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youn9racha · 9 months

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Bathroom Escapade

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

genre: smut; no strings attached/friends with benefit

song inspo: one of the girls — the weekend, lily rose depp and jennie

warning: public sex, heavy make-outs, unprotected sex, heavy sexual tensions, implied friends with benefits, mentions of infidelity(?), footsies/footjob, chan/chris is used interchangeably, quickie barely any foreplay, creampie, humiliation, choking, hair pull, dom!chan, sub!reader

words: 2.3k

a/n: its been a PHAT minute !!!! youn9racha's back baby hehehe the ending was lowkey rushed, but i have been meaning to write something but my brain has been blocked ofc, but finally something was up !!!! hope y'all enjoy it!!!

This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers' discretion is advised.

No one could pull them apart.

They weren't together by any means but almost have a magnetic attraction each time they're in the same room and their eyes land on each other, looking that could easily strip one another's clothing. These words echo each time they would describe the relationship between you and Chan, a guy you would often describe as a "friend," that is if you could count the time he has bent you over and made you scream out his name.

You could acknowledge him as a genuine friend, after all, he was your special friend; he was a gentleman, funny, charming, and really handsome that no one could deny. Even though you held no romantic attraction to him, there was no denying that he attracted you in some other way that could set fire to your insides. And he seems to feel the same way about you.

He always eyes up at every physical detail you could showcase to everyone. He admires the way you show yourself off, the way your voice perfectly hits his eardrum, every curve, indent, and crevice in your body got him hooked on you, regardless of whether you had someone in mind or not. He would always have his way with you to get you like a predator attempting to catch his prey for a feast, and a feast you were.

He didn't care that you showed up with a date, a man who complimented you in terms of appearance and personality, all Chan wanted was to get you back to him. The man who sat next to you was looking at you adoringly, and all you could offer back is a sweet smile that causes him to be smitten. He was staring at you with pure admiration, unlike the other pair of eyes that are piercing holes at your skull that could easily overpower your date. Whoever thought of this group dinner at a luxury restaurant must be a sadist for putting him through this, Chan would think to himself.

The time went by slowly, the wine glasses would touch lips, while the libra's eyes continued to bore his eyes at you, examining your actions with your date. Looking at your facial expression and smiles and analyzing your body language directly in front of him. His jaw would clench each time you show any interest in the guy sitting next to you. He knew that you didn't seek anyone, romantically speaking, nor does he, but he doesn't know why his sexual cravings are getting the best of him and making him feel slightly apprehensive about your interest in the man.

He later decided to distract himself by interacting with the other guests and engaging in whatever conversation they were speaking of that Chris really held no interest in, just a temporary fix in his sour mood. All the while he was interacting with the other guests, what he hasn't noticed was that you would constantly glance at him while your date blabbered about his job or whatever that is that he decided to speak of.

When you can see Chan looking away from you to talk, showing off his charming dimples at the guest next to him and having his Australian accent come out of his plump lips to add appeal to his voice, you sneakily slip your heels off your feet and extended your legs past the cloth that covered the table until your toes reached his ankles. Chan slightly jumped in his place while his eyes widened, which made the whole table look at him, including yourself, pretending to be clueless and confused.

"Is everything alright, Chan?" Changbin, his close friend sitting next to him, asked concerned, even looking down for a quick second to see what caused him to jump—you since moved your foot away after he jumped.

Chan chuckled in a feigned nervous tone and cleared his throat, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he spoke once again only to feel the same sensation of your foot against his leg once again, "just bumped my leg against the table, 'sall" he nodded, which made Changbin nod in reassurance and looked back at his seat partner and carry on their conversation.

Chan looked back at you, switching his facial expression, only to see you look back at your date all the while your foot is sliding up his leg. He's already sat past the tablecloth so many would not have seen his lower half, so your mission was easy to not get caught, all the while Chris attempts to be normal with his conversations. He feels the sole of you feet has reached between his legs, causing him to spread it just slightly where you can lay your heel in the chair and begin your movement.

Your toes and top foot began to rub against his erection which causes him to inhale and exhale through his nose, trying not to cause a scene in the middle of his conversation by erotically moaning straight to the guest's face. You two never played footsies, but at that moment Chris wish you'd done it because of the way you were rubbing him off in public was doing so many things to him, let alone using your foot.

His pants were feeling tighter as you began to curl your toes against him, which makes it hard for him to mask his excitement, resulting in you smirking at the reaction you've caused. You see him try to drink his wine, and you thought it was go time by slightly kicking him, causing him to groan and spill a bit of the red drink on himself. You pulled your leg back and gasped with everyone. Chris looked down at his dirty white shirt before looking back at you with fury in his eyes, making you shrug with sinister eyes masked with innocence.

Everyone's asking about Chan's well-being, but he reassured that it's fine and he got up to go to the bathroom to clean himself up. As he rushed to the empty single bathroom—so no one would also notice his erection—he began looking at his pathetic state, a big purple stain in his chest, a bulge protruding out of his pants, and now his hair disheveled after he ran his fingers through it. He groaned to himself, tongue protruding at his cheek.

"You're gonna pay for this, (y/n),"

"Pay for what?"

He swiftly turned his head only to see you standing by the door, smirking as you closed and locked the door.

Without any hesitation, he got up against you and crashed his lips onto yours, his body pushing up against yours, blocking the door, not wanting to hear anything out of your lips, anything aside from your moans, your whines, and your screaming out his name. His tongue was invading your lips and danced along your own tongue, groaning at the faint taste of the drink you had. He pulled away, his eyes looking at you red with fury, looking at your now smudged lips then back at your eyes.

"You get off to me getting humiliated, don't you?" He groggily said, which made you sadistically laugh at the chaos you've caused. Your laugh was cut short until you gasped as you felt his hand grip your throat.

"Who's laughing now, huh? Because surely it ain't you now," He roughly spoke as his other hand went and sought your zipper and slipped it downward to get your dress to expose your chest.

"Chan... please..." you pleaded through your slightly choked-up state, your hands wrapping themselves around his wrist while he unzips his own pants.

"Shut up, you've done enough, now it's your turn to be humiliated."

You knew you drove it too far, and you knew you have angered him, but to say you weren't excited and that it wasn't your intention would be a lie. The way his energy was getting powerful after a moment of weakness was potent and you wanted to thrive off of it.

He let go of your grip, making you gasp for breath, only to have him turn you around and press your body against the cold door, making your breath hitch the sensation of the cold wood hitting against your nipples, all the while Chris was ripping your panties from behind.

He gripped a chunk of your hair and pulled your head off the wood and got you looking back at him, "you listen to me, you better scream out my name until the whole restaurant hears you. I want everyone to know who fucks you this good, including that fake date of yours."

His words stung like venom and your veins were only surging even faster than it already does over the adrenaline that was electrifying all over your body. The sheer thought of your screams echoing through the small restaurant and Chris's voice made you anticipate more of what you wanted than you initially thought.

"fuck me, Chris..."

Your words are cut off by your moans at the feeling of you getting stretched by Chan's girth inserting at your sopping hole. It was sudden yet exhilarating especially added to the rough grip that Chris had on your hips. He didn't hold back and he ultimately began thrusting up your cunt at a pace that made the two of you audibly show each other how good you two feel against each other.

"Just like that, (y/n), scream my name out like that," he smirked against your neck as he quickens himself, making you squeal out his name.

You were sure that people are looking in the direction of the men's bathroom where Chris was based on the way you were moaning out his name, but neither of you cared at the moment. The way his cock was repeatedly kissing the desired spot inside of you made you roll your eyes back at the pleasant feeling your body was getting. Chris was moaning out as well, while not as loud, but definitely loud for many to hear, but he takes pride in the reaction you were having. His shirt was unbuttoned, his pants and boxers were on the floor, swimming across his ankles, and his hair was getting messier and messier as some strands began sticking across his sweaty forehead. All the while, his smirk was painted on his face as he sees your mascara running down your face, mouth agape with pornographic noises escaping from it while your short dress was scrunched around your waist with your breasts bounced at the beat of his thrusts.

He occasionally bit your neck while your arm attempts to run your hand through his hair, only for him to pull it down and place it behind your back, making you through your head back, not resisting any more stimulation that Chris had up his sleeve. You felt your body began to bubble up as your orgasm was crashing its course, but he had no plans on slowing down.

In fact, he was continuing until he was done. So as you've reached your peak, Chris made damn sure that he's not stopping.

"You'll finish—fuck—you'll finish until I'm finished," He gruffly said as he sped up his pace making you scream and sob at the overwhelming feeling. If no one heard you then, they definitely heard now. Just a few more thrusts and you noticed how sloppy he was becoming in contrast to his sharp movements aided by his dancer hips and his panting was getting faster.

Just one last orgasm, he shuddered as he moaned out an "oh fuck!" while his slender fingers dug their nails against your skin, making you hiss at the feeling of pain from his grip and the warmth of his cum seeping itself into your hole. you two caught your breaths while he dropped his head onto your shoulder and you bumped your head against the door, panting to catch back your oxygen. He pulled his head up, feeling heavy, before he pulled his softening cock out of your hole, watching his pearly white dripping out of it, making you whine slightly at the empty feeling.

You pushed yourself off the door, while Chan pulled his pants and you fixed up your dress.

"Can you help me?" You first spoke, your voice hoarse and quiet in contrast to your loud screams. It's like a switch had been placed because Chan swiftly became a softly spoken gentle-to-the-touch man in contrast to the rugged merciless man he was a few minute ago.

"Sure," he softly accepted as you turned around to show your unzipped dress, which he zipped up for you. You turned and smiled at him with a gentle thank you, to which he replied back with a similar smile. He washed his hand, while you collected your ripped panties.

"That was expensive, y'know?" you commented, showing it to him through the mirror. He shrugged, with a smirk, "I'll buy a better one."

You shook your head with a chuckle and an eye roll before you also washed your hand. You looked at yourself, sighing and cursing yourself with the ruined makeup, "Chris, you ruined my makeup... my bag is outside and I don't want them to see me like this."

"Trust me, considering how loud you were and how long we both have been gone, I think your makeup should be the last thing you worried about." He cockily said as he adjusted his stained shirt, which caused you to smack his muscular arm, making him let out an "ow."

"Don't remind me—"

"Hey, you were the one who played footsies and came to the bathroom—"

"Shut up!" you exclaimed with an embarrassed flush in you, making Chan chuckle and wrap his arm around your shoulder.

"Look, how about this, I'll go face them, grab your bag and take you back to your place, does that sound good?" he said, nonchalantly and an eerily calming small smile was arched in his lips.

Your brows furrowed, "do you have no shame in yourself for you to face them?"

"Hey, I'm confident in my fucking skills, if they wanna get it, they're welcome to."

"You're a freak..."

"And yet you gave me a footjob in front of everyone, so who's the freak?"

"... touché," you admitted, making the two of you laugh at the admission.

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merakiui · 7 months

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while in captivity, floyd encounters a human and unintentionally pair-bonds with you during a moment of biological vulnerability.

(cw: gender neutral reader, nsfw, omegaverse/abo, heats, captivity)

The marine lab has recently acquired a unique specimen—unique in that he is half-human and half-fish, hailing from deep, dark, indescribable depths. An eel merman, to be exact. You’ve only ever glimpsed merfolk in outdated textbooks and fairytales, the latter of which depicted them as whimsical beings capable of feats beyond scientific understanding. Magic. Although in the realm of biology, such folly is never entertained and so what the world calls ‘magic’ other fields built upon the foundations of research refer to it as a ‘miracle’. In your eyes those words are interchangeable, but then the idea of a miracle is far easier to digest than the concept of magic.

Merfolk have always been elusive, covert creatures, hence why there is hardly any conclusive data on them. In fact, they’re so secretive that they were believed to be mostly extinct—a figment of dreams and hallucinations. Most of what humans know stems from the tattered notes of long-gone sailors, their presences nearly lost to time itself, and for a while all anyone ever knew were four key details:

They are spread throughout the sea, living out their lives in frigid fathoms.

They are hypnotic and deceptive.

They are predatory.

They rarely interact with humankind unless absolutely necessary (e.g. to hunt or observe).

But with plenty of promising technological advances, some of the theories and myths surrounding merfolk have been bolstered or disproved, respectively. Merfolk are just as diverse as the rest of the animal kingdom. Some live in solitude. Others thrive in groups. Some make their home out of caves and grottos. Some dwell within the labyrinths of volcanic rock formations. It is every marine biologist’s dream to come face to face with one of these mysterious creatures, if only for just a few minutes to glean more information.

That dream is made reality today.

The eel mer was discovered off the coast of a tiny island, entangled in fishing lines and plastic litter. His large, winding body, snake-like in its sleek build, was littered with scars and scrapes. There was a hook lodged up in the folds of his gills. Despite his thrashing, his tail swishing wildly in the sand and nearly knocking down three researchers like they were bowling pins, he was wheezing and gasping, drained of energy and air. When the first bucket of seawater came down upon his dry gills, he settled briefly, wide, crazed, mismatched eyes flicking from face to face. Likely assessing the situation or counting the amount of bodies, the report claimed.

He fell still after that, and it took two teams of ten people to load him onto the lift so he could be flown to the lab.

After he spent a week in recovery, where he healed surprisingly fast, he was transferred to a much larger and wider tank, its depths far deeper than the average swimming pool. He doesn’t swim to the surface much, and he only ever pokes his head out at night, scanning his surroundings with intelligent, keen eyes. And then he turns and disappears below. It’s a pattern he’s stuck to for weeks now. No one really understands it, and they haven’t had the opportunity to try. He’s uncooperative and unpredictable. It’s much too dangerous to send a diver down there.

So they transfer you to his enclosure, assuming you might have more luck. You’re not sure and you can’t make any promises of potential success, as you’ve only ever interacted with marine mammals. A merman is…different. Not only because he’s half-man and, by that same logic, likely possesses a human brain that is capable of a higher level of thought, albeit one that is wired to suit his mer biology, but because he’s bigger. A lot bigger.

He could kill you.

You saw the documentation. The serrated teeth, the powerful claws, the dangerous jaw, the bulky, muscular build that cuts through water like a bullet. He is a predator in every sense of the word, and you’re supposed to look after him. Coax him to the surface. Get him to trust humans. Interact with him just inches from the edge of his tank and hope that he doesn’t get hungry or violent.

He might kill you.

But there are safety measures put in place for these things. Ethics to be followed and whatnot. It’s a slippery slope because he’s part human and therefore could possibly have the same level of intelligence humans have, in which case it would be wrong to trap him here. There may be ways to skirt around it with other animals, but he’s not like other animals.

For now, he’s kept here under the pretense of recovery and scientific study. The lab treats him like the big fish he is, going so far as to buy a shark suit in your size and instruct you to wear it even though you’re not going to get in the water. “It should prevent him from biting through,” they had said, “but it won’t lessen the force of his bite.”

“What good will that do? I can’t fight him off.” Though you knew it had nothing to do with anything, you added, “I’m an omega. Merfolk might not have the same sub-genders as we do up on the surface—or maybe they do; I don’t know—but if he were human he’d definitely classify as an alpha. Put that into perspective. I can’t. Fight. Him. Off. It’s biologically impossible.”

“So you poke his eyes. Dig your fingers into his gills. He should let go of you then.”

“That’ll hurt him,” you protested, clutching the suit to your chest.

“Not as much as he’ll hurt you.”

You suppose it’s a clinical priority. Survival of the fittest, but it’s the human who has to live. The lab could afford to lose you, but they don't want to. And if they did, they might put the mer down. Shoot him up with enough tranquilizers to keep him comatose. Maybe it only bothered you because, yet again, he’s half-human and no one on the team knows the extent to which he thinks and functions.

To simplify it, they consider him a shark. But like any creature, sharks learn and adapt as they go. Death is instinct.

He will kill you.

But you don’t want to think like that, which is why you put on your best smile and trudge into the enclosure he’s being kept in. The tank looms before you, seawater clear and beamed through with streaks of light from the harsh, glaring LEDs above. The deeper the water gets, the darker the shadows. You press your palm against the glass, observing the murky darkness with a frown. Somewhere in this tank, at a depth you can’t even imagine, is an eel merman. A big, strong, powerful, scary eel merman.

You swallow a steadying breath, curl your fingers into fists, and climb the spiral staircase to get to the attached platform. Your reflection follows you with each step, countenance set in grim confliction. Once you reach the top, you peer out at the surface of the pool, listening to the droning hum of water filters and other hidden machinery. There’s a very shallow part of the tank, a dip in the design that allows for the mer to lounge if he so pleases. You’re reminded of the dolphins in live shows, who slide up onto their stomachs to face an awestruck audience. You doubt that’s what he’ll use this ledge for. If anything, it could allow a researcher to kneel in the shallows while they interact with him at an intimate propinquity.

You don’t plan on being that researcher.

Instead, you pace a healthy distance away from the edge, holding a bucket of his breakfast in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“Um!” You cringe at your voice as it reverberates around you in a nervous echo. Cautiously, you inch towards the water. “I have your food!”

You wait three seconds, expecting him to come bursting up from the darkness like the shark everyone wants to delude themselves into thinking he is. The water remains still and unbroken. You wonder if your voice can even reach such a depth. If not the sound, the vibrations might. Or maybe he’s resting. It’s still relatively early in the morning. Perhaps his sleep schedule is thrown off. Yours would be if you were taken from your home and dumped in a manufactured version of your habitat.

You lurch forwards with the bucket and watch as a collection of shrimp, crab, and small fish soar through the air in a sloppy arc before landing and sinking into the waiting depths below. Nothing happens. The tension in your body ebbs away, and when it becomes clear that he isn’t coming up to greet you and feast on your offering you relax completely, collapsing against the wall with a great sigh.

If they really want to study him, they should just watch him on the security feed, you think, peering up at the camera in one corner of the room, its red eye fixated on you and the surrounding enclosure. He’s not going to come up during the day. Not when there are humans walking around.

Still, you wait your shift out, scribbling nonsense in your notebook and occasionally glancing up to gauge the state of the water.

The mer doesn’t show, so you resolve to try again.

Try you do, and try you have.

It’s been one week of perfunctory routine, arriving and feeding him at the same time in hopes that he might understand what you’re doing and come up to investigate. Or, at the very least, recognize you’re a recurring figure in his chapter of captivity. You don’t intend on befriending him. You only wish to fulfill your duties as a researcher, however skewed they may have become. Even though you know you ought to be grateful the mer hasn’t caused any problems, you want something to happen. Anything! At this rate, you’d sooner tire yourself out playing with rowdy sea lions than sit around in silence while waiting for an appearance from him.

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon when the first beat of unrest hits.

The mer’s enclosure is kept at a comfortable temperature for humans; it’s the water that’s freezing below the surface. So when you step up onto the platform and peer into the chum-infested deep, the empty bucket now set aside, you feel warmer than usual. Odd, considering the room is normally so chilly. Not extremely so, but chilly enough to give way to a pleasant cold.

Tugging at the collar of your shark suit, you cover the distance to stand under a large fan situated just near the dip in the pool. Cool air kisses your heated skin, providing you with much-needed relief, and you peer up at the propellers that spin in endless circles. Around and around and around. Your eyes follow the motions until you dizzy yourself, and you step back on wobbly legs. Your foot misses the metal platform and instead slips into the ledge built in the tank. With a startled yelp you fall backwards, landing in the shallows on your rear.

“Of course,” you mumble, bitter with embarrassment. “Leave it to me to fall right into the predator’s tank.”

You scoot further up onto the ledge, staring at the water below. It’s quite calm here, where the shallows lap languidly at your waist. If you were delusional, you might think this was a jacuzzi pool that you could dip your toes in. It’s not. Of course it isn’t. Not when there’s a beast lurking just below. But while you’re here, you run your hands through the saltwater while your own body temperature rises as if it’s a hungry flame in a stone hearth.

You place your hands on either side of the ledge, intending to push yourself up and onto the platform, when something tightens inside of you. Your heart stumbles in your chest and you lose the strength in your arms at once. With a noisy splash, you flop back into the shallows, your compromised body rigid and shaky with a tingling, all-encompassing warmth. Horrified, you raise two fingers to your pulse to feel it stutter wildly beneath your skin.

Swallowing thickly, you lower your head onto your arms and wait for the feeling to pass. The seconds slip by and in that short amount of time your state seems to worsen. Your temperature is volcanic, your every sense restless, and you’re sweating through the shark suit as if you’ve just run a marathon and more.

“Not now,” you hiss, slapping your hands upon your face. “Please not now. Anything but now…”

You intend to haul yourself up and out for good this time, desperate to get as far from the pool before your brain is completely overrun by your encroaching heat and robust omega instincts, when fingers brush against your leg. Something chitters behind you, a low, slow sort of sound that is shot through with curiosity. You turn as if you’re frozen in ice, your heart in your throat and senses on high alert.

The eel mer is right there, clutching your ankle in a firm grip. Not to hurt you, but to keep you there. And you’re not at all in a hurry to leave. Not when those claws are so close to your calf, capable of shredding through to your very bones. Even with the shark suit, you worry. He stares at you with narrowed eyes, his head angled in a cute, childish way. He appears confused and rightfully so, considering you’re a creature he’s likely never interacted with so closely before. You mirror his befuddlement, your brows furrowed, lips creased in a thin line.

For a long while, the two of you watch each other. If you look past his predatory design, he’s quite pretty with his smoky teal coloration and dark stripes. Your gaze pans over to the water, where a long, powerful tail disappears below. The paranoid side of you says he’s going to drown you, but then he doesn’t seem outwardly malicious in his intentions.

“Um…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up to your throat and then your lips. Your attempt to pull your captive leg back is thwarted when he lurches, rising out of the water to grab hold of your foot. You gasp and shake your head at him, your senses sharp and dull all at once. Your heat-addled mind just barely parses the threat of danger, looming and ever-present.

“Please,” you beg, your tone sticky and breathless. “Don’t…”

The mer tilts his head the other way. The fins where his ears might be if he were human shiver, as if listening to the desperation in your syllables. He chirrups, lips widening in a sharp-toothed smile, and then he’s dragging you towards him. Panic seizes your nerves and you dig your palms into the smooth basin in an effort to get away. His expression falls when he notices your struggle and he lifts himself onto the ledge with you, draping himself over your legs like an oversized rug.

“Wait… H-Hold on; get off!” You grunt and weakly prod at his chest. He doesn’t budge. “You… You’re heavy!”

His webbed hand closes around your waist, steadying you in the shallows, while his other arm cages you beneath him. Instinctively, you arch into his touch, your breath coming in tiny, frenzied huffs. He clicks at you, and words that you can only assume are meant to be gentle and soothing are produced in a sweet melody. It relaxes you more than you’d like to admit, a lyrical balm to your terror.

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the worst. For the searing pain and the stinging agony. For the blood that will color the water a dark, foreboding red. For the sight of him merrily tearing into your jugular, his maw spattered with crimson. But none of that ever comes. He cradles your face next, his thumb running along your cheekbone, and slowly you peel your eyes open. His face is inches from yours, looking on with an intensity that’s almost primal.

Warily, you lift your arm out of the water and touch his hand. It’s much bigger in contrast to yours, but he’s handling you with such immaculate tenderness.

“You’re not going to hurt me…” you mutter, amazed. “You’re just curious.”

As if responding, he chitters. You nod even though you have no idea what he said. He doesn’t smell like an alpha or an omega or a beta. You’re not even sure if he’s capable of releasing pheromones, but if he were you’re certain it would have driven you much crazier than you already feel.

You hold his stare and reach up to pat his cheek, and he leans into your careful touch. Your hand soon trails down to trace his lateral lines, which earns you a pleased hum. You watch in awe as the gills on either side of his body flutter.

Led on by your own wonder, you follow the pattern to his waist and press your thumbs into his hip bones beneath smooth, slippery skin. “How fascinating… I wonder if it’s possible to take an X-ray. Would you allow—oh!”

Clumsily, he lifts you into his arms to embrace you, rolling his hips against the chainmail shark suit. Your breath hitches, and you fumble to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, w-wait. I’m not… You can’t…”

He clicks thrice and lowers you into the shallows, his face scrunched in annoyance. You think he might’ve understood you, but then he’s palming between your legs and it occurs to you that he wants the suit off. Carnal delight shivers through you at the prospect of being wanted to such a degree, and though you know it’s the heat muddling your sensibility you can’t help indulging him just a little. You undo the zip at the back and slide it from your body, revealing your shoulders and bare arms for his wandering, mismatched hues. He leans in to nose at your scent glands, chattering happily as he inhales. You can’t understand a word, but he sounds pleased—even more so when he runs his hands along your arms, squeezing and petting in equal measure.

His tongue laves across your neck, and what fragile restraint you have left snaps. You cling to him like he’s your anchor, meeting his searching hips halfway with every awkward thrust that doesn’t quite connect as it should. You chew your lip, tamping down a torrent of filthy moans. Your mind is clouded with lust and instinct, and you dig your fingers into his hair, holding him against your neck while he continues to lick and nip.

It feels right up until the haze parts momentarily, allowing temporary sobriety when you spy the tip of something poking free of its encasing. Dazed and inquisitive, you reach between your bodies to prod at his slit, hoping to coax more of his prehensile cock from out of its folds. But then the door below opens and the mer lifts himself from off of you, his head turning in the direction of the sound at an alarming speed. You blink up at him, lazily following his line of sight. His lip curls up in a silent snarl, the beginnings of razored teeth peeking out, and then he slithers back into the water, his hands lingering on your ankles.

Despite the dizziness you sit up, your arm outstretched. “Wait, don’t go!”

I didn’t get to cum yet. You didn’t even claim me either…

He peers at you, neutral for all of a minute before swimming over to you. He presses his face into your palm, chittering softly. There are footsteps on the stairs, and he grits his teeth, withdrawing completely before turning and diving under in a spray of seawater.

You fall back into the shallows, panting like a starved, feral monster. A researcher comes to your aid, her expression equal parts shocked and disturbed. You don’t catch her questions, each one tacked onto what feels like a ceaseless rant, while she helps you to your feet. Something about danger. About heats. About omega biology. About how the researchers watched the both of you on the cameras, swelling with queries of their own.

“I’m not sure,” you mumble as you’re helped down the stairs, stumbling in a heat-drunken stupor. Thankfully, your fellow researcher is an omega like you and that relaxes the hypersensitive part of you—the part that fears being taken advantage of when you’re vulnerable like this. But the needier, greedier part of you wants the mer—wants his hands and mouth all over you, ripping you free from your suit and indulging in the bare skin beneath. “I think he...wanted to help…”

No one can explain his behavior. But it seems promising.

While you’re led from the room, the eel mer stalks you from the gloomy confines of his tank.

In the days following your heat, you return to the marine lab with your head on your shoulders and are immediately barraged with requests. Amongst all of them, one common demand stands out: You have to get him up to the surface again. Part of you doesn’t want to face the mer again. When you truly mulled over that day, tossed the memory of it around in your mind like it was a tennis ball, you were hit with shame.

It’s not…normal. Researchers do not tangle themselves in sexual situations with their subjects, especially when said subject was an eel mer from the Coral Sea. It’s unheard of. Luckily, the team of researchers you work with swears to secrecy. You were out of it and your judgment wasn’t in the best state. That’s the excuse they’re using. It works enough to push the humiliation from your thoughts.

You wonder if you should feel disgusted by the events. Rather, you didn’t mind it. For all of his rough, scarred, monstrous edges, he was gentle.

You press your fingers to your scent glands, recalling the feel of his tongue.

Today you’ve donned your usual work attire, foregoing the shark suit and any other protective gear the lab expects you to wear. Something tells you you won’t need it anymore. Not after everything that happened the day you went into heat.

Feeling rejuvenated and refreshed after your mini break, you trudge up the staircase with a food bucket, determined to finally fill your notebook with data. You’ve only made it up four steps when color flashes in your peripheral. You turn and find the mer is at your eye level, following you up the spiral staircase adjacent to his tank.

You pause and wave experimentally. He watches your hand move to and fro and then he mirrors your actions. He swims the rest of the distance to the surface, breaching it just as you make it onto the platform.

“Good morning, Mister,” you greet, bending down to empty the contents of the bucket into the water.

Disinterested, he watches bits of shrimp sink deeper. And then he looks back to you, his mouth opening and shutting. “Fu… Fu…” he forces out, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Fu…? Food?”

He nods and then shakes his head, hissing at himself in what you think might be admonishment.

“Fu…ro…”

“Furo?” You set the bucket aside and scoot closer to the edge. “What’s that?”

He tries once more before the syllables fizzle out on his tongue and, with a few frustrated clicks, he swipes a fish from the surface and stuffs it in his mouth. You giggle, and the sound has him tilting his head. Without a shred of apprehension, he meets you at the ledge. You watch him munch on the fish between his lips, content to observe in silence. He polishes it off rather quickly before procuring a handful, which he dumps onto the ground beside you. You shake your head at him, smiling weakly.

“Thanks, but no. It’s all yours.”

The mer shrugs and indulges without you.

“I should thank you for not hurting me back then,” you add. He pays close attention to your lips; you think he might be attempting to read them while listening. “Um… But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not sure if merfolk are like humans, but we have this system… Or not a system… It’s more like…groupings? Secondary classifications?” You frown. How can you explain the complexities of sub-genders to a mer who doesn’t even speak your language? “Basically, I was in trouble and you helped me out. Kind of. In any case, thank you.”

He stares at you for a while, chewing and swallowing. You think he might swim back under once he’s finished, but instead he places his hands on the ledge and hoists himself up on his arms. He’s in your face next, all eager smiles and chitters.

“Fu… Furo. Furo…ido. Furoido,” he sounds out.

You read his lips in the best way you can before it finally clicks. “Ah! Floyd, right? Is that…your name?”

Floyd points to himself, makes a few upbeat clicks, and then nods. He’s pointing at you next.

“And me? Oh, my name is (Name).” You take your time sounding it out for him, and he repeats it with an awkward tongue. You smile and nod encouragingly. “That’s it. That’s me.”

He flops back into the water with a celebratory trill, a wild smile tugging at his lips. You watch him swim laps from you to the opposite end of the pool and back. Ditching the shark suit was the right call. You’re no longer uncertain. This time, you know for a fact that you’re going to be getting along very well with him.

And you look forward to fostering this flowering friendship.

#meraki mumbles #fluffy floyd hours #n/sfw #tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #he's so cute >w< i love floyb orz #okay now it's back to tmdg!!!#jade is going to kill me for writing about his twin when i should be writing him ;;;;

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barbatusart · 11 days

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bit of thinking outloud but for my current tactician run im doing a special wyll origins playthrough im calling the Evil Wyll Run & it’s given me a lot of food for thought about his character (or at least the freedom of psychological movement + exploration afforded to an origin run!)

wyll spoilers abound we’re entering the wyllenium here

wyll always felt a bit underwritten to me - i know that’s partially because there was that big kerfuffle in the 11th hour with changing his whole story and personality on top of having to recast his VA, and frankly hats off to both original VA lanre malaolu & new VA theo solomon for their hard work - both brought tremendous performances, & i sincerely hope mr malaolu was paid well for his work & time even if his voice wasn’t used in the final cut (i would also say warlock as a class itself felt a bit underdeveloped but im 100% OK with chalking that up to me the player not understanding how to play warlock effectively yet lol im more of a fighter barbarian Hit Stuff guy)

but honestly this feeling of being “underwritten” combined with a character with a long history of heroism in his pocket made wyll really interesting to me even in my tav playthrough. for all his accomplishments he still feels like a blank everyman, or like he’s someone who fully believes he’s the main character who doesn’t “need” to do any extra work on himself - and honestly he feels Very much like he could be The Main Character. once his backstory of the son of the duke was revealed too i immediately got the sense of like, rich boy trying to prove his worth beyond his wealth and status by striking out & becoming that hero, or that Prince Charming. basically that perfect happily ever after somebody. and im of the opinion that you don’t get mixed up with a cambion in the first place unless you’re either the kind of naïve “everything will just work out” immature that tends to comes with his status as the son of a noble, or you’re hungering for power. depending on playstyle he’s very easily both of these things

on the naïve front (ie a good wyll playthrough) if anything he feels very believably immature, & from that perspective the events of the game feel as though they’re the prequel to the actual start of wyll's story where he finally finds himself & learns what kind of man he really is. we just dont get to see it alas, but i really enjoyed the thought exercise of somebody still grappling with overcoming his own immaturity. he feels like someone who can still grow and that his tale is just beginning

Evil Wyll (meaning any time mizora shows up he drops everything to enact her instruction & hasnt once tried to find a loophole out of his contract) which ive come to be far more fascinated by is someone clearly vying for power, which is interesting because his noble status would’ve given him all the power he wants had he Played Nice. to me it speaks of someone who wants to be able to take what he wants from life without it being handed to him, which contrasts in a really fascinating way with entering into a warlock pact at all. maybe he thought it was better that it be a decision he made as opposed to nobility given to him by his family ties, maybe there’s still that pollyanna sentiment of “it’ll just work out & ill live happily ever after.” again maybe both. maybe in a sense the fiend, as he calls himself, is a good excuse to shuck off any poor decision he makes or any genuinely heinous thing he does under mizora’s instruction - an identity he uses as power fantasy (and very much in tandem/interchangeable with the blade of frontiers power fantasy) until it means taking ownership for any of his misdeeds, and then a scapegoat.

may be a bit incoherent but im only now hitting act 3 in my origin run & im Really enjoying this difficult characterization ive cooked up for myself lol

#wyll ravengard #baldur’s gate 3

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ditzycowgirl · 1 year

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WHAT IS YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE LIKE?

If you do like the reading, be sure to like and share with your friends! Tipping is a very kind, yet optional gesture. Here is my ko-fi and I am open for paid readings if you'd like a more in depth answer to your questions! (Paid reading link)

If this doesn't apply to you, its ok. It's a general reading. Hope you like it!

…

Pile 1: Seashells

For those of you who picked pile one. I pulled: the 9 of pentacles, the fool, the chariot, the 7 of cups, and the knight of pentacles. I see two very contrasting energies, one very grounded, and the other is very free spirited (take it how it resonates, could be you or them) Or they have a certain duality to their personality. They seem very confident in themselves, they see an opportunity, and they go for it. They are so confident that they often wander into situations without much thought (what I got with the fool card) which could benefit them or it just doesn’t. I feel like they are easily influenced, so it’s hard for them to make their own decisions (7 of cups) I feel like when they meet you, they will try not to mess things up with you, and they will make a very slow approach to you (contradicting their free spirit nature) They will see you as a grand person in their best energy, and will try to grow up a little bit in terms of their energy not matching up to yours. I see this can be in financial terms or energetically because I pulled the fool for them (can be interchangeable) and the 9 of pentacles for you. I think they’ll be confused as to whether or not they’re the one for you, but it would become more obvious as time goes by for them. I get a childlike energy for them. (Not childish, but innocent)

…

Pile 2: Flowers

I see a LOT of action! I pulled the empress, the 8 of wands, the tower, the knight of swords, the 9 of cups, and the king of swords! (Extra card popped out) I feel like before you meet your future spouse, there will be two options (one will be astronomically better than the other person) because the king of swords appeared next to the 9 of cups (9 of cups trying to be just like the king of swords, it’s not) I feel like the “better” option (in your eyes, the king) will try to impress you? I see that your future spouse may be very fiery, they may like debate and is prone to starting fiery debates or arguments. They may be a person who boasts, yet is very fair, intellectual, and humble. They have achieved a lot in life and they like to put their “trophies” on display. I’m getting a specific message for some. They are either really good communicators (really talkative) or they are planning on reaching out to you soon (if you don’t know them yet) I see that they may be family oriented, regarding their mother or a mother figure, or sees you as very warm and abundant.

…

Pile 3: The Beach

I pulled the 2 of cups, the 10 of swords, the 4 of swords, the 10 of wands, and the wheel of fortune. Very mixed energy, I get that this person can be a bit over dramatic, like they put on a show. You never know what to expect with them (wheel of fortune) but they do have a heavy past (which I’m not going to elaborate on) but despite their acts, they do deal with a lot behind the scenes. They are very hard working, and sometimes bites off more than they can chew in terms of work load. They need to learn how to relax and let go sometimes, let things flow. They mean well, and they will honor this connection. I’m seeing that someone’s angels are bringing you two together. Fate will bring you two together. They are a peaceful person in nature. They value partnerships. I saw the number 101010. You are meant to know this person. I’m hearing that this could be a soulmate or twin flame (take it as it resonates) They could love to take naps. Knows how to pick themselves (and you) up when things are not going well for them (or you) Maybe shy since some cards don’t show their face (or they’re mysterious) I’m getting that (from earlier) they may put on a show to hide their dark past or feelings. Could be physically strong.

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darlingdarkly · 3 months

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New Year, New You Part 4

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

4.9k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, Exhibitionism without any exhibition

Part: 1, 3, 5

It’s too late for things to change, you see that now. He’s taken it to the next level, one you couldn’t possibly have imagined. Time has passed and as it did the situation between you has progressed. You don’t make videos of your homework assignments anymore, Johnny oversees them. Your sessions, while they’re still structured and progressive towards your goals, the goals he’d set for you, they’re now spaced intermittently with chaste make out sessions.

You pushed your limits on your reps, doing fifteen of an exercise instead of ten? Make out session. You stretched just a bit further, legs nearly full split? His lips crash to yours in bruising haste. You ran a full twenty minutes with no rest? His tongue is in your mouth, exploring the depths of it, using the advantage of your jelly legs to push you how he wants you. You can see what he’s doing, you’re not blind.

He’s Pavlovian in his tactics, positive reinforcement, emphasis on the force, but it's working. You find yourself pushing your limits, just to feel the push of his lips. Driving yourself farther, faster, better so he’ll drive you up against the wall.

It’s debilitating, the intensity of his kisses. They have a certain dizzying quality that makes it hard to resist or think or even breathe really. What you haven’t done is fuck, and that’s not for a lack of trying. Johnny has, on multiple occasions, initiated but you kept finding ways out.

Several occasions he’s pushed a hand down your sweats, fingers rubbing against your clit in heated circles. Brazenly out in the middle of the gym he’ll pull you back against him, to the outward eye it appears he’s just correcting your form but in reality all he’s really doing is rubbing his hard cock against the back of your thighs, enticingly. It’s a promise, a tease to your ruination. He’s hungry, had one taste of seeing you fall apart and now he’s on a warpath to make it happen around his cock.

But you’re stalling, nothing, besides heated kisses and frenzied groping has happened since your FaceTime encounter and you can feel Johnny growing impatient. It’s been a week since you walked into Baliquinox for the first time and you think it’d be like any other session but when you come in Johnny has a small gift bag in his hand and waves you over excitedly.

You sit down at your usual table with him and he pushes the bag across the tabletop towards you, giddy with excitement like the gifts for him even though you’re the one opening it. You pull away the tissue paper to reveal a small box, you pull it out and immediately recognize it, ads have been popping up on your Spotify for months for the FitBit luxe. It’s gold and gorgeous but also pricey, you know because you looked at them before Christmas as a present for your mom.

The one he’d gifted you is literally the newest, most expensive model, with a regular pink wristband and interchangeable soft gold chain to dress it up. You stare at the watch as he begins to explain its features. He tells you it tracks your vitals, sleep patterns and exercises. It counts your steps, monitors your breathing and stress levels, it’s also waterproof and has a five day battery, on top of that you can get your call and text notifications through it, it’s GPS enabled to track your miles, pacing and the route you took on your walk or run, the damn thing can even track your menstrual cycles for you.

“Oh gosh, Johnny. I don’t know what to say.” He reaches across the small table and takes the box from your hands, opening it and pulling the watch out, the gold chain already attached. “Dinnae have tae, just put it on.” So you do, holding your wrist out while he attaches the high tech jewelry to your arm, You push the button on the side and the little screen lights up, your name flashes across the screen in a beautiful gold scroll before the sensors against your skin already begin picking up on your heartbeat and breathing rate.

Johnny must have programmed it before giving it to you. You thank him, a bit bashful at the expensive gift and let him kiss you when he comes around the table to grab the empty gift bag and box from you. It’s slow but passionate and he chuckles as he pulls away and your new watch beeps, indicating the upward tick in your bpm.

He ushers you away towards the women’s locker room to change and you can’t help but admire the new weight on your wrist, it’s certainly beautiful. You’re pretty sure you read that they are supposed to be paired with a phone, you’ll have to figure it out later. You quickly change and head into the gym, finding Johnny by the machines.

He pulls you over to the mats to start your warmups and stretches. You’ve made progress since you’ve started, your warmups you now have down to a tee and your stretches nearing a full split without whines or whimpers. When it’s time for your first exercise he guided you to the pull up bar, something you haven’t tried yet.

You stand to the side and watch as he demonstrates. Jumping up to catch the bar and pulling himself up until his chin is over the top of it. He drops and repeats, arms flexing as he effortlessly completes rep after rep. His shirt keeps riding up his body with each lift, exposing the flat, toned expanse of his stomach, there’s a dark trail of sparse hair leading down into his shorts, but you remember where it goes from there, growing thicker as it wraps around the base of his cock. You find yourself thinking about it, that night, you’ve been thinking about it a lot actually, every time you pull your vibrator out of the drawer you come to the thought of him watching you. Those baby blues roaming your body, hungry.

You’re pulled from your erotic daydreams by the beep of your watch and Johnny lets go of the bar, standing before you with a sly smirk. “See something ye like, bonnie?” Stupid watch. How were you ever going to get through today with it going off every five minutes and giving you away? He pulled you unnecessarily close to press a few buttons on the gadget and turned it on to activity mode so it’d stop doing that every time it spiked, but not before it sounded off once more with the effect he was having on your body at this proximity.

“Yer turn.” You walk in front of the pull up bar and spin around, facing him. His eyes hold yours as you jump and grab hold of the bar with both hands, dangling from it. He walks forward and his hands brush the exposed skin of your hips and it makes you shudder. “Good, now up.” You lift, the first half is easy but the last four or five inches to get your chin over the bar are the worst.

It doesn’t help he’s so close, never having backed up and you realize his mouth is level with your pussy at the moment. You come down from your first rep and are ready to let go but you know you can’t do just one. “Come on, lass. Again.” You do as he says, lifting your body weight with nothing more than the strength of your arms.

Those last few inches are a strain and you’re not sure you’ll make it, arms quivering as you pull your chin up over it again, your arms go numb and you bring yourself back down but you know you’ve got one more. He can see you’re struggling though and wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs.

“Last one hen.” You lift and you can feel his hands push up on the globes of your ass, gently assisting you. It helps but also doesn’t make it any easier as your whole body shakes with the effort of those last few inches. You’re stuck at mouth level, that last inch it takes to get your chin over the bar looks impossible but then you feel his mouth on the exposed skin of your stomach, kissing you right over your waistline, the soft curve of his lips caressing you ever so lightly and the jolt it gives you pushes you over the top and he allows you to drop, singing praises and pulling your limp body against his.

“So good fer me, bonnie. Ye did so good.” He lifts your chin from his chest and kisses you, his mouth swallowing yours and instead of just basking in it, letting him damn near consume you like usual you kiss back, matching his pace and pushing your tongue in his mouth for a change. He growls and it’s a rumble you can feel as well as hear, a rockslide in his chest. When you pull away his eyes are deadly serious and that little voice in the back of your head is screaming at you that it’s dangerous, like eyeing up a predator but something else in you is failing to care.

You’ve had about enough of this little game. The back and forth, the teasing touches, the soaked panties. You don’t avert your gaze and his head tilts just slightly, challenging. It’s visceral and exhilarating this line you can see drawn in the sand before you as you anticipate the crossing of it. You reach forward with bold, calmness and glide your hand along the imprint of his cock, teasingly fondling the length.

You had meant to just tease him back a little, give him a taste of his own medicine for once but the effects were more drastic than you’d anticipated and the reaction was immediate. It’s the first time you’ve ever shown him any kind of sexual initiative and it’s all it takes. Suddenly he’s dragging you through the gym with urgency. You think you know where he’s going until he makes a detour, hauling you down the hall and into one of the big glass rooms where classes took place that was currently empty.

You watched as he picked the tablet up from its place by the door. He made a few successive taps on the screen and you watched as the glass took on a dim sheer, graying over slightly. The expanse of the hallway was still visible to you but you knew, just as you had seen walking into the gym for the first time that if you were to walk outside you’d see nothing through the glass but opaque grayness.

You had just a moment to marvel at this before he was on you, your face pressed up against the cool surface, hands caught by his behind your back, ass pressed into the seat of his crotch, you could feel something hard there, poking you. He spoke just behind you, the heat of his breath puffing at the shell of your ear.

“Yer playing a dangerous game, hen.” It sends a shiver down your spine, the threat and its delivery, but it fails to unnerve you. You’ve made your bed and are more than ready to lie in it, there’s just one more thing holding you back.

“I want you to tell me something Johnny.” And you can tell he’s growing impatient by the intensity of his thrusts against your ass and thighs, rutting into you through your clothes.

“Ah’ll tell ye the last four of mah NINO if ye want. Anything, jus’ name it.” There’s a moment of anxious hesitation on your part, unsure of where things will go depending on his response, or even if you want to know what he’s going to say in the first place, but you didn’t come this far to chicken out now.

“Why did you pick me out? Why did you choose me?” And he must approve of the question because he chuckles darkly in your ear, moving your body back from the glass to begin stripping you as he answers.

“Ye wanna ken why I singled ye out, hmm? Why I chose ye?” He’s pulled your shirt off and he’s working at the hem of your sports bra, freeing your breasts to the cool air, your mind freezes, your first instinct is to cover yourself, there’s people walking up and down the hallway constantly. Strolling right by as you stand half naked with nothing but an inch of glass and a special electronic filter to shield you from sight.

It shouldn’t make you this wet, being stark naked in front of strangers, strangers who you know can’t see you but you can see them, commuting through the gym like normal while you’re bare and on sinful display behind the glass, but it does. He’s working at your sweats, pulling them down your legs, stooping down as he does to kiss your skin as it’s freshly exposed.

Between kisses he answers. “At first it was just attraction, when ye looked up into me eyes while ye were jogging. I felt something, this urge, I had to have ye. Then after yer exam ye dinnae run away or complain, jus’ did as I asked an’ took everything I gave ye like a good lass.”

He’s tugging at your panties now, stopping long enough to groan and bite into one of your ass cheeks, making you squeal and instinctively push forward into the glass. Your bare tits and thighs smush obscenely against the cool surface, nipples beginning to pebble from the cold as he moves forward to keep you pressed there. One hand coming around to secure itself around your throat like a collar, the other kneading at the flesh of your ass, pulling it apart and releasing it to enjoy the jiggle.

“I dinnae ken if ye’d even come in the next day, but there ye were, and I ken right then that ye were mine. Everything from there jus’ solidified it. The way ye answered all mah questions, even if ye tried to cover it up by complainin’ about bein’ spoke tae that way. When I broke into yer house and ye dinnae call the police, jus’ called me tae yell at me then came all nice and pretty for me while I watched.”

You were filled with mixed emotions. Shock, shame, growing horror, but most of all, overtaking the rest was arousal, pure lust. You sucked in a breath as his fingers dipped down, stark naked as you were, it’s all it took to feel the evidence of it as it coated your thighs. He pulls his fingers out, wet with your juices and licks them clean right behind your ear. “Even now I’ve got ye stripped naked and absolutely soaked, and ah’m still fully dressed.”

He’s right, there’s no way to hide or deny it. “Yer just as dirty an’ fucked up as I am, aren’t ye hen?” He slides a finger past your lips, breaching you and you can’t help the moan that spills out, eyes closing in self indulgence, the pleasure staining your self conscious inhibitions, muddling them. He gets closer, harsh and gruff in your ear, demanding an answer. “Aren’t ye?” You whine out a yes that sounds pathetic even to your own ears.

He pulls the digit out and the warmth of his chest disappears from your back, making your eyes blink open and needy whimpers escape your lips. “Dinnae whine, greedy thing.” He presses back up against you, the hard length of him slotted between your thighs, you feel him for just a moment, rubbing the tip up and down your soaked slit before he’s pushing in, full length buried deep in one brutish thrust.

It has your back arching, head falling back against his shoulder as your mouth drops open and a hearty low moan flies from your throat like an uncaged bird. He rubs soothing circles into your hips as he gives you time to adjust. When your head dips forward he begins, sawing in and out of you slowly at first, making you groan with each fully sheathed thrust.

“Johnny, please.” He leans forward and nips at the skin of your nape, assaulting your neck and ear with his lips and teeth as he picks up the pace, giving you what you asked for. It feels euphoric, the full stretch of his cock and it puts all the thoughts you’ve had of him, the erotic daydreams, the nights spent touching yourself to the thoughts of what it’d be like to shame.

He’s attentive and sensual, listening intently for which of his movements drive you wild. Your head dips forward and you close your eyes but he’s not having it, gripping you beneath the chin and forcing your head up, eyes opening as he growls in your ear from behind. “Look at them, hen. Can ye imagine what’d they think if they could see ye right now? See this body, beautiful and bare like I can.” His arm slips down and around the back of your thigh, grabbing purchase in the pit of your knee and lifting, your leg comes up, hiked up level to your hip and he holds it there while he fucks into you from behind. You’re pleasantly surprised at the ease in which you can maneuver this way, those stretches finally paying off, almost like it was planned from the start.

The new angle makes him able to slide devastatingly deep, your body jolting with each thrust, moans quickly filling the room, yours and his. You remember seeing the people dancing, their bodies in sync to the music you could feel in your feet but was inaudible to you from outside and was suddenly glad for it as he pulled all the way out before thrusting back in with the snap of his hips and you let out a startled and involuntary noise that was half moan, half scream.

“Sound so good like this, panting an’ moaning like a bitch in heat fer me. Squeezin’ me so tight, does it feel good lass? Better than yer fingers?” You’re beyond words at the moment so you just give him a frenzied nod, head leaning forward to rest on the glass as he lays waste to your cognitive ability. But then he stops moving and it all comes back, although the only thing you can articulate at the moment is whines of his name and pathetic pleas for him to keep going.

“Asked ye a question, lass.” Your mind reels and you start babbling, a series of yeses and broken sentences, anything to get him to start again. His hand snakes up and laces his fingers between yours, as the other keeps a firm grip on your knee, spreading you nice and wide for him.

He picks up a breakneck pace, hips stuttering into yours violently as you just try to hang in there, you can feel it, your orgasm building rapidly. He can feel it too, the way your pussy clenches down around him as you beg him not to stop. “Are ye close, bonnie? Gonna fall apart all over mah cock?” You don’t dare leave him waiting, chanting out affirmations like prayers falling from your lips, if he stopped now you may have a meltdown.

“Do it fer me, hen. Let me feel ye come fer me.” You’re thrown over the edge, whole body tense as he drives you through, quite possibly, the most violent orgasm of your life. Your legs shake in his hold, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back over his shoulder as you all but collapse against him. He holds you up and doesn’t stop, pushing you through it and out the other side into overstimulation.

Your constant moans just spur him on, he can feel his own release building slowly. “What’s my rule on sets, hen?” Your fuzzy brain is having trouble grasping his question, or even the relevancy of it, until it dawns on you and he must feel you stiffen as the implication of it sets in. “Aye that’s right. Tell me.”

You answer in a quiet whisper but he lets it slide. “Sets of three, always.” He drops your leg and the combination of the blood rushing back in, tingling like static and the continued drag of his cock is mind numbing. “Aye, good girl. Sets of three. One down, two tae go.”

His hands come down to grip your hips, pulling you back into each thrust with force. You brace yourself against the glass, the side of your face and both palms of your hands pushed up against it as he ruts into you without mercy or ceremony.

You watch as a set of women pass by the room, their eyes seem to pass right over you without seeing and they stop momentarily in front of the glass for one to share something on their phone with the group, their eyes all widen and they mime a fit of giggles and continue on, unaware of your ruination inches away.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and lightly tugs, pulling your face back from the glass, at this new angle your nipples make brief contact with the glass on every inward push and it drives you ever closer to careening off the edge for a second time. “Johnny! I’m- ah! I’m fucking close! Fuck!” He keeps thrusting into you until you squeeze him for dear life a second time, only then does he pick up the pace, relishing in the way he can alter the pitch of your moans by the little variations in his thrusts.

You’re fucked out, lost to bliss and delirium as you come down from your second orgasm. You can’t possibly see how he could pull another from you until he leans forward, hand sliding down your body until his fingers find your clit and your body involuntarily jerks from the touch, but he just reaches out again and finds it, muscling you into place so you can’t buck away.

“You know the rules lass, one more.” You shake your head and sob. “I can’t Johnny! S’too much!” He’s enjoying the slurred nature of your speech, the pleading tone of your protests, he’s going to come soon, he can feel it. “Ye can and ye will. I’ll make ye. Be a good lass and take it.”

He rubs your clit in frenzied circles and it’s almost painful the sensation, your sensitive nerves too overworked to handle it so your hands come down to grab at his wrist, anything to stop the motions, else you’re apt to lose your mind.

He’s ready for that though, pulling one hand away from the apex of your thighs and securing it behind your back in an iron grip, the other he traps beneath his hand, making you rub circles into your own clit as he guides you.

It threatens to make your knees buckle underneath you as he holds you up and stretches you open simultaneously. He whispers filth into your ear as your eyes roll back and you teeter on the edge of sexually induced lunacy. “Did ye get more than ye bargained fer, hen? Poor thing. All fucked out an’ creamin’ all over mah cock? Yer gonna do it again, lass. One more fer me and I’ll let ye rest, aye? Be a good lass an’ come again.”

He pushes you over the edge for the third time and your whole body shakes, convulsing around him as you lose the battle against your pleasure and ultimately succumb to it. He feels his own orgasm closing in and holds it off for just a bit longer while you recover, keeping even steady strokes while your pussy squeezes around him through your aftershocks. When your eyes reopen and your breathing levels in one fluid motion he pulls out of you, spins you around and forces you to the floor.

You open your mouth to speak but he’s stuffing his cock down your throat before you can utter even a word. Your head backs into the glass and he uses your mouth like a pocket pussy, hands bracing on your head as he thrusts into your open throat a few erratic times, his balls sticky from your cum tapping against your chin as he reaches his peak. Loud guttural roars echo off the walls and ring in your ears as he comes down the back of your throat hard and fast.

He pulls out and a string of your saliva connects your puffy bottom lip to his tip for the briefest of moments before snapping. He’s staring down at you, chest heaving from the exertion of his climax with the slyest smirk on his face and a twinkle of satisfaction in his bright blue eyes.

He stoops down to your level, face to face when he speaks next, slightly hoarse. “Did ye swallow?” He asks as if you had much of a choice coming down the back of your throat like he did but before you can even answer he’s pulling down on your bottom jaw with his thumb. Your mouth falls open, tongue lolling out as he tilts your head from side to side and groans. A wave of panic surges through you as he leans in and kisses you passionately, tongue invading the space of your mouth as he tastes his cum off your lips. His hands cup your face as you begin to worry he’s gearing up for a second round.

He must feel you tensing under his touch because he pulls away and smooths your hair as he calms you. “Dinnae worry hen, just three fer today. We’ll stretch yer limits another time.” The promise of more makes you shudder and he helps you up off the floor to clean you up and help you redress, it’s hard because your limbs seem to refuse to cooperate as your mind commands them to, too shaky and loose to comply.

When you’ve dressed and regain your ability to walk he ushers you down the short hallway and into a seat in the smoothie alcove where he walks up to the counter, once more skipping the long line and orders you a smoothie, but not without mentioning you’ve just been through a very intense session and need it immediately, to your embarrassed dismay.

He walks back over to the table, drink in hand and sits across from you, smug as can be as you take it from him and drink. Moaning quietly as the cool drink slides down your sore throat. “Good?” He asks. And you non verbally nod to signify your content, still untrusting of your ability to articulate as of yet. “Good.”

You’re not sure where things will go from here, a secret part of you that speaks from deep in the back of your mind, where your true subconscious desires reside is scared that now that he’s had you he will be done with you. You push that thought back down into the murk of your subconscious, it doesn’t help and all of the context clues suggest it’s not true but that doesn’t stop it from bubbling to the surface.

It also doesn’t help when he tells you not to worry about your homework tonight. You sit, a bit dejected in your seat and try not to let disappointment seep into your tone. “Oh, ok.” And failing. He seems to pick up on it and leans forward and settles a hand overtop yours from across the table. It’s warm, and the touch of his skin is something you won’t admit that you really needed at that moment.

“Jus’ dinnae want ye sore, bonnie. Ye can still call me tonight if ye’d like.” You nod in agreement and after you’d finished your drink, you got up, grabbed your things from the locker room and left.

Johnny watched from his phone as you made the trip home, watching the blip on the map making various stops and turns until it reached your address. He got home and monitored it all through the night as you cooked, took your shower, caved and made your call to him and then hung up to go to bed.

He watched as your bpms slowly rose and spiked as you climaxed for the fourth time that day, reliving the day's events in vivid memory and wished it was his hands rubbing circles against your clit and playing with hard nipples until you saw stars. He continued to watch as your respiration levels evened out and the app indicated you’d started your sleep cycle.

In the morning he read your sleep logistics, learning you reached rem sleep, dreamt and even woke up twice in the night to pee. He picked it up in between reps during his workout and watched your stress levels while you were at work, the early morning rush had you on edge, you chilled as lunch time came around and then spiked again right after until it came close to quitting time and you relaxed as soon as you’d clocked off.

He sat in the smoothie alcove and watched your little blip get closer and closer until you were right outside. You turned into the building and he looked up to see you crossing the lobby towards the check-in desk, returning your pleasant smile and wave as he locked his phone and put it away so you could begin your next session.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod soap #cod x reader #dark!johnny #twdubcon #soap x reader #dark fic

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fivetrench · 5 months

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A diagram that I really hope people will see and learn something from. As a vincian guy, I’m so tired of people using mlm & gaylm terms interchangeably. They have very different meanings & it excludes a large majority of mlm folks when people use them as if they’re the same.

(For simplicity, I did not mention enben or m-spec veldians/solians in this diagram. I am aware that the terms listed also include nonbinary folks & that m-spec turians/veldians/cintheans exist!)

And before anyone says that vincian is gaylm exclusive, it is not. Here is the coining post, which explicitly states it was created as an alternative to achillean (MLM).

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astronomodome · 3 months

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What’s Up With Those Title Cards, Anyway: An Analysis

Now that Mumbo’s second episode is out I find myself thinking about these title cards again. And as much as I realize that they’re meant to be a fun nod to previous Hermitcraft seasons and Mumbo’s place in them, the items included and the context of their presence raise a whole lot of questions for me.

First of all, these aren’t blocks, they’re real items. Many of them don’t even have equivalents in the world of Minecraft (or even in Hermitcraft). Think about that. Are the blocky forms that we see on screen mere representations of a larger, more high-resolution world? A world with stickers and stamps and keys? A world where a ticket to Hermitcraft is a physical object you can hold in your hand? This certainly seems to imply so.

What is the context for these items? Where are they? Where are we? The stylistic choice was made to have them sort of resting on a solid-colored background. The selection of items makes me feel as though this is a representation of a desk of some kind, items important enough to Mumbo for him to keep around, lots of paperwork and stuff that you might find in a private office drawer. Which just raises even more questions. How does Mumbo keep these items from season to season? Where are they right now? Do they actually exist at all? (Not to mention smaller timeline questions. When did Mumbo receive the Grumbot message? When was it sent? Does the Grumbot left in Season 7 have a different consciousness than the one in Season 9, which last saw its dads only a month or two ago?)

If you follow the Rendog school of Hermitcraft lore, I guess you could say they’re kept on the Hermetheus along with all the other season-to-season holdovers and souvenirs. But that is one interpretation of many, canon to Rendog but never really canonized on a server-wide scale. Plus… if we take that interpretation in its entirety, how do the items from season 8 even exist, given that their entire world was canonically a simulation?

I also notice the relationship between the real world and the Minecraft world, the distinction between Mumbo the youtuber and Mumbo the block man. The ‘Official Rich List’ certificate mentions a ‘screenshot of a Minecraft chest’, implying that whoever wrote this certificate knows what Minecraft is from an outside perspective and finds Minecraft diamonds to be meaningless as a measure of wealth. And yet the certificate is addressed to one Mumbo K. Jumbo. The middle initial, having its origin in a highly in-character storyline during season 8, makes me feel like it could be more of a character Mumbo thing, but there’s no hard evidence.

How does Mumbo even have a picture of real-life Grian? Is this redstone incident report out-of-universe too? Who is he reporting this damage to, anyway?

And yet these are placed alongside items that are definitely from inside the world of Hermitcraft, if only the more fleshed-out version of it. A key to a mechanical car-horse would be functionless unless it was actually used, in-universe, by Mumbo the character. The ODEA manual was an idea considered but rejected by Mumbo during Season 7 in favor of tutorial videos, but perhaps this would make sense as an alternative for a world where the characters live in their Minecraft world as reality and have no capability to access the ODEA website.

Perhaps, in Mumbo’s view, there is little distinction between what we in the fandom call c!Mumbo and cc!Mumbo. We see both in-universe and out-of-universe items side-by-side, contradictory, because they are interchangeable here.

I doubt we’ll ever get any answers to these questions because obviously Mumbo made these title cards as fun little references instead of serious or purposeful lore, but I still think it’s fun to think about. Neat little worldbuilding details like this are few and far between in most mcyt content so I was foaming at the mouth when I first saw these. Well done Mumbo!

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #astro speaks #mumbo jumbo

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glitterock · 1 year

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tbh i get kinda annoyed at the “femmes need to stop treating masc/butch lesbians like men, they’re still women, treat them as women!” thing because like first of all i think there’s a difference between calling yourself a masc lesbian and a butch lesbian. Butch is a historical term that has to do with community and yes, somewhat rigid roles. Masc literally just means masculine presenting and isn’t a term that directly correlates with the lesbian community or should have roles attached to it. I don’t think masc and butch can be used interchangeably.

Second, I don’t even know what treating someone like a “man” even means. I’ve never been in a relationship with a man so I don’t even fully understand what that dynamic would be like let alone how I would treat one. So no, I don’t think I treat butches like men.

But if i’m being honest, I don’t ever really think i’m treating them like “women” either. I treat them like butches. Most butches i’ve been with are transmaculine, non-binary, or old school butch women who would honestly feel uncomfortable if they were treated like a “woman” or would not enjoy me using feminine words (pretty, beautiful, princess etc.) to describe them. So I call them handsome, let them carry my things for me because they genuinely enjoy it, let them act tough in front of me and let them express their masculinity in a way that affirms their butchness. Now this doesn’t mean that me treating them like a butch means that i treat them like a “man”. As a femme, I always want to be a safe space for any butch I’m seeing to be soft. not “feminine” or “womanly”, but soft. Softness shouldn’t be inherently gendered. I want them to feel like they can relax with me, cry with me, let me hold them in a way they may not usually be held in. This is what butch/femme is all about. There are roles yes, but I never think of how I treat butches as how i’d hypothetically treat a man.

I can understand how someone who only considers themself “masc” and not butch, someone who has no knowledge of butch/femme roles and maybe is only masc in the way they dress, could see this as gendered treatment. I can see how the use of roles can be seen as gendered by some, but that’s just not how I see it in the slightest. I don’t treat my lovers like men, I just treat them like butches.

#idk rant i guess #lesbian #femme lesbian #wlw

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bbyseok · 1 year

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meadow afterglow

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

cw: fluff everyone !! pro hero bakugou, gender neutral reader, reader is a florist and owns a flower shop, reader loves flowers/plants/nature, swearing ofc, brief violence (attempted assault on reader from some strangers), awkward katsuki hours incoming- he’s super whipped but helpless, i switch povs from bakugou to reader often, tiny bit of angst.. some misunderstanding—both bakugou and reader are idiots that can’t communicate

wc: 5.2k words

analysis: bakugou fucking hates flowers—they’re too fragrant, too cliché, too romantic. and yet, he finds himself always coming back to the same flower shop once his shift ends.

———

bakugou katsuki doesn’t like flowers. hates them, despises them—loathes them even! flowers just aren’t his thing.

when they came along with prizes (where he won first place of course), he’d always snort and throw them away in some trashcan once he could.

when kids back in his middle and high school days were brave enough to make a move on him, he’d send a spark from his palm and ultimately burn their flowers (and hopes) away.

he does the exact same thing to this day with his fans if they were perhaps lucky enough to encounter him during his patrols. (it looks bad when the press covers it obviously and that’s only one problem his pr team deals with.)

so yeah, in conclusion: bakugou isn’t particularly fond of flowers. it’s one of his many supposedly unpleasant traits—not that he really cares. now, he’s changed in these past years, truly, but he’s still maintained some of the roughness of his personality.

‘cause when you think of pro hero dynamight, number two on the hero charts (interchangeably with number one pro hero deku), you don’t think of flowers.

but… here he is. it’s just around thirty minutes past six in the evening, the ropes of dusk in the sky evident as the city prepares for nightlife. his shift had ended a while ago, but everyday, on the way home, he makes sure to stop by a small shop. a flower shop of all places. and bakugou katsuki hates flo- yeah, you get the point.

he doesn’t even know why he hesitates going entering the shop—he’s pretty damn sure you can spot him from outside. his visits are expected. the sound of the dainty bell ringing reaches his ears as he walks in.

“back so soon, dynamight?”

he grunts and turns his head away, sharply avoiding your gaze so you miss the squinting of his red eyes. you’re behind the counter as usual, fixing the arrangement of some daisies in their pots.

his cheeks burn but he’s lingering by the entrance, feigning his attention on the shelves decked with plants so you don’t see any blush. “yeah, yeah.. jus’ give me some damn flowers already,” he demands gruffly.

the sound of you briefly laughing has his head whipping back to you almost instantly. he catches the sight of you lightly shaking your head in amusement.

“anything like usual then, dynamight?”

fuck, he can’t help but wonder what his actual name would sound like off your tongue. it’s always been dynamight this, dynamight that—and while he certainly doesn’t mind, he just can’t help but wonder. when you tilt your head at him, he realizes he had been staring. he clears his throat. “yeah, whatever.”

finally, he walks toward the counter, moving around the small display tables topped with a pretty arrangement of succulents as you beam at him.

“alrighty then!” you clasp your head together, nodding for a bit. “i hope you don’t mind tulips then. we got a fresh new batch so they should just do fine!”

he nods in acknowledgement. “yeah, that’s fine f’me,” he huffs. and as you send him another smile and you dismiss yourself to the back to fetch said tulips, he can’t help but think about your first meeting.

it had been a week or two ago. a usual day of kicking ass was over and he was just on the way home until longtime friend kirishima eijiro called in a favor—he had practically begged bakugou to grab him some flowers for his date with mina since he was running late.

begrudgingly, katsuki had agreed, insisting only because the redhead was being so damn annoying. and so he pulled in to the first flower shop he saw—yours. he had stormed in and just demanded for a bouquet and the rest was history.

he found himself coming back even though he didn’t even need fucking flowers. (at first, he tells himself it’s because he’s got nothing better to do. and then he convinces himself it’s just to ensure the safety of another civilian, since you close nearing nighttime and walk home. and then he can’t lie to himself anymore that he finds you a tad bit.. cute.)

when you return, he breaks out of his reminiscing and looks back to you, blinking expectantly. “here you go!” you chirp, presenting the tucked tulips in some wrapper.

he’s grabbing his wallet from his pocket with a huff. “right.” he can feel your gaze on him patiently and he almost fumbles with his hands. (how embarrassing—he’s done this so many times too.)

and when you exchange the amount of money for the flowers, the briefest of touches from your hands makes him stutter in his movements just subtly. once the flowers are with him, he can smell its scent and he wants to sneeze.

he brushes it off and raises a brow at you. he wants to say something, maybe tell you how endearing it is to see how your name tag is lopsided on your shirt or how your wrinkled work apron has some clear stains of dirt from the flower pots on it. but instead, he says- “go home, dumbass.”

he knows you’re used to his rather blunt comments and words, but he swears he can feel the tips of his ears burn with a scorch as you snort and giggle in amusement. “i could tell you the same thing, dynamight,” you say back.

the flowers shift in his hold and he eyes the counter for two seconds to regain himself as he clears his throat and scoffs. “i meant- it gets dark faster nowadays, ‘kay? go home.”

you salute him playfully. “of course. you know i don’t close up the shop until you leave. you’re my last customer, dynamight.” (he knows.) “drive safe!”

“mhm.” he grunts and decides to take his leave before he makes a fool of himself. you wave him goodbye enthusiastically as he exits your shop and gets back into his car.

and when he returns to his apartment, he places his tulips with the rest of the flowers safely.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

the morning is just creeping into the starting hours of noon—it gets a bit busier around this time with people in the city. peak business hour because sometimes, there’s always that one person who’s looking for some flowers or the perfect plant.

but right now, your shop is empty. the wafting scent of roses newly perched on the side counter fills the air but you don’t mind it as you sweep some fallen leaves from the floor.

you had turned on the small tv hooked up in the corner of the ceiling for some background noise, humming to yourself to pass time, but its current broadcast catches your attention.

“pro hero dynamight is on the scene of the ongoing shionosu bank robbery with the help of some sidekicks and-”

you abandon your sweeping to watch the small, short-lived clips of the robbery the news station has to offer, but seeing the familiar red-eyed blonde on screen has you feeling all fluttery.

you fingers tighten around the broomstick and you shake your head to yourself. you had somewhat gotten attached to the explosive hero throughout his daily visits—his honest and brash presentation may be off putting to others but you don’t mind. he’s like a literal explosion in your little life. you like to think that your plants enjoy his company.

besides, it’s sort of cute knowing that such an aggressive man had the time to stop by your shop nearly every single day to buy some flowers. and then you shake your head again—he was buying flowers, most likely for someone he was seeing.

you can still remember your first meeting with him like it was yesterday. man had strutted into your shop like he owned it and ordered you to give him some flowers. something along the lines of “oi! you still open? get me some shit for a date or something!” and that’s how it happened.

you wouldn’t change whatever this.. relationship you had with the pro hero for the world but it did hurt a little, knowing he was coming to your shop for your flowers only to give them to someone else. why else did he buy them?

the sound of his voice from the tv has you perking up and you’re quite embarrassed of yourself by the the effect he has on you, even on a damn screen.

“hah? just some fuckin’ d-list criminals who chose the wrong day to rob a bank,” he barks at the reporter, “you really think i couldn’t handle those shits?” of course, his words are poorly censored and you can’t help but laugh.

yeah, you’re okay with what you have. you’re happy that you can somewhat see another side of dynamight through your little exchanges.

the bell ringing then diverts your attention away from the tv and you politely greet an elderly lady walking in. you place aside the broom and head back behind the counter, content with knowing that you’ll see him later today.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou comes in during his usual time, casual clothes only slightly rumpled since he had been in a hurry to make sure to make it before you closed up the shop.

and there you are as always, behind the counter with a sweet smile. “good evening, dynamight!”

he sighs quietly, taking in the calm and scenery of your shop. it’s a welcomed contrast after the hectic events of today—annoying criminals thinking they could take him down and even more annoying reporters with nosy questions.

“hey.” he grunts, then asks curiously, “how was your day?” he decides to ignore how pleasant surprise flicks over your face by roaming through the shelves on the side.

“it was pretty good,” you hum in reply. there’s a pause and then you add, “i saw you on tv today. a robbery, huh?”

the realization that you saw him in action on screen makes his cheeks heat up for some reason but he plays it cool, peering at you from behind one of the shelves. “oh, yeah,” he chuffs, “impressed?”

you giggle to yourself, crossing your arms as you observe him. “impressed by how they somehow managed to censor you, that’s for sure.”

katsuki winces only subtly and rolls his eyes as he comes out from behind the shelving to approach the counter. “yeah, yeah. pretty sure my pr team is gonna try ‘n whoop my ass again for that.” he barks out a rough laugh. “as if they could.”

you tilt your head back as you laugh with him, and fuck, he thinks he can watch you laugh all day. it’s music to his ears. “right,” you snort, “they can try, huh?”

he straightens his shirt somewhat, noticing the obvious wrinkles on them. “oh, yeah. you watch me the whole time?” he’s teasing.

“you wish,” you banter back, now uncrossing your arms to drum your fingers on the table absentmindedly. “this woman came in for some flowers. she was so kind- i gave her some delphiniums!”

he tilts his head, brows furrowing. “delphi-what now?” he huffs, leaning against the counter as he watches you brighten up. (damn, are you cute. but he’s not gonna say that out loud.)

“delphiniums are pretty.” you sigh and then start to ramble, “i gave her some royal larkspurs. pretty easy to take care of at the start! they usually symbolize dignity and grace, amongst some other things like sincerity, dedication- oh, i’m talking too much, aren’t i?” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “you’re just here for some flowers, sorry. uh, just anything like usual?”

bakugou blinks and chuckles softly. “nah, don’ worry. like hearing you talk.” shit, did he really say that? he straightens his posture and clears his throat, trying to act all nonchalant. “and uh, actually- i’ll take the larkspurs or whatever.”

you gaze is wide before you nod with a bright smile. “larkspurs it is.”

later that night, he adds those beautiful arching flowers of blue with his growing collection, another reminder of you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

god, how bakugou hates commission meetings with a passion. what he hates even more is waiting for them to actually start. ‘cause that means he actually has to socialize with his fellow colleagues.

like fucking deku here.

most of the heroes are lingering around the long table, and here’s his childhood friend, rambling on with the familiar faces of half ‘n half bastard and round cheeks, and they’re entirely invested with his current dilemma. “i just don’t know what to get her! i’m overthinking this, right? just a simple gift or some flowers could do, right?”

ochako pats midoriya’s shoulder reassuringly, saying, “you shouldn’t worry about it too much, deku. i’m sure your mom would love anything you get her!”

deku shakes his head as he continues mumbling in thought. even after all these years, the nerd never lost some of his annoying traits, much to bakugou’s irritation. old habits die hard, he supposes. (however, when you ramble, he finds that he doesn’t want you to stop.)

some of the others are joining in on the conversation to pass time—there’s fucking both dunce face and soy sauce face and he’s pretty sure he’s one second away from blowing the shit out of all of ‘em. how the hell did he tolerate them in high school?

before icyhot can open his mouth and surely say something idiotic, bakugou groans and turns in his chair to face them, dragging a hand over his face. “oh, for the love of- can you shut your trap already? jus’ get her some larkspurs or some shit.”

fuckin’ nerd looks at him all curious and interested, and he’s got the attention of the others now as well. “larkspurs, kacchan?” deku questions.

“yeah,” he huffs, turning his gaze away. he recites their meaning he had learned from you instinctively, crossing his arms and kicking his feet up onto the table.

denki then speaks up, “woah, kacchan. since when were you a flower expert?” the electric hero grins and leans forward and the others are obviously interested too.

“fuck off!” katsuki snaps roughly, “i ain’t no expert on some damn flowers. hate those fuckin’ things.”

he grumbles when the others laugh and continue to tease him whilst deku thanks him profusely. yeah—he’s still a damn nerd.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

it’s another day of business. still midday, with the sun taking its place in the high in the sky. the afternoons aren’t as hot anymore, and you know you should start to move some of the display plants outside back inside but you’ll get to that later.

a lovely couple had left earlier with their desired flowers for their upcoming wedding and you had happily aided them. once they had left, you decided to take a small break, slouching on the counter.

you can’t help but let your thoughts drift back to a certain blonde. judging how he really didn’t care what flowers he got—other than the time he had asked for the larkspurs—you guessed his partner really didn’t mind the type of flowers they received either.

and as if your thoughts had summoned him, the bell rings and the door opens to reveal the man plaguing your mind, fully decked out in his hero costume.

“d-dynamight?” you yelp in surprise, immediately fixing your posture as you stare at him. he only comes at the end of the day, after his work is over and yours is nearly done—what the hell is he doing here? in the afternoon?

“ya busy?” bakugou grunts, making his way in without any further words.

he looks so out of place here—brandished armor and combat duty boots sounding heavy on the floor. you’re pretty sure he almost knocked over the shelves with how big his gauntlets are. he looks made for battle but here he is, standing expectantly, surrounded by dainty flowers and plants.

“um- um, no?” you then shake your head. “what’re you doing here? not that i mind! it’s just.. you’ve never come in the middle of the day before! what if someone sees you?”

he makes sure his grenadier bracers don’t actually knock down your hard work of arrangements, looking to you. “s’why i’m gonna be quick, idiot. can’t come later tonight so ‘m here now.”

“o-oh! of course.” you rush around the counter to pick something simple to offer to him, since he doesn’t seem to care again on what he’ll receive. you’re aware of his eyes following you as you grab some false indigos for a bundle.

“stay safe out there, dynamight,” you bid him, holding out the flowers for him to take. “i’ll see you some other time then?” you hate how hopeful you sound.

his red irises linger on you for a couple of seconds before he nods and pays up. “yeah, you will. you stay safe, idiot.“

his words make you feel warm—with the false indigos now with him, you simply smile. you won’t tell him that they symbolize protection; maybe he can learn that another day.

(later on, you see a media outlet that reads PRO HERO DYNAMIGHT SEEN WITH FLOWERS… HAS HE FOUND A PARTNER? and you hate how the title makes your stomach churn with jealousy—but seeing your flowers tucked delicately in his arms is worth it.)

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou actually doesn’t get to see you for a couple of days. there had been a change in his schedule and he had been assigned for some overnight shifts along with some other heroes in another district due to the rise of criminal activity there.

but he’s back now, thankfully, and he’s antsy to see you after all this time. (mind you, it’s only been three or four days. smitten, he is, for the attractive florist that supplies him with flowers even though he claims he hates them. on a side note, he hopes his assistant had taken good care of the false indigos he had placed in his office.)

so as he drives down the familiar street, katsuki can’t help but wonder if you still wait for him so you can close the shop. it has been a while since his last appearance that one early afternoon, so even though he wouldn’t be surprised that you don’t, he couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t be a bit disappointed.

but as he pulls in into the parking lot, he’s furious.

you had just closed the shop, not even a few feet away from the door as a gang of looming strangers crowd in towards you, all hunched and shady as you match their stares warily.

katsuki isn’t sure he’s moved faster than he has in his life—he’s scrambling out of the car to help you when you manage to land a sucker punch square into one of the asshole’s jaws. with your flank exposed, another one lunges for you and you scream.

“you fucker!” he snarls and he reaches you in record time, the one you had already knocked to the side being met with an accurately aimed kick to the gut from his boot before he sends an explosion that has the remaining three flying.

when bakugou sees that none of them are making an effort to get up, he slips out of his offensive stance and immediately turns to you in concern, eyes roaming for any injuries. “are you hurt? did they touch you?” he demands, brows furrowed. “i’m-”

he falters when you simply stare at him in awe. the silence between you two is deafening and he doesn’t know how to interpret it. he starts, worried, “hey, are you-”

you arms wrapping him around has him inhaling sharply. his arms linger, unsure of what to do but he accepts your embrace delicately. “thank you, dynamight,” you murmur after a moment, still holding him.

he breathes softly, and he’s all quiet when he speaks again. “..it’s bakugou to you,” he tells you gruffly, “got it?”

his words have caught you by surprise—he knows it by the way your eyes widen when you pull back to look at him. he meets your stare readily.

“thank you, bakugou,” you say gently, and his gaze softens. (hearing his name roll off your tongue is something he can get used to, he decides.)

he then chuckles, all fond. “remind me not to get you mad. that punch looked nasty.”

you laugh genuinely, and katsuki can’t help but think about how much he missed hearing it.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou drives you home every night from then on.

you had no problem before, as your apartment building isn’t that far off, perhaps a fifteen minute walk, pushing ten if you jogged a little, and that was something you could manage. until the incident a couple weeks ago.

you definitely feel safer with him escorting you, even when you did protest that he didn’t have to waste his time driving to your shop, waiting for you to close and then dropping you off at your apartment—but he insisted. like, almost put you in a headlock if your dumbass didn’t listen insisted. (he still buys flowers every time too.)

and as giddy as it made you to spend more time with the pro hero, the reminder that he was supposedly taken was enough for you to know your limits. he’s simply doing his job—protecting people, s’all.

but in moments like this, you think you can selfishly enjoy yourself.

he’s blasting his music—some sort of punk rock that you can’t deny is pretty catchy—with his newly acquired lilacs resting on the center console for him to take home. it’s a bit silly, hearing such vulgar lyrics in the background as the petals of the magenta flowers shake slightly.

“you’ll enjoy your new home with bakugou, won’t you?” you coo at the plant, brushing your fingers over it tenderly. “he’ll take good care of you, i’m sure.”

bakugou’s got one hand on the wheel and he casts you an amused glance. as the car approaches a red light, he turns down the music and snorts. “are you seriously talking to the fuckin’ flowers?”

you lightly glare at him, a smile quirking up on the corners of your lips. “it helps them grow when you talk to ‘em nicely!”

“oh, yeah?” he raises a brow, snorting again—but he’s got an amused smirk on his face now as he focuses back on driving. “i’ll keep that in mind then, idiot.”

you sneak subtle side glances at him the rest of the ride, admiring his beauty—so close yet so far.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

this is so fucking stupid, bakugou thinks. he should be buying flowers for you, not from you—or whatever couples do nowadays to please their partners. but here he is, back again. even if he is your drive home, this weird tradition of buying your flowers he had gotten accustomed is getting old. he just hopes you’re getting the hint that he’s not exactly here for the flowers.

katsuki doesn’t even bother announcing himself when he doesn’t see you behind the counter—you’re probably somewhere in the back tidying up some final things so you can leave, so he starts looking for something to buy already.

“hey, got anything new f’me to buy?” he calls out then, and he hears some rustling from the back room. he figures he might help you out so without much thought, he saunters around the counter, following the noise of your muffled movements.

your voice rings out, “yeah, i do! just lemme-” way closer than before and just as he enters the doorway of the backroom, you appear—walking right into him.

now, obviously he’s a wall. lean and fine muscle make up his body—and you crash into him, yelping when you stumble back in surprise.

bakugou’s reflexes are quick and he manages to catch you in time—his arm dips low and braces the small of your back before you can fall over. “fuckin’ idiot,” he huffs out, “be careful.”

“hey!” you cry out in protest, “you’re the one who was standing there! for someone so loud, you sure are stealthy.”

“ah? i can be plenty fucking stealthy!” he argues, voice booming against the walls and proving your point.

you giggle at that—and that’s when katsuki realizes you’re both so fucking close. he can see the shape of your lips and the way your eyes gleam in the lighting from above. he freezes.

you seem to realize it too, falling silent for a couple of heartbeats. bakugou clears his throat and lets you go. “alright, brat. gonna give me my flowers so we can fuckin’ leave already?”

he thinks he sees your shoulders relax and fall down before you nod and brush past him. “yeah, of course.”

he scoffs and follows you, wondering what it’d be like to kiss you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

you twiddle with some ribbons laced around some pottery, trying to redo some decorations on them since you can spare some time.

bakugou had come in a little early for you to close up, so he’s waiting for you to finish, casually leaning on the counter as he observes the store. okay, well- you’re not exactly sure what he’s doing, since he’s probably memorized the entire layout of your small area of the building by now because of how many times he’s been here.

you’re humming idly to yourself, the tv flicked on to some music ambience channel to full in the quiet air anytime bakugou isn’t striking up a conversation. he’s been silent for a while now.

“what’s a person’s ideal date?”

you nearly drop a vase. obviously, the question surprises you. it should, you think, since this is a pro hero who’s been coming to your flower shop for over a month or two now, supposedly getting flowers for his significant other—even if he does linger around longer than he should and drives you home—and he’s asking you on what someone’s ideal date is? this.. doesn’t make any sense.

“well...” you begin reluctantly, unsure of where this is leading, and even more unsure on how to actually answer. “it depends on the person, bakugou.”

the blonde simply clicks his tongue and his eyes meet yours.

“okay then. what’s your ideal date?”

just when you think he can’t surprise you any further, he does. you’re pretty sure your eyes nearly bug out of their sockets as you set the vase aside so you don’t actually drop it. “huh?”

“you heard me, dumbass,” katsuki scoffs with a roll of his eyes and you want to disappear into the floor. “what’s your ideal date?”

your throat suddenly feels dry. “i’m, uh, not the best person to ask for romantic advice, bakugou,” you warn, trying to be all teasing as you laugh anxiously. you do not want to help him plan out a date—you’d rather throw yourself into the sun.

“‘m serious, brat,” bakugou grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring at you. you can’t read him, usually you can’t, but his eyes are warm. “tell me.”

you continue fiddling with some ribbons as you glance away to contemplate. “well.. a- a picnic date would be nice. with some of my favorite foods, maybe. it’d probably be out in some meadow. just.. a nice, open meadow where you can see flowers for miles.” you sigh dreamily.

it’s quiet again and then you glance back to him, stammering, “but- but that’s just my preference! i dunno if the person you’re seeing would like that ‘n stuff. everyone’s different, y’know?”

suddenly he’s got this confused scowl on his face, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. oh god, did you offend him in some way? say something awful? what if you-

“hah?” bakugou snaps, voice colored in disbelief, “who the hell said i was seeing someone?”

what? now it’s your turn to be utterly confused, and you stare at him with wide eyes. “you’re not- you’re not seeing someone? dating someone?” you inquire, puzzled.

“no, dumbass!” he barks out, “i’m not- where the fuck did you get that idea from?”

you blink once, twice. “you!” you cry out, saying, “when you came in here for the very first time, you asked me to get you flowers for a date!”

bakugou’s eyes widen and then he’s taking steps towards you. “not a date for me, dumbass! my friend asked me to get him flowers for his date!”

your mind spins with the new information but you’re still so confused, still in denial—you shake your head. “but- but.. why else would you come in for flowers every single day?”

“because i wanted to see you!”

oh. the confession has your cheeks heating up. so… the blonde you’ve been harboring a massive crush on is, in fact, not seeing anyone, and is coming in every day to your flower shop to buy your flowers because he wants to see you?

bakugou stares at you, eyes all wide as if he can’t believe what he had just said aloud. his words are echoing in your head and you laugh a little. “you.. aren’t here for the flowers?” you say softly.

his gaze is all warm as he relaxes, and you can see the faint pink tingeing his cheeks. “no,” he confesses in a grumble, “..‘m here for you and your stupid dumbass.”

you laugh again, and he finally reaches you. his fingers twitch and slowly, you take his hands in yours. they feel a little warm, clumsy like he doesn’t know what to do with his fingers before they tighten around yours. “we really are idiots, huh?” when he glares at you softly, you add, “i like you too. just so you know.”

his blush is visible and oh so pretty now, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your words. and then he snorts, “good, ‘cus i’m gonna need some help takin’ care of all the stupid fuckin’ flowers at my apartment. it’s practically a shop now too.”

as he pulls you into a crushing hug, you burst into a fit of giggles.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“you forgot to water this one, you idiot!” katsuki calls from the corner of your shop, grumbling at some of the drooping crotons you brought in recently. “where the fuck did you put the watering can?”

you point to the counter, too occupied with fixing the succulents. “should be somewhere on the floor over there, suki,” you tell him. and as you watch him snatch the watering can and storm back over to the plants in need, you grin to yourself.

“thanks, katsuki,” you hum as you stand back up, “you’re a big help, y’know?”

he scoffs. “yeah, yeah.” as he tilts the watering can to spray the plants, he continues in a hushed voice. “what you would ‘lil fuckers do without me, ah?”

your heart does a flip. a month or so ago, you wouldn’t believe it if someone had told you that the pro hero dynamight would be in your shop taking care of your plants as he talks to them. but you know, you also wouldn’t have believed it if they had told you he’d be your boyfriend.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

and katsuki eventually does take you out on that ideal date once it gets warmer. a dainty picnic lunch with your favorite foods that he made from scratch in his very own kitchen in a heavenly meadow surrounded by flowers all around.

and it’s there, when he kisses you, that bakugou katsuki realizes that he doesn’t hate flowers. especially since he has the most gorgeous flower of them all—you.

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