home was filled with a quiet kind of anticipation. The adrenaline of the ceremony still buzzed in your veins, and the weight of the Japan Prize still felt surreal, but all you could think about was the warm, steady presence of Ryomen Sukuna.

But it was a stark contrast to the academic whirlwind you had just stepped out of, the cameras and interviews a distant echo now, replaced by thoughts of him. You wanted nothing more than to be home in his arms and feel his warmth only.

When you walked through the door of your shared apartment, you were greeted by the familiar scent of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. The soft clink of pots and pans suggested that Sukuna was already hard at work.

As you set down your bag, you caught sight of him in the kitchen. There was no longer the Olympian hero, but simply your beloved fiancé, who had rolled up his sleeves and was cooking with his usual focused intensity.

You smiled softly, the day’s chaos fading with every step toward him. He turned, sensing your presence, and when his eyes landed on you, there was no mistaking the pride and tenderness that filled them.

“Well, look who decided to grace me with her regal science genius presence, my baby.” Sukuna teased, a playful grin curling at the corners of his lips. He stepped forward, setting down the ladle he had been stirring with. “You deserve a victory lap, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already swelling at how normal this felt. In the midst of all the fame, the interviews, and the flashing lights, this was the real joy. It was just being together. This was more than anything, the best of your life.

“Victory lap?” you said with a soft laugh. “I think I’ve had enough of those for today. Besides, I know I’ll be back in the lab tomorrow. No time to rest on my laurels.”

Sukuna's expression softened, and he crossed the room in a few long strides to pull you into a gentle hug. His warmth seeped through your clothes, grounding you in the present. “You’ve earned it, babe. You and Hana both. You’re brilliant, and I’m proud of you.”

You chuckled against his chest, a lightness in your voice. “I’m just doing my job, my love.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands still on your shoulders. “Don’t downplay it. What you’re doing is incredible. The world’s got to catch up with you, genius.” His smile widened, as though that was a challenge he was ready to take on.

You shook your head fondly, your hand brushing over the front of his shirt before resting on his chest. “I think the world’s already caught up with me. Or maybe they’ve caught up with us.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because, my love,” you replied, lifting your head to meet his gaze with a smile of your own, “I’ve got an Olympic gold medalist, cook and barista at home. All in one. What more could I need?”

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes gleamed with pride. “I’d like to think that’s a pretty good package.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of your head before leading you over to the dining table, where a meal fit for a celebration awaited. The table was set simply but thoughtfully. The candles flickered in the center, casting a warm glow on the beautifully prepared dishes.

You could tell he’d put in the effort, carefully selecting ingredients to make something you’d enjoy. It wasn’t the grandest of celebrations, but to you, it felt like everything you needed. He was everything you needed.

He pulled out your chair for you with a flourish, and you sat down, already anticipating the warmth of his homemade cooking. As he began serving the meal, he made sure to tell you all about his day, how he had been following the interview, how much he was cheering for you, how proud he was.

“Tell me about the next step for your project, babe.” Sukuna said, leaning forward with an almost childlike curiosity. “What comes after the prize? What’s next for you?”

You took a moment, considering the future. It was easy to get lost in the immediate tasks ahead, but the truth was, you had dreamed about this moment for so long. The recognition was important, of course, but it was the journey you shared with him that meant the most.

“I’m still figuring that out, all that, my love.” you admitted, taking a sip of the wine he’d poured for you. “But honestly? I think it’s time to start looking beyond just the work. Maybe we’ll finally take that trip we’ve been talking about for years.”

He gave a sly grin. “You mean the one where we actually relax for once?”

You nodded, leaning back in your chair, feeling the weight of the day finally lifting from your shoulders. “Yeah, I think it’s about time.”

He raised his glass in a silent toast, his eyes soft as they met yours. “To that wish!” he said, his voice steady and filled with promise. “And to you, my baby for life. For everything.”

You clink your glass against his, smiling wider. “And to us, for making it all work.”

He smiles back at you, slyly as it was gentle. “Always, to us.”

As the evening drew on, the two of you found yourselves nestled together on the couch, the quiet hum of the city outside filling the silence. The warm glow of the candles lingered, and the soft music played in the background, setting a mood that was calm and content.

Ryomen Sukuna’s arm was draped around your shoulders, his long fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your warm, tender skin as you leaned into his side, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“So, babe.” Sukuna said, his voice low but playful. “When are we packing our bags for that trip? Off–season still has time for us. You can ask for a break, hopefully. You know the one where we actually relax.”

You smiled, nuzzling into his shoulder as you thought about it. “I’m still not sure where I want to go. I’ve been so caught up in the work, I haven’t even had a chance to really think about it.”

“C’mon, babe.” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We could go anywhere. Let’s pick a place that’s got nothing to do with astrophysics. No satellites, no stars, no quantum models. Just us.”

You chuckled softly. “You mean… no coffee? No espresso machines?”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened. “Well, I’m not giving up my barista status. But maybe I’ll take a break from making it and just let you enjoy it for once.”

You laughed at that, your hand resting on his chest. “Alright, deal. But what about you? You’re always so busy with your training. You never take a break either.”

He looked down at you, his gaze softening. “You’ve got a point. Maybe it’s time I take a break from everything too, you know? Even volleyball. No gym, no courts, just time for us. I’ll spend the whole trip just making sure you have everything you need.”

Your heart swelled at the thought, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze. “You know, you already do that every day. I don’t need a trip to feel special. Just being here with you is more than enough.”

Sukuna’s smirk softened into something tender. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “You’re the only one who thinks like that. But that’s why I love you, babe.”

For a moment, everything else faded almost suddenly. The world outside, the interviews, the awards. It was just you and Sukuna, a quiet evening shared between two people who had built something deeper than any career or recognition.

“I’m serious, my love.” you murmured, your voice quiet but firm. “I don’t need anything else. You’re all I need.”

His arms tightened around you, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft beat of your hearts in sync. The weight of the world, the prize, and the noise of the outside world all faded into nothingness.

“I’ll keep that in mind, babe.” he whispered. “But I’m still taking you on that trip. Call your boss. We deserve it.”

You leaned into him again, your eyes fluttering closed. “Alright, alright. I’ll make it happen.”

“Good.” He says, placing a kiss against your hair.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. Sukuna didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give, and you didn’t ask for anything beyond the quiet, shared moments that were somehow the most significant.

You could already picture the trip in your mind. It was a place with no distractions, no deadlines, just time to breathe and be with each other. It wasn’t about where you went, but about the peace that came with being together. A perfect escape from the chaos.

As the night wore on, you both lingered in that peaceful space. The gentle rise and fall of Sukuna’s chest beneath your head was enough to lull you into a sense of comfort and safety. And when you finally stood up to get ready for bed, Sukuna’s hand slid into yours like it had always belonged there.

“I’ll make you coffee tomorrow morning, babe.” he said with a grin as you both walked to your bedroom. “But only if you let me spoil you with breakfast again.”

You smiled, nodding. “I think I can manage that.”

And with that, the night unfolded like any other peaceful evening at home with your beloved Sukuna. Just as always, it was quiet, comforting, and full of love. And it was everything you could ever want.

epilogue

The sound of the roaring crowd reverberated through the television speakers, the tension in the air almost palpable as the game neared its final moments. The scoreboard flashed, Ryomen Sukuna’s team was trailing by just one point, the energy in the stadium crackling with anticipation.

The ball soared through the air like a comet, heading straight toward the opposing team’s side. You leaned forward in your seat, your fingers tightening around the mug of coffee made by your love still in your hands.

You were back in the office once again, still doing calculations for the newest improvements on the satellite. From your quiet corner of the laboratory office, you could see it all unfolding on the screen: the powerful serves, the flawless blocks, the high-flying spikes. And there, amidst all the chaos, was Sukuna.

His toned and tanned body, glowing from the vacation sun, flexed with the way he moved. His hair slightly tousled, his face set in that familiar determined expression, and his movements. It was fluid, almost effortless. It showed exactly why he was a gold medalist.

"You’ve got this, my love. Come on!" you whispered under your breath, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you. Still, it felt right to say it, to be part of this moment, even from afar.

The camera zoomed in on Sukuna as he took position for the game-deciding moment. The opposing team was ready for the block, but there was something in the way Sukuna stood, his eyes locked onto the ball. The quiet confidence he wore was contagious, even through the screen.

The ball came soaring toward him. He didn’t hesitate whatsoever. With a powerful, fluid motion, he leapt into the air. His spike cut through the tension like a blade through silk.

The crowd held its collective breath as hope continued to pounce against the heaviness of the unknown. Time seemed to slow as the ball collided with the perfect angle and flew past the blockers.

The stadium exploded with sound. Cheers, clapping, the echo of voices screaming his name. You grinned, watching his team members rush toward him in celebration.

Yet, your heart swelled most when Sukuna’s scarlet eyes locked onto the screen. It was brief, but in that moment, it felt like he was looking right at you.

“You did it, my love!” you whispered to yourself, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you clutched the coffee mug a little tighter. “I knew you would.”

The post-game interviews began, and you took a sip of your coffee, settling in to watch the typical frenzy of reporters bombarding him with questions. You were about to scroll through your phone when a new message popped up on your screen. You smiled when you saw the name.

“Victory’s ours. Now it’s your turn. Don’t think I forgot.”

It was a text from Sukuna. You quickly typed your response.

“I’ll be home in a bit. I’ll see you soon, my love! Same rules as before, right? No satellites, just us.”

A few moments passed before his reply came through.

“Exactly. I’ll be waiting for you, babe. With some hot milk this time.”

You put your phone down and watched as Ryomen Sukuna was handed the microphone. The interviewer was grinning, clearly excited by the energy surrounding him. He pushes away his wet fuschia hair back from falling against his eyes.

“So, Sukuna–san.” the reporter began to say. “You’ve just clinched the game with that impressive spike. Your team has been on fire this season, and you’re back with a vengeance after your Olympic gold medal. How does it feel to be on top once again?”

Sukuna’s usual smirk curled into his lips, but this time it softened, just slightly, when he spoke. “It feels good!” he said, his voice smooth and steady. “But you know, every win is just another step forward. It’s never enough to just get there. You keep pushing for more.”

“Of course, of course.” the reporter continued. “I know you’re planning to go home after this. But please do tell, because we’ve heard a lot about your off–season routine. How do you balance being one of the top athletes in the country with your personal life? Especially with someone like [last name] — sensei, the brilliant astrophysicist who just won the Japan Prize?”

Sukuna leaned back slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he considered the question. His fingers drummed idly against the armrest.

But his eyes. They were sharp, steady, and glowing with quiet determination—remained locked on the interviewer.

“Well....lots of work. And devotion. In the mess, you always choose each other!” he began, voice low and sure. “Just as I hope for another hope for the gold, there should be hunger for love. Do everything for love. Make sure that hunger never really fades. You put in the hours, the blood, the sweat, just to sit back. And.........”

He paused for a beat, then let his eyes drift toward you across the city through the screen, something undeniably soft slipping into his gaze.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot more long-term. I’ve got medals, trophies, records. But the real win? It’s being able to come home to peace. To her. And having life with her."

"So yeah, I’m still chasing the top. In love, in life, in work. But I’m also building something steady outside of the spotlight. Learning how to show up in all the quiet ways that matter most. That’s how it goes.”

The whole work room was quiet for a heartbeat, like everyone had collectively forgotten to breathe. Then, you found that Hana was on the verge of singing praises all the sudden.

“God, he’s so sweet!” Hana groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch. “I wish my boyfriend was just like that!”

Kenji wheeled around to her with a laugh. “Good luck with that!”

Haruki raised his hands in surrender, eyes wide. More flustered than he had ever looked in his life. “Hey, I’m trying my best here!”

Kenji shot him a wicked grin. “Oh? Doesn’t sound like it’s enough!”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand as Hana groaned, “Don’t start, you two! this is why I need a Sukuna in my life.”

The interviewer chuckled at the chaos unfolding in the background before turning their attention back to Sukuna. “Well, it sounds like you’re more than just an athlete, you know? You’re the backbone of something really special. A perfect team, indeed. So what’s next? Another championship? Or something new entirely?”

Sukuna cracked his knuckles, that usual glint of fire returning to his expression. “Definitely another championship, for sure.” he said, voice low and certain. “But more than that? I want to set an example. Not just on the field, but off it too. Show that you can be relentless in your goals and soft where it counts. I’ve already got the most important win. The rest? That’s just icing.”

Your heart gave a little flutter, even after all this time. “God….”

And beside you, Hana whispered, “Seriously. Where do I order one of him?”

The room burst into laughter at Hana’s dramatic whisper, even the interviewer chuckling as they scribbled something into their notes. Sukuna glanced over, amused, one brow squirming up in that smug way of his.

The audience laughed, the room buzzing with energy from the live segment. Sukuna’s words continued to become a viral moment once again. You watched through it all.

You saw his smug grin, the teasing glint in his eye as he proudly declared his engagement once again. Even through the screen, his confidence was magnetic, almost obnoxiously charming.

Kenji was still whooping in the background. “Man, that was bold! You better be ready, he just threw you under the spotlight now!”

Hana looked at you with starry eyes. “Seriously! Do you know how many people just fell in love with him after that clip? You better keep a close grip on that ring!”

You smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Trust me. If anyone tried, they’d find out real quick, he’s not the only one who fights professionally.”

Everyone laughed, especially Haruki, who was now clinging to the armrest of the couch like it was a life preserver. “I’m just trying to live up to the standard, okay? Can we lower the bar back to human levels?”

“Nope, nope!” Hana said sweetly. “Not when that guy just announced he’s engaged and is a one woman man like a heartthrob lead in a drama.”

You laughed again, but there was a subtle softness in your gaze now as you looked at the ecstatic and eccentric form of Ryomen Sukuna’s image moving on screen.

Still gesturing and continuing with the interview, but still the corner of his mouth pulled into that familiar cocky grin. You couldn't help but let your eyes sparkle with intrigue and entertainment.

“Yeah, yeah.” you said, waving a hand dismissively, though your voice was warm. “And he comes with a whole lot of maintenance too you know. He takes care of me and loves me. You all hear the charming part, but you don’t see the sulking when I hide the junk food or when he loses one sock and swears the washing machine’s out to get him.”

Haruki blinked. “Wait—he loses socks?”

You nodded solemnly. “Like it’s a personal betrayal every single time.”

Hana gasped. “Even his flaws are adorable!”

Kenji clapped a hand over his heart. “That man is living on final boss energy and soft boy romance tropes. Unreal.”

The interviewer, still recovering from the wave of chaos, leaned forward with a knowing smile. “So, wedding soon?”

Ryomen Sukuna looked at the interviewer, smiling back. “Maybe.”

“Oh, so maybe….it means soon, right?” Hana asks you.

You paused, your voice dropping just a touch. “And I’ll take it. Every time.”

You smiled to yourself, the image already so clear in your mind. “Yeah. When the season’s over and this new paper’s out. We’ve got plans. Just really quiet ones. It’ll be something simple, something ours. But I already know… he’ll be waiting at the altar with that same stupid grin, holding out his hand like always.”

The room settled for a moment, the laughter and teasing softening into a warm hum of something quieter. You were sure it was something close to awe.

The screen behind you still showed Sukuna, his expression full of affection for you even as he continues to talk about his plans this season.

Maryu Hana leaned her head on your shoulder with a theatrical sigh, the kind only she could pull off with just the right amount of over the top flair. You like to think that she was truly ready to go and cry her eyes out.

“That’s it, wah. I believe in love again.” Her voice was touched with mock despair and genuine wonder, like she’d just witnessed a fairytale unfold in real time.

Kenji, never one to be outdone in the dramatics department, wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye with a shaky breath. This was all the sudden.

“I’m gonna cry and I don’t even like romance.” he sniffled, clutching at his chest as if Sukuna’s off-screen declaration had personally wounded him with its sweetness. “This is emotional damage, I wasn’t prepared!”

Laughter rippled through the room, light and affectionate. It was somewhat of a thing here whenever you and Sukuna were brought up.

This was just something people didn’t expect, seeing all his tattoos and all that. Yet the more they knew him, the more they all fell in love with his devotion for you. They were as hooked as you were.

Haruki, still visibly flustered from being compared to Sukuna for the third time in ten minutes, finally dropped the act and threw up his hands in defeat. “Okay, but even I want to be invited to this wedding now, senpai.” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed pink.

Hana snapped her head toward him, lifting her head off your shoulder just long enough to squint suspiciously. “Figure out how you’ll propose to me first!” she huffed, jabbing a finger into his side with faux annoyance.

He winced and held up his hands like a man under interrogation. “I—I’m working on it!”

“You’ve had two years and not even a hint of a ring!” Hana grumbled, arms crossed as she pouted dramatically. “Meanwhile, Ryomen Sukuna is out here declaring eternal love on national TV like some legendary shojo manga lead.”

“Do you want me to compete with The Ryomen Sukuna?” Haruki squeaked, clearly panicking now. “Because that’s a losing game and you know it!”

Kenji leaned over with a smug grin, patting Haruki’s shoulder like a disappointed older brother. “He’s right. That man’s got cheat codes. You? You’re just trying not to burn pasta.”

The group burst into another wave of laughter as Haruki buried his face in his hands and groaned. It was another lovely day in the research lab. You sighed contently as you nodded to yourself. Life was indeed good.

You smiled as you watched your friends bicker and banter, your heart full. Even with Sukuna miles away, his presence had lit up the room like he was sitting right there beside you. And somewhere in all the laughter, the teasing, and the warmth.

For a moment, you knew felt it again. It was that familiar, steady pull. The quiet certainty that no matter how big the world got, no matter how loud the applause or how bright the spotlight.

It was your love, at its core, that remained soft and tender and at the center of it all. And most of all, you knew that man was entirely, irrevocably, yours.

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miled72 · 6 months ago

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youtube

This tutorial will show you how to control the width, height, and length of objects that are not parametric, which means you don't have access to the spinners that determine these parameters. You'll also learn some additional tips on how to quickly play with values inside spinners and how to quickly change the pivot location.

#3dsmax #3ds max tutorials #autodesk 3dsmax #autodesk #learn 3dsmax #3dsmax online training #3dsmax how to #3dsmax tips #learn 3d #3dsmax transform toolbox #3dsmax modeling #3dsmax hidden features #Youtube

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waves-against-a-cliff · 6 months ago

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Need Someone Soft? 141 x Camgirl!Reader

Summary - Kyle attempts to keep a secret, Simon discovers a very pretty webcam model.

Tags - Masturbation, internet stalking, voyeurism(?) exhibitionism, reader is mentioned to be plus sized (or mid-sized if you wanna argue)

divide from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

A/N: Still on a semi-hiatus. Just having camgirl thoughts.

Kyle hated this, your inconsistent schedule. You said certain days of the week and every weekend... and yet you were nowhere to be seen. He had bought the singular video up on your profile but that was it, that was all you had.

Really he shouldn't have expected much out of a model who's tags warned him that you were new. New and inconsistent it seemed. Until a few days turned into a week, then a week turned into two weeks and soon enough there was only a few days until it was a full month since you had been online.

He had followed your little blog that you posted updates on and had masturbated so many times to that one video on your profile that, well it would be a lie if he said it didn't do anything for him anymore. Oddly, the video had become a comfort.

Like knowing he had a few candies waiting for him after a long day of drills and training. Even on missions, when it got slow and they were in a safe house Kyle pulled up the video. Careful of course to keep it silent but he had your sounds memorized by now.

He would follow the rhythm you set, slow at first as your tight cunt got used to the dildo stuffed inside of you, your hips jerking a little when you find that right spot on your clit and keep your vibrator there. A mixture of lube and your own juices dripping from around the dildo and down the fat of your ass.

Fuck, his mouth watered just thinking about it.

Then he got an alert in his email. A blog update. All it said was I'm coming back and I have a new toy to test out, ;) and by the grace of god it was a screenshot of a lovense order for a lush. His mind swirled with the possibility of being able to send tokens upon tokens to make it vibrate. To control your pleasure through a screen, the possibility was tantalizing. And yet, he didn't know when you would be coming back. Today? Fuck, not today. Not while he was meant to be sent off on an op with Soap.

God damn it.

Simon didn't normally use websites like this. Then again, most of his wanks were borderline clinical. He would conjure up whatever image he needed to get off and tug at his cock until his spend coated his hand. So why was he on this website to begin with? Well, he was curious alright?

Curiosity killed the cat.

He flickered through the 'longue' as the website called it, something that chuffed him a bit he had to admit. A porn website attempting to make itself seem a little more professional.

Adorable.

It wasn't his first time on a website like this, far from it. He just normally didn't do this at all. But he knew he liked the new models. The ones who weren't quiet sure what they were doing. He also liked the ones who were rounder in the middle, thighs thick from good eating and a nice round ass that he could imagine bouncing off of while he fucked her into the mattress.

So he scrolled through the new tag until he stumbled across what he was looking for. He glanced at your username and immediately 'friended' you which was really more like subscribing. He would get alerts when you would go live now.

You were sat all pretty on your bed, hair tucked behind your ears and he looked at the room topic. His eyes latched onto the words lush activated.

Oh.

He glanced at the tokens in his imaginary wallet on the website. 1000, he could make that work. He tugged his cock from his briefs and grabbed the bottle of lube tucked away in his drawer before he poured a generous amount on his cock. He gave it a few tugs, just watching as someone else tipped you and activated the lush nestled inside your pussy. Just watching as you squirmed and the nearly mute sound of your mewls reached his eyes. Fuck he needed headphones.

Using one hand he typed his first sentence into chat, you do privates?

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #mw2 smut #gaz smut #simon x reader #camgirl!reader #x reader #cod x reader

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digitalsymbiote · 3 months ago

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What makes a Mech a Mech?

Now you might think it's the shape: Humanoid, bipedal, articulated limbs. And once upon a time that might have been the case. These days those machines are a lot more diverse though, come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; you got quadrupeds, winged mechs, hell sometimes ones that don't got any arms or legs at all.

No, what makes a Mech a Mech, is the Neural Link.

Mechs are unique in the way that their pilots get wired into them. They plug their brain into a machine and they become that machine.

Y'see that's why so many of the early models were so standardized, modeled after our own anatomy and musculature. Back when the tech was first being developed, the test pool was pretty limited. All military types, foot soldiers and the like. Those folks tend to have something of a limited imagination, creativity and individuality gets beaten out of 'em until they conform to the template of what the military wants 'em to be.

Which means they aren't all that great at imaginin' their body as anythin' other than what it is.

So all those early prototypes had to conform to that. If they wanted a pilot to have a decent enough Link Aptitude, they needed Mechs that the pilots could see themselves as. Folks were already used to havin' two arms and two legs, replacin' 'em with metal instead of flesh was a short enough leap that those folks could handle it.

But y'see then they started expandin' the applicant pool; researchers and developers moved outside the military in search of folks with higher Link Aptitude. And they found that humanity is a lot more diverse than that template the military beats into its soldiers. Turns out folks can be a lot more creative with their body map. Not everybody fits into that standardized definition of what humanity is.

They were lookin' in the completely wrong place with the military, turns out. Conformity is all well and good when you're trynna rush somethin' off the assembly line, but when you're trynna really push the limits of what's possible? Well you gotta get a bit more creative with it.

That's why you don't usually see the jugheads piloting mechs anymore. They ain't as good with all the fanciness companies are packin' into them these days. Now y'know who is good with all of that? Queer folks. Transgender folks especially. Turns out growin' up in the wrong body and learnin' to deal with that makes you real good at dissociatin' and messin' with your body map. Makes it a lot easier to trick your brain into thinkin' some weird part of this metal colossus is actually part of your body now.

Once they sorted that out, synchronicity rates skyrocketed. Led to a lot of other good things too. Y'see suddenly Queer and Trans folks were prime candidates for bein' pilots, corpos needed 'em. Which meant they had to make it safe enough for folks to be those things, or at least enough to admit it to the recruiters. Kinda funny thinkin' back, that that was what tipped the scales, but I suppose you can always trust corpos to do what corpos do.

But anyway, that's why so many Mechs are custom made to their pilots nowadays. That's why they craft the IMPs alongside the pilots through basic training. You gotta build a system that'll fit the pilot's body map, and ideally one that'll make the most of it.

If that pilot's more comfortable with a tail? Give that Mech a tail. Digitigrade legs? Quadrupedal? Fuck it, if it works for the pilot, throw that shit on there. Y'see ultimately, through the Neural Link, all you gotta be able to do is trick your brain into thinkin' that Mech is your body, and then it's off to the races.

And that moment, when your mind slips into that metal monstrosity and suddenly you feel more at home than you ever did in your own flesh and blood? That's what pilots live and die for. That's how you know the engineers did a good job.

And that's what makes a Mech a Mech.

#mechposting #mechs #mech pilots #mecha #Neural Link #Queer #Trans #cybernetic dreams #something something queer people have inherent value #for their creativity and individuality #writing #short story #microfiction

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swordsandholly · 1 year ago

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Fancy

Ch 1: Here’s Your One Chance | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire! Poly! 141 x Plus size! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A permanent darkness rests over the city. Cold, too. Despite living here your whole life you’ve never quite adjusted to the artificial nature of it - to the shadow hanging above the miles and miles of city and the constant chill on your skin.

Really, you aren’t meant to be here. This place isn’t built for humans despite the mass that live within the confines of the city’s dome. It’s made for creatures - beings of the night that stalk and rule. The air has become rotten in the lower neighborhoods over a century due to pollution and overpopulation. It will turn your lungs black before the age of five without the proper protection.

Apartment buildings are crowded and decent living conditions are hard to come by. Many have a waitlist longer than the human lifespan. Most operate on a dorm system - at least one person per room. Randomly assigned of course, based entirely on who can pay the rent. You’ve lucked out enough to earn a shitty studio to yourself. It’s cracked and crumbling but the locks are tight and it has a window - even if the view is just a building across the alleyway.

You squeeze into a black mini dress, tying your hair up to show off the double string of pearls on your neck. They’re the nicest thing you own - the only thing worthy of this club. The only thing that can project the image needed to get proper tips. Red lipstick as a final touch. It’s corny, you know, but the vampire clients are always suckers for it. Pun intended.

This job is important. There can’t be a hair out of place. This is your chance. Your one chance to make enough money to get out of the slums. To at least make it to the middle city. You can practically hear the grime on the sidewalk as you make your way toward the metro station. Dirt and debris so caked into the very air down here that you have to wear a respirator as you go. It’ll leave marks when you first take it off, but they usually disappear by the time you’ve made it from the depot to the club.

You don’t bother with sitting on the train. Hell will freeze over before you chance catching whatever new disease has grown in that Petri dish. Instead you join the rest of the patrons in awkwardly standing in the center of the cart, damn near falling over when the train lurches to begin its journey from the slums to the upper city. There are actual names for the two areas, but nobody uses them anymore.

The respirator makes a hissing sound as you remove it after stepping out of the train. The cool, clean air of the upper city fills your lungs. It’s satisfying in a way its sticky, filtered sister could never be. The faux fur of your cropped coat tickles a bit as you walk, blown by that strange breeze that never seems to stop in the upper city. The one that blows all the grime and smog downhill.

The club sits square in central downtown - the bottom level of a historical hotel. It’s an elegant building. Red with curled metal accents over the windows and doors. Modeled after the ancient art nouveau movement. It sparkles underneath the artificial LEDs of the city - all signs and glowing windows. You can always tell where the humans are, catching glimpses of that unmistakable glow only a UV light gives off.

You duck down the alley behind the hotel. Grimy and dark, the complete opposite of the front entrance. Your heels clack on the concrete loudly - echoing off the hard walls of the building surrounding you.

It’s easy enough to slip into the routine of your job. Going back and forth to the bartender, carrying various drinks and placating the egos of cowardly men and the vampires they lie to themselves about being equal to. You can see the hunger in their eyes when you tilt your head, exposing more of your neck to the light. When your wrists just pass their noses as you set down their glasses.

It’s hard work. Long hours and more days of the week than you would like, but it pays enough for you to afford your little apartment and save some for your future.

“Hey! New girl!” The owner barks at you as you gently set your tray back into the stack to be washed.

You whirl on your heel. Shit, did you fuck up? Ruin everything? Your mind runs through every interaction over the course of the night - every comment, every stilted moment. “Y-yes, sir?”

“Need you as a Companion.” He stands in front of you, the pinstripes of his suit warping over his massive crossed arms. The wrinkle in his nose makes his mustache twitch.

“C-companion!” You squeak. “I’m not-“

“We had a call out. Need you to take the private booth in the back.”

Your eyes are saucers - heart beating so hard you almost can’t hear his words. You don’t know what to make of this. His words are harsh and cut right though you, but the prospect they hold…

“You paying attention?” He grunts.

Your voice shakes. “Just… why me?”

“You match their preference.” Its blunt. Uncaring. Not that you would ever expect much sympathy from the owner of a place like this - feeding girls to vampires and their kin.

Generally, you’re not the type to be preferred - too big and soft for most. It’s what kept you as a server exclusively, you’re sure. Companion is such a major step up, too. You haven’t had any training. You never thought you’d get there - only a few girls make it from Server to Companion. To have it by happenstance…

With a deep breath you remind yourself that this is temporary. Just for tonight. You are acting as a replacement, nothing more. If you pull this off maybe you’ll get enough tips to finally replace the air filtration in your apartment. Maybe you can even get an overhead UV light. Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely!

Another tray is shoved into your hands. Is this… actual gold? Ornate designs line the outer rim - all weaving in and out of each other inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. It’s cold on your hands and so shiny you catch your reflection in it before the bartender sets a bottle of wine and four glasses on it. You’re fairly certain between the wine and the tray you are holding upwards of four thousand dollars a in your hands. It takes everything to keep your hands from trembling.

You slowly head for the back booth - just beyond the main floor of the bar. It’s far more quiet here. The music from the floor muffled by distance. There are only a few private booths and they are only ever occupied by the city’s elite. The top of the top. You pause at the heavy, velvet burgundy curtain separating you and your clients for tonight. They could be anyone.

You hope they aren’t the type to get rough.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you use the other the push the heavy curtain to the side - entire body alert and tense as your eyes land on the four men sitting around the rounded booth. Their eyes meet yours, and you freeze. A shiver runs down your spine.

They’re beautiful in that way only vampires can be. Untouchable. Marble-esque. Eyes clear and bright even in the low light of the booth - that sheen of night vision apparent. Lions staring down their prey and you, who walked into the den willingly.

“Good evening.” It takes everything to keep your voice steady. To slip back into that comfortable customer service headspace you’ve curated over the years. “I’ll be your Companion tonight.”

“What happened t’ Cherry?” The man on the outer right side of the booth asks. His arm is slung carelessly over the back of the booth, body slack and comfortable.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You say softly, carefully sliding the tray onto the table. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” A man with an imperial beard smiles. It softens his face - makes him look less like stone. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” You murmur. It’s your chosen work name - based on a song your mother used to play from a century ago. One of your earliest memories is her lifting you into her arms and spinning around to the song. All the workers names are single words. Easy to remember. Easy to request for returning quests.

“Fittin’.” The man to your left grins, bright blue eyes sparkling. His fangs catch the light - your hands tremble for a brief moment.

“Do you know who we are?” The masked man beside him asks. His voice rumbles through your nerves, all the way into your bones. You can hardly look at him - the skull covering the top half of his face makes your gut churn.

Should you know them? Oh, fuck, you probably should. Vampires live forever - their names and legacies travel across centuries. Millenia. It’s going to give you away. You’re just a low class human from the slums. You don’t know Vampires from the uppers.

The illusion of luxury only goes so far.

“It’s not a trick question.” The man to your right smiles gently, tilting his head to the side.

“No, sir.”

“Well,” The one with the beard sits a little straighter. “I’m John Price and these are my… confidants. Cohorts. Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley.” He gestures to each as he goes.

John Price… John Price… Nothing comes to mind. Nothing about any of them, for that matter.

“Lovely to meet you.” You smile pleasantly, slipping back into the script. Swallowing roughly and steadying yourself, you reach for the bottle and slowly pouring a tester amount into the four glasses. “Tonight we have a vintage red from 2089.”

John hums, swirling the glass before taking a sip. His eyes glow in the low bar light. “You remember the 80’s, Simon?”

“Which one?” The makes you pause. How many 80’s could there be?

John laughs, whole and hearty. Little crows feet appear in the corners of his eyes. “Which d’you think?”

“I remember the blood.” The masked man mutters. He doesn’t look at John - dark eyes locked on you. You keep up the well trained smile. Neutral, comfortable.

“Och, ye would.” Johnny scoffs, taking his own glass after John gives you a nod to fill the four properly. “Cannae ever remember the good.”

“Well what’s your finest memory then Johnny?”

“There’s was this lass… think her name was Cassandra. Had the biggest tits and-“

“Enough of that. Theres a lady present.” John waves his hand. To your surprise, Johnny actually listens despite looking muffed about it. You can’t help but snort. Lady. As if.

How old are they, anyway? They look young - especially Johnny and Kyle. Definitely below thirty when they were turned. John obviously leads but that doesn’t necessarily mean he turned the rest of them. They could have just come together over the years. Vampire covens vary heavily as to why they came together. Sometimes friendship, sometimes relation, sometimes just convenience.

Simon is still staring you down, hooking a thumb under his mask to raise it just over the end of his nose. Scarred lips sip from his glass.

“Come sit, luv.” Kyle pats the booth beside him.

You snap out of your thoughts at the prompt - moving to sit in the empty spot beside Kyle. The next thing you know hands are on your hips, passing you over until you’re sat square in the middle as if you weigh nothing. You know vampires are strong - you’ve gotten thrown around by your fair share in the slums, whether a mugging or fucking - but it still startles you. They could crush you with barely a flick of the wrist.

Fingers brush over your shoulders, tracing the shape of them before lowering to rest between your exposed shoulder blades. They’re cold and leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Tell us about yourself, hm?” John prompts.

“Oh, not much to tell.” You shrug and smile. “I’m from the city. Started here about a year ago-“

“How have we never seen ye then?” Johnny interrupts, eyes locked on your chest. “A bonnie thing like ye…”

“Well…” You raise your hand to your mouth like you would when whispering a secret. “I’m not supposed to tell but I’m actually a server, normally.”

“Oh, really?” Kyle leans his chin on his palm. “In a dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” You huff, letting the pliant facade slip just enough to make yourself seem real. Just a little less doll like before you return to the script.

“Absolutely nothin’.” Simon hums beside you, eyes near black under the shadow of his mask.

Your face heats. Client compliments never get to you and you’re not sure what about his feels so different. All of their attention is so intense. It dives under your skin and burrows deep in your marrow.

“So, seeing as you implied I should know who you are-“ You tilt your head and meeting John’s eye, “who are you?”

John chuckles, leaning close. “Oh, no one important. Contractors. Independently employed.”

“Ah, so, criminals.” You laugh.

“If you say so.”

“I can’t exactly judge.” You lean in as well, shoulder pressing against his broad chest. The material of his suit is soft and thick. High quality. “I mean, look where I am, hm?”

“Are ye a criminal, lassie?” Johnny grins at you, tilting his head. How he makes a mo-hawk cute is beyond you.

“Shh.” You press a finger to your lips.

It’s easy enough to look sultry, to play the part, to mindlessly flirt. Easy enough to fall into the simple back and forth. Scripted. Basic. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re just clients at the end of the day, even if they have more money and power than your usual crowd.

You carefully refill each of their glasses. You can feel their eyes on you - boring through your very being. It takes more concentration than you’d like to keep your breath from hitching when John’s hand rests on your upper thigh. You lean forward, pushing each glass back to their respective owners.

Johnny takes your hand before you can retract it, placing gentle kisses from your palm to your wrist. He sighs shakily, teeth catching your skin ever so slightly.

“Johnny.” The masked man rumbles in warning.

“Not gonnae bite, LT… she just smells incredible.” Johnny murmurs against your wrist.

“Have you ever been bitten, dove?” John asks, eyes half lidded as he stares you down. That feeling comes back.

Prey. You’re just prey.

“N-no…” You shake your head, voice smaller than you’d like. You’re not supposed to. Clients aren’t allowed to bite the girls here - it’s not one of those clubs - but in reality you’re at your mercy. To book one of these rooms they surely have the money to pay whoever necessary to do whatever they might want with you.

“Donnae look so afraid.” Johnny chuckles.

“We’re not goin’ t’bite.” Kyle leans forward. “Just curious.”

“Oh…” You whisper. Johnny drops your wrist and you pray that they don’t notice how quickly you retract it.

“Alright boys, time for business.” John sighs. He suddenly grabs your chin, turning you to face him. It’s a light touch, not too rough but solid. His pupils dilate and yours with them. “You’ll forget everything we say from now until I snap my fingers.”

The next thing you know you’re blinking blearily, sitting in John’s lap with your legs across Kyle’s. The younger man’s hand rests on your leg, thumb gently stroking your ankle as you come back to sentience.

It’s like coming up from the undertow and getting your first gasp of air.

“There she is.” Johnny murmurs, smiling softly.

You were compelled - you know that much. It’s disorienting. You rub the corner of your eye, purposefully evening your breath. At least your clothes are all still in place. You don’t feel… touched. Not bitten either. A choked sigh escapes you against your will, hands trembling in your lap.

“You’re alright, dove.” John coos, cold breath puffing against your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. How much time has passed? When… what… “Can be hard t’come out of it, hm?”

“I’m okay...” You whisper.

“Have some water.” Kyle pushes a glass toward you. The concern on his face feels foreign.

A large, empty decanter of scotch sits in the center of the table accompanied by several empty glasses. That’s the closest hint you have to how long you’ve been here. You take the glass of water shakily and sip, leaving an imprint of red lipstick on the rim.

John continues to coo and soothe down your hair. His other hand travels down to rest on your hip, holding you in place against him. It’s strange… this feeling. You’ve been compelled before briefly but it wasn’t like this. John has to be strong. Old. He’s been around a while to have that kind of power - for it to be this difficult for you to come out of the haze. It’s taking more concentration to keep from crying than you’d like.

Stranger, though, is the way they watch you. The way John works you back to reality. Most vampires would have been inappropriate while you were gone, wouldn’t bother with the borderline aftercare needed when coming out from under their spell. Most would have left you slumped in the booth - drained of blood and pleasure - laughing as they went.

You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter and gathering your wits. “Can I get you gentleman anything else?”

They share a look, one that you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” John asks, voice low.

You look up at him with big eyes. Childlike, almost, staring up in wonder. It’s so strange how vampires aren’t quite white - they just lack the redness of life. The pink under the skin that signifies a beating heart and limited life span.

“I’m sure.”

John presses closer, breath caressing the shell of your ear. “Thank you for being so gracious f’us, tonight.

“Always…” There’s an honestly behind the word that startles you. A craving deep in your bones to prove yourself worthy of him and his men.

Strange.

“We best be on our way.” Simon rumbles, prompting Johnny to let him out of the booth.

John’s eyes flick between yours briefly before he moves you off of his lap with the gentle touch one might use when handling fine china. As much as you want to stay there, dazed and still coming down, you have work to do. So, you stand after them and begin slowly gathering the empty glasses on the tray. They feel heavier in your hand the normal.

A cold touch runs up your back and you freeze. Fingers trace the curve of your spine. You straighten, turning slowly only to meet those soft blue eyes again. John takes your hand, eyes alight with something you don’t understand. “I’ll tell the owner he’s wasting you as a servin’ girl. You’re made for more.”

Before you can even possibly decide how to respond, he’s gone. Disappeared through the curtain and into the forever night. Something crinkles in your hand. When you look down, slowly opening your fingers, the contents make your heart jump into your throat.

Cash. A massive roll of neatly banded cash.

How much is this? A thousand? More?

With frightened eyes and slippery hands you tuck the cash into the secret pocket of your coat. Having that much cash on your person is so out of your wheelhouse - out of the realm of possibility- you don’t know how to react.

You didn’t even get to say thank you.

Your mind whirls as you finish up your shift, eyes glazed over while slipping on your coat. The other girls look off put. A few whisper and stare.

What do they think you did?

Then again, you think as you brace yourself for the lurching and squealing of the metro, there isn’t any way to know what happened. Not unless one of the vampires tells you, and good luck prying any information out of one of them. Even if they tell you, they can just make you forget all over again.

How did you behave? Were you the same as always? Were you an entirely different person?

Some people forget themselves when under compulsion - every inhibition thrown to the wind carelessly. You need your inhibitions. They keep your job secure and yourself safe. You can’t afford carelessness.

The walk back home is tense. That small bulk in your pocket burns a hole though you as your mind runs with every possibility of what might have happened. What you might have done to earn such a massive tip. It can’t have been dignified, could it?

There’s no way they just like you. That’s not how vampires are.

It takes everything to motivate yourself to actually take off your clothing and jewelry before falling into bed. However long they had you, it drained you. Left you tired and shaky as you crawl under the thick bundle of quilts that make up for the lack of heating in your home.

Your eyes meet the wad of cash that barely fit in the inner pocket of your coat. It feels like a threat. Use me well or lose me forever! Make me count because you’ll never see me again!

For now, at least, you can bask in it.

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