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andypantsx3 · 1 year

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all in a day's quirk | sero hanta

pairing: Sero Hanta / Fem Reader

length: 5.3k

summary: Sero gets hit with a quirk that makes others see him as the person they are most attracted to. Which you really wish you had known before you opened your mouth and gave him your usual, “Hey, Sero!”

tags/warnings: pro hero au, fluff, misunderstandings, quirk accident, not actually unrequited feelings, smut, thigh riding, fem reader (no pronouns but AFAB genitalia terms used), aged up characters

It was approximately four thirty-three p.m. when Sero Hanta returned from patrol and blew your peaceful day to bits.

Before his arrival, the Todoroki Agency had been relatively quiet, as it usually was around this time, everyone but the on-call staff winding down for the day. You’d been hearing the telltale rustling of jackets and scuffle of feet in the office behind you since the clock ticked past four.

Not long after, a couple of your friends from the analytics department had wandered over to your desk, clearly deciding they were not going to get anything else done, gossiping and stealing the candies you kept in a glass bowl on the reception counter.

“I heard Shouto’s manager is considering signing him up for a shirtless charity calendar,” Mari told you immediately, wiggling her eyebrows. “Hana from brand management said she was asked to do research on the impact the calendar had on other pros’ careers, so I think this is serious.”

She looked beyond pleased, her cheeks pink and her ears tipped red, the way they always were when she contemplated her massive crush on your agency head, Todoroki Shouto.

You couldn’t fault her–Shouto was incredibly handsome and kind, if a bit spacey–but you’d always been drawn to a different pro hero on the agency roster. Someone just a little bit taller, with dark hair and a half-moon grin, a razor sharp sense of humor, and the most inconceivably mouth-watering thighs in the pro hero business.

Not that you had been giving them attention. Much.

You suppressed the urge to ask if anyone else from the agency was being considered for the calendar, wiggling your eyebrows back. “Well I know you’ll be the first in line.”

Mari’s blush deepened, and Kimiko laughed around an orange-flavored candy, which you stocked for many reasons other than a certain tape-themed hero’s predilection for oranges, thank you very much.

“I just hope they include Uravity-san,” Kimiko said. “I mean–not shirtless shirtless, but like, god would I kill for her in a little sports bra.”

Kimiko sounded unaffected, but you’d literally hidden her beneath your desk the time pro heroes Uravity and Deku visited for an agency team-up with the Todoroki office. She’d spent the entire time peering out with big eyes, muttering under her breath, “I am so gay. So very very gay.”

You didn’t doubt if Uravity were included in the spread, Kimiko might even beat Mari out for the first spot in line.

“You both have such kind hearts,” you laughed. “So eager to give to charity.”

“I’m a lifelong philanthropist,” Mari agreed, picking up your pen and doodling hearts all over your office stationery. You noticed she colored in only the left side, and suppressed another laugh.

Whatever. You knew what it was to be that whipped, even if you’d never do anything about it.

As huge as your thing was for Sero, there wasn’t a chance in hell he returned your affections. He was incredibly friendly, but over the past few years, he’d never even given a hint that he was into you like that. He’d treated you with the same easy cheer and subjected you to the same good-natured roasting he did everyone else in the agency.

And now was not the time to go looking for more, anyway. You’d recently become close enough to see Sero outside of work and you were not about to endanger that–you’d been invited to a house party of his a couple months ago, gone to drinks with him and a couple of agency people after work, and even grabbed dinner alone a few times over the past few weeks. You’d been texting memes practically nonstop this entire week alone.

He was so much fun, always quick with a joke, a wink, or an interesting story, and he wasn’t afraid to tell things like they were. You forgot time was passing when you were with him, and sometimes when you went out, you stayed out long enough that you thought he might, too.

So you were finally reaching a stage in your friendship where Sero clearly felt close and comfortable—you would not press for more.

It was just, sometimes, when he smiled down at you with that clever, mischievous grin, your heart felt like it was experiencing some sort of medical event. Sometimes, when he put his dark hair up into a messy half-bun, those biceps cording as he did so, it felt like someone had just vacuumed all the oxygen straight out of your lungs. Sometimes, when he leaned down to whisper something to you in his most conspiratorial tones, it felt like someone had spiked your brain into a blender and pureed it into mush.

But it was cool.

You knew how to play it cool.

Mari pulled you back to earth with the promise of more gossip—this time, about her arch nemesis in accounting—and Kimiko leaned in, offering her own commentary over the unwrapping of another of your candies.

And then the clock struck four thirty-three, and Sero Hanta returned from patrol.

You heard the telltale mechanic ping of an agency badge passing checkpoint, and peeked around Kimiko to see Sero trudging through the doorway, looking strangely contemplative. He was covered in dirt and his uniform was slashed in several places, including a great deal of shredding about the thighs, which you would have been happier about if he didn’t look so unusually subdued.

He didn’t look hurt at any rate, so that was good. But you couldn’t help but call out to him.

“Hey Sero!” you said, curious about his demeanor. “How’d patrol go? Something happen?”

Kimiko and Mari turned around, and you watched as both of them seemed to freeze up. Kimiko’s hand slapped against the reception counter, the sound echoing through the room, gripping tightly as though she’d suddenly seen a ghost.

“Ur–Uravity-san,” she said, dipping into the most formal bow you’d ever seen her make. “What’s brought you here?”

You felt your mouth pull into a frown, staring at the back of her head in absolute bamboozlement. Was she seeing things? The only person in the doorway was Sero, and he was very much unaccompanied.

His helmet was propped between his hip and his elbow, so his face was clear too–so Kimiko didn’t even have the excuse of not being able to see his face, different though his costume was from Uravity’s.

Sero blinked, his mouth pulling into a semi-puzzled grin. “Uravity?”

Mari was slapping Kimiko before you could inquire the same thing, hissing, “Are you losing it? That’s fucking Shouto.” She turned back to pin you with something between a glare and a concerned, assessing gaze, as if you too had lost your marbles.

You frowned back, your own concern deepening. “I’m sorry–are you guys seriously telling me that Shouto and Uravity are here with Sero?” You peered back around Mari at Sero, quirking a brow at him. “Did they get hit with some kind of invisibility quirk or are these two experiencing some kind of hallucination?”

Maybe too much shirtless calendar talk had gotten them too hot and bothered.

Sero’s dark gaze pinned you, and he quickly came tromping over, his boots echoing on the stone flooring. He leaned over the reception counter, pointing to his face with one long, pretty finger. “Wait, you can tell it’s me?”

He smelled like cement and sweat and dust, and something vaguely minty, like he’d been chewing gum recently. You tried not to let your expression show how much you liked the look of him up close, those hooded dark eyes, his wide, charming mouth.

“Um, yes? I have eyeballs?” you wondered.

Sero blinked, leaning in closer. Your heartbeat ticked up. “You’re sure?”

“Should I not be…sure?” you asked. “Are Shouto and Uravity really with you and I’m the only one who can’t see them?”

Sero shook his head, “Nah–it’s just me.”

You frowned up at him, curious. “Then why are they calling you Shouto and Uravity…?”

Sero shook his dark head. His hair was pulled into that half-bun you loved, the way it usually was under his helmet on patrol, and all mussed from whatever run in he’d had. You tried not to think about what other activities might get his hair all mussed like that.

He smiled, something wide and conspiratorial. “Got hit with some kinda illusion quirk. People have stopped me like a thousand times on my way in to ask for All Might’s autograph, or Hawks’, and even Bakugou’s. They’re lucky it was just me, he’d have thrown a shit fit getting cut off in the street like that.”

Sero’s features shifted into something slightly more contemplative again. “But you’re somehow immune, huh?”

You frowned. “Shouldn’t you get checked out at medical, then?”

His eyes softened, and another grin made its way onto his mouth. “Yeah yeah, I’ll head right there.”

Kimiko and Mari were still gaping over at him like he was a miracle, and some strange feeling came over you, a concerned little squeeze of your heart. You grabbed Mari, plonking her down into your seat in your stead. “Cover me for a couple minutes? Just say people are unavailable and take notes and I’ll figure it out when I get back. I’m gonna run down to medical with Sero for a second.”

Mari nodded dumbly.

You pulled Sero’s helmet out of his grip, resting it in the crook of your own elbow, and gestured him down the hall with you. Sero fell into step beside you, keeping up easily with his long stride. He grinned down at you, seemingly unperturbed that he’d gotten hit with a quirk that had all but erased his identity in the eyes of others.

It was something you admired in him, his inherent good-naturedness.

You wondered why you were the only one who could tell it was him.

“Any good gossip while I was gone?” he asked, like he really couldn’t be fussed about his predicament. “I was starting to hear shirtless calendar talk before I had to head out on patrol.”

You suppressed a flush and fought down the urge to ask if he’d been asked to be in it too.

You did not need to know.

“Whatever the hell is going on with you is the spiciest bit of gossip all day,” you told him, rounding a corner and badging into the stairwell down to the medical floor. You clung to the railing carefully and most definitely did not watch his thighs bunch as he took the stairs. “Want a drink after work? It seems like you could use one, after this.”

Sero smiled, an eyebrow raising. “Trying to get me drunk, huh?”

You wrinkled your nose. “As if I’d need to be so underhanded.”

You did. You did need to be so underhanded.

Sero had to angle himself carefully through the door, his shoulder pieces liable to snag on the doorway with the breadth of those pro hero shoulders. The medic on staff took one look at him and flushed, mumbling out a name you didn’t know.

You piped in before she could say more. “Cellophane’s been hit with a quirk that makes him appear like someone else. It’s not whoever you think!”

She blinked curiously, but then nodded, probably having seen much weirder things in her time as a hero agency staffer. She gestured Sero to a cot on the side of the room. “Alright, please sit down, Cellophane. We’ll do a couple quick tests and then get you sorted with the right quirk cancellation.” Her cheeks seemed to heat again as she spoke, but she made good on her promise, disappearing down the hall, calling to someone for quirk testing strips.

Sero hopped up on the cot, swinging those long legs, grinning at you from eye-level, now. “Think I should prank a couple people before they cancel it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Only you would be having fun with this. No one in the world knows who you are!”

The corner of Sero’s mouth pulled wryly. “You do.”

“You don’t know if that could change, dude. Better get it over with before you get stuck as like, Endeavor forever.”

Sero laughed, light and airy. “Shouto wouldn’t hang with me anymore.”

You nodded. “Exactly, and none of the rest of us read the same weird manga you guys are into so you’d be all alone with no one to fanboy about it to.”

The medic returned with a thick silvery strip, pulling on blue nitrile gloves as she did so. Sero held his arm out obligingly, the lean muscle flexing in the fluorescence of the office lighting. She peeled off the backing of the strip, pressing it to Sero’s forearm, pushing it down firmly.

She attached a cable to some screened device, and you listened to the beep of various buttons. Sero watched you over her shoulder, his easy smile still in place.

Finally, the device in the medic’s hand beeped, and she pulled back, announcing somewhat shyly, “An attraction-type quirk.”

You blinked, mystified. A what?

Sero’s grin seemed to freeze on his face, and his thin brows furrowed the tiniest bit.

The medic continued, oblivious. “This quirk creates an illusion. External parties will perceive the affectee with the traits or as the person they are most attracted to.”

Sero’s dark eyes snapped to yours, widening, and you fumbled a step back, almost tripping over yourself. You threw out a hand, barely catching yourself on the counter.

No.

Oh fuck no.

If people were seeing who they were most attracted to…and you had just seen Sero the whole time…

That would mean—that would mean—and he had heard you say—

“Oh my god, I just remembered I have to get back to Mari,” you said, offering Sero a wave of your suddenly numb hand. “Can’t, um, strand her at the desk for too long. I’ll leave you guys to it. Uh, yeah. Thanks–bye!”

You quickly threw yourself out through the door, leaving Sero alone with the medic. You dashed back up the stairwell, your heartbeat shooting into your mouth.

How could this be happening? How unbelievably embarrassing was that? You’d worked so hard to play it cool in front of Sero for all this time, for years, really, and you’d finally just made it to a comfortable place as friends.

And then—and then—some attraction-illusion quirk goes and blows your cover, just like that? For real?

And he’d heard you, too. Heard you say, “Hey, Sero!” as soon as he’d come through the door, before anyone had revealed anything about who else they thought he might be instead. Before you could have possibly had any clue that he’d been quirked.

You could die of mortification.

You shooed Mari and Kimiko away from the desk when you got back, quickly readying your things to get the hell out of the office as soon as your night replacement arrived. You cleaned up all the bi-colored hearts Mari had doodled on every available surface of your desk and refilled the candy bowl Kimiko had apparently seen fit to devastate in your absence, your ears heating with the thought that Sero could catch on now, why you stocked orange candies.

God, could your replacement hurry the fuck up before Sero got back here?

But the night receptionist was predictably late, of course, and by the time you finally saw him badge through the front entrance you could hear quick, booted steps across the tile behind you.

Sero’s voice sounded over the back of your chair, just as a long-fingered hand closed around your wrist.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice more careful than you’d ever heard it. “Still up for that drink? I think maybe we could talk over it.”

The night receptionist nodded at you and Sero as he made his way over, and you gave up your chair to him, collecting your bag with Sero’s warm fingers still clutching your wrist. You slowly worked up the courage to look up at him, face heating as you took in his uncharacteristically intent expression. His face had been cleaned and it looked like some antibiotic had been applied to some of the scrapes along his jaw.

You knew then you’d trapped yourself. Though it was probably also better to get things over with now than avoid the subject forever.

“Okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice normal. “Yeah, let’s talk.”

Sero was the nicest dude ever, you had to remember that. Even when it came down to a rejection, he would still be completely kind and friendly. Probably not too much would change on his end afterwards either. You couldn’t imagine him avoiding you or treating you any differently.

“My place okay?” Sero asked as you shrugged on your bag.

You nodded, and he smiled, nearly as wide and silly as he normally did, tinged with only the slightest bit of shyness.

You’d originally planned to take him out somewhere fun, but this conversation was probably best had in private. And Sero’s place was close, an apartment only a couple blocks’ walk, in a charming little neighborhood fringed by a park and a variety of interesting bars and cafes. Sero chatted away with his usual friendly ease as you walked, still in his shredded hero costume, waving to the couple people that recognized him as you did so.

Your stomach flipped as he opened his front door, gesturing you inside under his arm. He was tall and lanky enough that you fit easily, and you caught a whiff of that minty scent again under all the dust that coated his uniform. You tried not to look too closely at the lines of his bicep as you passed under it.

His apartment was just as you’d remembered it; spacious, casually decorated in neutral tones with splashes of interesting patterns spread across the rug, throw pillows, and his collection of wall hangings. It smelled cottony and clean, and Sero gestured you to his couch as he dumped his helmet and boots in the doorway, shrugging off his shoulder pieces.

“A beer cool?” he asked as he made his way into the kitchen. “I’ve got a couple of good ones.”

“Sounds great,” you told him, listening to the sounds of him cracking the caps.

To your surprise he plopped down on the couch next to you as he came back in, handing you a bottle. It was cold, and your fingers made little prints in the condensation where you touched it.

“So,” he said, turning to you, a sly look in his dark eyes. “You wanna talk about what just happened?”

Your face flamed, and you took a quick sip of your beer to give you time to recover yourself. It was sour on your tongue, a hint of orange peel in its profile.

“No,” you told him honestly, giving him a self-conscious smile, which he returned. “I think it’s pretty clear, actually. You got hit by a quirk that shows people the person they’re most attracted to and I, uh, obviously saw, um, you.”

Sero’s grin pulled wider at the edges, surprising you. If you didn’t know better, you would think he liked hearing that. Although maybe it was a little bit of an ego stroke to hear you were someone’s fantasy man, even if you didn’t return their feelings.

“Not All Might and not Bakugou,” he said, something pleased in his tone.

You blinked at him, disturbed by those insinuations. “Definitely not,” you sniffed. “I am a paragon of taste.”

Sero laughed, his fingers flexing on the side of his beer. Then he took a sip, seeming to contemplate something as he did, and you drew yourself together, preparing for the inevitable. That was definitely a look that said he was thinking hard, probably about the best way to let you down.

But then Sero grinned back down at you, leaning in collusively. “You wanna know something?”

You could feel your brows raise curiously, even as your heartbeat picked up with his proximity. You looked down, then accidentally spied the strips of tanned thigh where his costume had torn, and had to quickly reroute your gaze for fear of staring. “That depends.”

Sero’s grin went even more sly. “I think if you’d been hit with that quirk, I’d have known it was you too.”

Your heartbeat slammed to a halt in your chest. It was only when Sero threw a hand out that you realized you’d lost your grip on your beer, his quick reflexes the only thing saving his carpet. You startled at the sudden move, making a weird arm-flinging motion somewhere between grabbing for your beer and grabbing onto him, ending up accidentally smacking him in the chest instead.

“Fuck, I—sorry!” you garbled out, stunned by his sudden proximity and the fistful of his costume you’d taken. His skin was warm against the side of your hand.

Sero blinked, looking taken aback for a moment. Then he shifted, and you heard the clink of two beers being deposited on his coffee table. You swallowed, unable to look away from him, and you watched his dark eyes rove over your face, before dipping down to stare at something just under your nose.

A shiver prickled up your spine.

“So when you—with the quirk—” you tried, but your brain had gone offline, and the right set of words were not coming to you. “Um, when you say—you would have known—?”

Sero’s grin crept back across his mouth. “I mean that I’d have seen you, because I’ve been wanting to ask you out and trying to figure out if you're into me for months.”

It had to be the shock of this admission that registered you so stupid. “You—months? Try years.”

Sero’s laugh beat back the instant wave of mortification that overcame you in the next second, when you realized what'd you'd just said. You could only smile back helplessly, equally pleased and embarrassed. He looked so good right then, too, grinning toothily, his hair a mess, his costume torn to shreds. He really was the most gorgeous guy you had ever seen, that quirk had totally had your number.

It suddenly dawned on you that you had little else to lose now, with everything out in the open. And when Sero looked like that—sly, pleased, and a little bit of a mess—you thought you were done trying to bury things.

A thrill zinging down your spine, you leaned in and pressed your mouth to his.

He’d been laughing, and you only caught the edge of his mouth, but Sero quickly corrected. You could feel his lips go slack in surprise for a second, and then he was schooling himself and returning your kiss with abandon.

Long fingers came up to take your chin, holding you firmly in place. It was so unexpectedly bold that you shuddered, kissing him harder. Your hand tangled further in the fabric of his costume, gripping onto him for dear life as his tongue met yours, twisting and teasing. It was so like him, the way he kissed. Teasing, playful, easy. Your head spun with how much you liked it.

“Aw fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Sero said, when he finally pulled away far enough to enunciate the words. He shifted against you, putting a large palm against your back, pulling you to him. You followed his guidance, climbing into his lap, chasing his mouth again. You wanted more—more now that you thought you could have it.

“I’ve been wanting—for years—” you said, squeaking in surprise when Sero guided you down onto a strong thigh. It was hard and thick and way too muscular to be allowed, and your breath left you in a harsh hiss. And because this was the most embarrassing day of your life, Sero clocked it immediately, leaning forward in interest.

“You—like that? My—thigh?” he asked curiously.

You could feel your face burning, like someone had just dunked it in a bucket of hot coals. “I–yes. I like everything about you. Including your thighs,” you admitted.

Sero’s hand guided you back down against him, pressing his knee up experimentally. A thrill sang through your veins at the feeling of a piece of him so warm and firm right up against your core. You barely bit back the noise you wanted to make.

“Fuck, this is weirdly hot,” Sero said, leaning in to take your mouth again. You could feel him growing hard against your knee through the fabric of his costume, as his tongue flicked against yours, making your brain go a little woozy.

His arms came around you, holding your waist as he ground his leg up into you, sending a wave of pleasure striking through you like lightning. The moan you’d been trying to hold in finally broke free of you. “Ah—Hanta!”

The sound seem to spark something in him. Sero surged up, his hands making quick work of your shirt as he kissed you, still rocking you against his thigh in a way that made you see stars. You had the wild thought that everything about him was more than you’d ever imagined it would be, from the delicate press of his fingers to the warmth of his thigh to the way the strands of his hair that had escaped brushed across your forehead. Embarrassingly fast, like he knew exactly how to play you, he worked you up to the crest of your pleasure.

You had to put a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Hanta, if you—I’m going to cum if we don’t stop—” you said.

“Oh my god please,” was his only answer, and he pulled you down onto his thigh with renewed vigor. Sparks of pleasure pricked all over your body as he kissed you again, his hands roaming every inch of exposed skin. He left bruising kisses down the side of your throat, fingers playing with your nipples.

Another few rocks into his thigh sent you right over the edge, and he held you against him as you rode it out, squirming against his thigh.

“This is the hottest thing that has ever happened to me,” he said, something in his tone making it clear he was not done with you yet.

He helped you wiggle out of your pants, freeing himself of his own costume, and laid you out over his couch, grinning. He was golden with a fading summer tan, and his smile was so wide and charming and white against the dimming light from the windows. He was gloriously lean, hard with dense, compact stretches of muscle, every single inch of him honed from years of hero work. He was perfect—so stupidly, handsomely, perfect.

Between his thighs, his cock was just as long and lean, heavy and flush with arousal. It made you dizzy to think that this man, who you’d crushed on for so long, wanted you like this—wanted you back in the same way you’d always wanted him. You motioned him closer, too eager now to be self-conscious about it.

Sero laughed, a happy noise. “Fuck, you’re so pretty though.” He stretched out over you, sliding in between your thighs and guiding himself into you. His chest pressed to yours, hot and slick with a light sheen of sweat already, and you hissed with the feeling of him slipping inside you.

You felt drunk with arousal, crazy with want. You clutched him to you as he moved, thrusting carefully at first, as if testing the feeling of you, and then more firmly. You let out soft noises you hadn't meant to, which Sero seemed to appreciate.

“God, look at you. Listen to you,” he said, grinning down at you, his dark eyes tracing over you. “I can’t believe I got hit with that quirk. This is the luckiest day of my life—you’re so cute. So—fuck—so perfect.”

He slid into a frustratingly sedate pace, strokes long and languid, stretching out almost teasingly. You wrapped your legs more tightly around his hips, trying to press him into you, but his smile just widened. He moved leisurely, setting his own pace, just on the wrong side of too slow.

It drove you insane, somehow working you up even faster than if he’d been doing what you wanted. You muffled the sounds of your own moans against his lips, gripping onto those broad shoulders. Sero’s own fingers slid down to your clit, playing with you just as lightly and teasingly as his thrusts.

You could have killed him, but all you could do was hold onto him, slurring his name appreciatively.

He worked you like that for a while, bringing you close but never too close, drawing out the feeling into something warm and fizzy, like soda left in the sun. But eventually the band of his control seemed to snap, and he began thrusting into you harder, faster. Those long, lovely fingers circled your clit with more intent as he did, murmuring a steady stream of praise.

“Please—cum with me,” he panted into your mouth, as his fingers drew ever-tightening circles over you. “I want you to come with me, Y/N. Can you—can you do that?”

You nodded frantically as his thrusts grew faster, sloppier. He was so good inside you, so good over you, his fingers such a delicious pressure against your clit. It only took a few thrusts more, a few strokes of those careful fingers, and then you were squirming against him in earnest, your veins going molten with pleasure.

“Hanta—I’m going to—!”

“Yessss,” he hissed, and then he was orgasming too, spilling out his pleasure inside of you. His hips slapped yours in a stuttering pattern, half-crazed, and you shook against him, gasping. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you crested the wave, until finally—finally you went limp against him, just as his own body relaxed over you.

“I want to be hit with a quirk all the time,” he said, ridiculously.

You couldn’t help but laugh, smiling into his shoulder. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

Sero hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. If this is what I get every time, then…” he trailed off, smirking down at you.

“I’m not going to bang you if you’re going to be irresponsible,” you told him.

He perked up, however, those dark eyes peering at you hopefully. “But you’ll bang me otherwise?”

You laughed again, pinching him lightly on the arm where you held him. “What do you think having a crush on you for years means?”

His grin went all sly and pleased again. “Then I’ll have to lock it down, of course. I haven’t spent months wondering just to let you get away. Starting with dinner this evening, maybe. Do you—would dinner be okay?” he asked. The sound of genuine, eager hope in his voice was so gratifying it made you want to kick your legs in the air.

You settled for nodding instead. “Dinner sounds amazing.”

“Then I’ll arrange the finest takeout just for you,” he said, which you knew from experience meant the empanadas place around the corner. You laughed again, feeling full already with the promise of an easy meal, and a relationship to come.

“Whatever you want sounds good to me,” you said, even as he began to slide off of you, helping you up alongside him. “You’ve had a crazy day today, empanadas sound like the perfect cap.”

Sero leaned in, his expression as mischievous and charming as always. “It’s nothing,” he said, even as he carefully held out your shirt to you again, guiding you into it in an unexpectedly gentlemanly move. You let him stuff you into it, laughing, smiling into the kiss he gave you as you emerged.

He winked at you as he found his phone and dialed, smiling as you heard the call connect. “After all, I'm a hero," he said. "And it’s all in a day’s work.”

#sero x you #sero x reader #sero x y/n #sero hanta x reader #hanta sero x reader #hanta sero x you #bnha x reader #sero smut

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edenesth · 9 days

Text

[5:45 PM]

'Don't wait up for me! Go home first, Woo. There's food in the fridge.' — future wifey💘

Your boyfriend pouted as he read the text you'd sent him at 5pm. He had arrived at your office building and was waiting at his usual spot when he received your message. Normally, you got off work sharp at 5, but today you seemed overwhelmingly busy. Unlike usual, you hadn't even been very responsive during lunch hour.

Wooyoung glanced up and noticed that the lights in your office were among the few still on. Although it was still early, it was a Friday evening, and most people preferred to leave on time and deal with any leftover work on the following Monday.

How long could she take anyway? I'll wait.

Refusing to go home without you, he patiently waited downstairs, hoping to surprise you when you eventually emerged from the building. His unease grew as he watched more and more people leave, the offices slowly emptying, and the sky darkening, yet there was still no sign of you. There were times when you stayed late at work, but never this late.

Nearly an hour later, he sent you a text to let you know he didn't mind waiting and was still in the same spot, asking how much longer you would be. If you needed more time, he'd go to the nearby café for a drink while waiting. But he frowned when 10 minutes passed, and you hadn't even been online; his message was sent but still unread. The final straw was when his call went unanswered.

Despite feeling panic creep in, he tried to stay calm as he walked into the lobby of your office building. Breathe, Jung Wooyoung, breathe. He tells himself you were probably just really busy. But why? You had told him the peak season ended a week ago, so this should have been a slow week. It didn't make sense that you were working so late now. What weren't you telling him?

Crap, is she cheating on me?

Slapping himself on the cheek, he chastised himself for even entertaining such a thought. You had been nothing but the best and most dedicated girlfriend he'd ever had. How could he think that way about you? Now, he only prayed you were alright. What if something had happened to you? What if you had passed out? What if someone at work was doing something untoward to you? He remembered you mentioning a coworker who persistently pursued you despite knowing you were taken.

Well, that wasn’t comforting at all.

"Come on, come on, come on!" he muttered through gritted teeth as he watched the elevator numbers climb slowly. He only needed to get to the ninth floor, but the trip had never felt longer. His mind conjured up all sorts of wild scenarios, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He needed to see you right now, to have you safe and sound in front of him so he could be okay again.

Ding!

Before the elevator doors fully opened, he was already dashing out at full speed. The dim, empty reception counter of your department greeted him as he sprinted towards your office—the only place he knew to go. "I'm coming, love. Just wait for me."

He had no idea what to expect as he saw your door open, the light from your room spilling into the dark and silent office. Anxiety flooded him as he braced for the unexpected. And indeed, it was unexpected. His steps faltered as he stopped to catch his breath at the entrance of your office, eyes glued to the sight before him. He didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the extent of his overthinking.

Wooyoung let out a huge sigh of relief, his eyes softening as he took in your petite frame, now slumped over your workdesk, fast asleep amidst piles of documents. The glaring screen of your PC reflected off your glasses, which were crooked on your face as you snored lightly. Your phone, in silent mode, lay beside you.

This explained everything.

Your boyfriend approached you slowly, careful not to wake you yet. With one glance at your computer, he immediately understood why you had been so busy today. Your team leader's emergency leave had left you responsible for a case that ran into some hiccups. Scrolling down the trail of emails, he felt relieved to see that you had eventually solved the issue. The exhaustion must have hit you hard once the adrenaline was gone.

Gently, he removed your glasses from your face, placing them back in their case before running his hand through your hair, tucking loose strands away from your face. Unable to resist, he leaned down to press a lingering kiss onto your temple.

That seemed to have stirred you awake. You emitted a small groan and fluttered your eyes open, prompting him to step back slightly. But you reached out and held onto his shirt.

"Woo? Wh-what are you doing here?"

He shook his head, planting another kiss on your cheek before standing upright, his hands resting on his hips. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you sleep in the office, hm? Pack up now, we're going home."

Your heart warmed at his words. Just when you thought it wasn't possible to love him any more, he continued to prove you wrong each time. "Yes, sir."

Despite his directive, he ended up doing all the packing for you as your sleepy form waited by his side. After shutting down your PC, he reached for your bag and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "Come, let's go."

Suddenly, in the elevator, he found himself wishing the trip would last longer. He pulled your cardigan snugly around you, sliding an arm behind your back and resting his forehead against yours. Admiring the way your sleep-deprived eyes drooped adorably, he grinned softly, biting his lip. His other hand cupped your face as he whispered, "Just hold on a little longer, love. You'll get to rest soon."

You nodded with a pout, and the sight of your tempting pink, soft lips made a sigh escape his mouth. "Good girl," he muttered before leaning in to capture your lips.

His heart skipped a beat when, despite your exhaustion, you responded to his kiss almost instinctively, though a bit more sluggish than usual. His heart swelled with affection at how your body reacted to him, knowing it was only for him. Stroking your cheeks lovingly, he deepened the kiss, only to let out a disappointed whine when the elevator dinged too soon.

You giggled, gently pushing him away. "You know we can continue in the car, right?" His excitement reignited at the suggestion. Insisting he'd help you with your things and settling you in the passenger seat first, he felt his heart flutter as he hurried to the driver's seat. "Alright, where were we?" he asked eagerly, only to find you fast asleep.

Of course, she's asleep. What did I expect?

He chuckled in disbelief, securing your seatbelt and shaking his head in amusement. As he started driving, he slipped his hand into yours, smiling when he felt your fingers unconsciously curling around his.

God, how he loved you.

ATEEZ Masterlist

This is me failing miserably at my "try to stay loyal to Park Seonghwa challenge" because what the hell is Jung Wooyoung so attractive for? The way bro made me write the longest timestamp to date...

Also, guess who clowned herself thinking she could post the first part of Mingi's TWTHH spinoff this weekend?🤡 it's only 1k+ words in so far, I was out all day yesterday and didn't get to write much huhu but hopefully by next week, it'll be out! Hopefully🤞🏻

Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed this random little timestamp and as always, let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot

#edenesth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #ateez timestamps #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #ateez drabbles #wooyoung drabble #wooyoung fluff #ateez fic #ateez imagines

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 years

Photo

“Converted” Dr.’s office for sale in Berlin Heights, Ohio for $315K. You get ample parking, plus a handicap space. I don’t know if someone did a bad conversion, or if they tried to stage it to look like a home, but it’s listed as a single family residence, not an office. Look at this:

The first thing we see is a glass foyer, hydraulic self-closing doors, lighted exit sign, drop ceiling w/neon lights throughout and an indoor/outdoor carpet.

The waiting room, complete w/a large reception window, is staged as a combination living/dining room. Notice the brochures fanned out on the coffee table, Dr.’s office style.

The property lists 5 bds. This is the main bd., looking completely idiotic.

Each bd. is equipped with cabinets, a sink, subtly checkered linoleum and a writing table.

The office, of course, would make a roomy home office or home schooling space.

Next to the office is a workroom/lab with 2 sinks. Maybe this could be a craft space.

This is staged as the kitchen, but there is no damned kitchen. It was the staff break room. All you have in here is a sink.

It lists 2 baths, but there are no bathing facilities, just 2 restrooms. Ooh, look- a folding diaper changing table.

The realty has included one of these handy confusing 3D layouts of the “home.”

This one’s a little clearer- you can see the bds. 2 bathrooms, etc. It would take a lot of reno to turn this into a house.

The only redeeming quality is that it has a geo-thermal heating system- these are great and cost between $18,000 - $30,000 to install in a single family home. (Is that a weather balloon floating above?)

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/7000-State-Route-113-E-Berlin-Heights-OH-44814/2070315560_zpid/

#converted dr.'s office #dr.'s office conversion #weird real estate #ridiculous real estate #long post

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signsourcesolution · 2 years

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Interior Business Signs and Vinyl Banners for Warehouse Branding

Sign Source Solution design and prints decals, interior lobby signs, and banners for many diverse applications, including messaging and branding for inside commercial workspaces. In October 2021, our little sign shop in Toronto was called upon by Epiroc in Mississauga, the Canadian branch of a Swedish based mining equipment manufacturer. Sign Source Solution was asked to create a wide array of…

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#Lobby Signs #office lobby signs #Office Reception Sign #Sign Source Solution

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pawified · 5 months

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Okay but like imagine trying to visit father figure bf! Nanami while also trying to avoid seeing your dad o__o like Nanami’s probably all like never come see me at work or whatever & you just can’t help surprising him in his office or something n’ he just gives a slight scowl & a big ole kiss or something idk I’m in love

hweo littl anonie ! ur brain is so magical nd im obsessed wif it! here is a treat for waitin patiently for your request ! 𐂯 ! ⊹

to give everyone a break frm all da smut nd wht not here is a tiny but might drabble abt visiting your dad’s boss at work

( for more context read dis / / also !! i love private school uniforms so i gave this au a uniform for college! )

— pls dnt mind da spelling errors . . is almost 3 am nd im fully of energy

ding! you stepped off the elevator, thick mary janes clack against the marble floor as you reach two big spotless floor to ceiling crystal glass doors with a sign that read Jujitsu Law Firm.

you had just gotten out of school, you had no other plans for the day so you decided to stop by your boyfriend’s workplace and surprise him right after school.

the only issue is you’d forgot to pack a change of clothes in your bag for school so you have to wear your uniform. not that it matters but you’d have like to show up to your big time boyfriends job in more of a presentable manner than this but oh well!

pushing the door open, you are met with a big reception desk and classical music playing in the background with the ambient light accompanying. you look around taking everything in before being interrupted.

a women no older than twenty-eight, speaks. “uh, may i help you?” you look down at her desk, you spot a name plate; ‘Mako.’ you read.

“yes! hello, i’m here for Nanami Kento, please.” you give her a smile.

she stares back at you with a raised brow, looking you up and down, taking in your appearance. still sporting your schools outfit, you are dressed in a white button up polo, a red, white and gold neck tie, a oversized navy blue cardigan paired with a black skirt and leg warms.

“do you have an appointment with Mr.Kento.” she all but rudely says. An appointment? why would you need an appointment to see your own boyfriend.

“ uh no. could you please tell him that- “ she cuts you off before you could even finish. “sorry kid, but you can’t see him without an appointment.” her tone irritated with the interaction between you two.

kid? did you really look that young? you’re only twenty-three. before you could spit out a remark on her horrible communication skills, your dotting boyfriend appears from around the corner.

“ ♡ ? “ you turn around, seeing your boyfriend standing there with a surprised look on his face.

“surprise!” you said adorably, walking over and reaching up on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck, his assistant long forgotten. he pulls away taking in your attire, cute as ever he thinks.

“what are you doing here, princess?” still surprised you came and visited him despite voicing your worries about your father being at the office nonetheless finding out about you two, but you put your worries aside and came anyways. kento’s sweet, sweet, girl.

“well i wanted to surprise you, plus . . i missed you.” you shyly stated at the end, looking down and kicking the imaginary dust off your shoes. kento thinks about how soft spoken and gentle you are..always wanting attention, he finds it cute; finds you cute.

“well considered me surprised baby” he almost can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from how embarrassed you are, his heart almost gives out. “are you hungry puppy?” there he goes again, using that nickname that always leaves you wanting more. “have you ate?” he asks again. As if on queue your stomach growls, answering for you.

now in his office, stomach full and plate of food forgotten, you watch kento as he is working at his desk and you are sat on the opposite side. “staring is impolite you know?” he says assumingly.

“i- what, i- wasn’t staring at you.” you rushed out, flustered. kento laughs. his laugh is from deep in his chest, the one that warms your heart and makes you smile. “whatever.” you grumble out.

having enough of his teasing, you stand up from your seat and make your way around the desk, pulling his office chair out to make room for you to squeeze onto his lap.

you place your legs in between the arm holes of the chair that way you are blocking his view from the computer screen, “princess, i can’t see.” you loop your arms around his neck, “that’s the point, gimme kiss.” you whine, kento rolls his eyes playfully and chuckles “so needy..always kento i want , kento gimme, but you never say your please’s or thank you’s.”

he pinches your side, never breaking eye contact. “whoever is teaching you your manners needs to do better. you’re a spoiled brat.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in, kissing your cheek.

you huff, frustrated at not getting your way, “kento just gimme a kiss already-.” you hiss at the conact of a firm smack against your thigh, “so got damn bossy.” he leans in pecking your lips, two times before giving in.

slotting his tongue into your mouth. when kento kisses you like this, it’s like he is trying to take your soul and breath away, you whine trying to pull him closer you grip at his collar and rock your hips, you deepen the kiss by moving your tongue against his; its so messy, it makes your dizzy.

“please, please more gimme” you pant, trying to pull him even closer if that’s possible. his hands has a firm grip on your waist that youre sure will leave a bruise but you couldn’t care less, not when he feels this good.

kento could tell that you are getting desperate. he knows that you are probably teary eyed, sometimes you get to needy and desperate that you don’t think anymore.

“hold on pup, let’s take a breath, yeah?” you whine when he tries to pull away from you. kento is correct, your big doe eyes are teary and you look a wreck. your school uniform is disheveled, skirt is twisted; along with your cardigan that’s halfway off your shoulders.

before either you and kento could continue a knock comes from the door.

“Mr.Kento, Have you seen my daughter? i heard she came to stop by!” your father.

#˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆#𝑝𝑎𝑤 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑠 . . .ฅ𐙚ฅ #𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖 — ♡ ᵎ #kento nanami #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #father figure bf!nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x you #nanami kento #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #nanami calls reader puppy

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rebelliousstories · 20 days

Text

Did You Know?

Relationship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Light Fluff, Allusions to Pregnancy

Word Count: 1,083

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Part Two: I Know Now// Part Three: Somebody Knows// Part Four: What We Know

Summary: Spencer is sent to prison and is waiting on his team to get him out. Meanwhile, his partner is there for morale support.

“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much preforms much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.” Vincent Van Gogh

Never in a million years did she think she would be in this position. Getting a call from Emily in the middle of the night was not what she expected. But to be told that her husband is currently in federal custody and awaiting trial, that was another. But she took it as it came. There was nothing she could do for her husband except just to be there for him. She would never be able to get the image of him in handcuffs in the BAU out of her head, but she was glad she was able to hug him.

“Spence. Oh my Spence.” She hugged him over the handcuffs that were hidden with the jacket. His fingertips were just barely able to grasp on to her shirt to pull her as close as physically possible.

“Hey honey. I’m sorry you have to see me like this. How’s my mom?” He whispered into her ear. Spencer was thankful that everyone decided to keep a healthy distance as the husband and wife reunited.

“She’s good. Wondering when you’re coming home, but I am helping Cassie take care of her. I don’t care about seeing you handcuffed, sweetheart. I’m just glad I can see you and hold you.” Her reply made Spencer want to cry. He knew it was not fair to her to have to deal with this whole situation. Stepping back, she pressed a sweet kiss to his lips and tried to convey all of the lover she felt into that kiss. Pulling away completely, she watched as he accepted embraces from his teammates.

If only they knew at the time, how much of a roller coaster this was going to be. She sat on the prison bus waiting to be taken to the facility. Being able to see her husband was wonderful, except for the fact that she would be sitting across from him in a cubicle, with a sheet of glass separating them. The bus ride was bumpy, but thankfully it was over quick. Stepping off, her hair was swept away in the windy weather outside.

Walking inside the correctional facility, her eyes kept scanning the room, looking for any threats. A side effect from working for the FBI all those years ago. Now, it only served as a reminder of where she had once been, and of how her husband became that title. She walked up to the reception desk and placed her id down.

“Inmate name?” The officer asked. Her voice was devoid of any emotion.

“Spencer Reid. I’m his wife.” She supplied her name, and waited as the officer scanned a list and then her ID again.

“You’re not on the list. Next!” The officer yelled, pushing the woman off to the side. She stood there dumbfounded as she was handed back her ID, but knew better than to fight with the officer. Her body, especially her heart felt numb as she walked outside and waited for the bus to take her back to the car lot. Why was she denied access to see her husband? JJ was able to see him; so why was she not?

After the numbness wore off, rage fueled her. It kept her going all the way to the FBI headquarters where she signed in for a visitor’s pass silently. Marching her way into the BAU’s office on the sixth floor, she noticed how everyone was still there thankfully. She made her way over to JJ, who was surrounded by Tara, Matt, and Stephen.

“Hey,” JJ greeted, ”how are you doing?”

“Don’t give me that.” She snapped, leaving the agents in a state of shock. Never had she ever snapped, not even raised her voice.

“Whoa, what is going on?” The blonde woman asked, holding her hands up in surrender.

“Did you know?” Mrs. Reid growled, with her patience wearing thin.

“Did I know what? You’re not making any sense.” JJ tried to reason and de escalate the situation, but Emily and David were already out of their offices and looking out at the bullpen.

“Did you know when you went to visit Spence that he had put me on the ‘no visit’ list?” There it was. The million dollar question. JJ remained silent for a minute, but her face did the talking before her words caught up.

“Listen, you have to understand his reasons.” She tried to reach for the woman, but she slipped out of the way.

“You knew? And you didn’t tell me? I just got back from there, hoping to see my husband and check in on him. Only to be turned away at the gate. And you never told me?” Now, she was yelling. It was scary to see the former profiler turned professor yell. She spoke sternly sometimes sure, but she never raised her voice in anger.

“He wants to protect you from the inside. Spence asked us not to tell.” A slip of the tongue and now her fury was leveled to everyone.

“You all knew?” Prentiss and Rossi made their way down the stairs by this point.

“Yes, we did.” The dark haired agent said, walking along with her right hand man.

“Spencer doesn’t want you to see him like that so he asked if we would not tell you that he had put you on that list.” Emily placed her hand on the woman, and it was like her strings were cut. Rage left and was followed by intense depression. Sobs wracked her body as she crumpled to the floor. Emily tried to grab her, but Luke was the one that actually got his arms around her.

There was nothing left for her now. Everything came crashing down around her; her world was shattered. She thought about every interaction that she had ever had with Spencer. There were probably some that she was missing, but she was not blessed with his memory skills. But every major moment came to her at that time. The first time they met, their first date, when he introduced her to his mom, their proposal and wedding. Rubbing her stomach, she wondered when she would wake from this nightmare and be safe in her husband’s arms once again.

Zsa Zsa Gabor said, “To be loved is a strength. To love is a weakness.”

#rebelliousstories #writing #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jereau #tara lewis #stephen walker #penelope garcia #luke alvez

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shibaraki · 1 year

Text

GOD’S LONELIEST CREATION ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: as head of the mothman study you’ve devoted countless nights to observing your subject from behind the glass. you liked to think those many months spent together contributed to a sense of camaraderie, but time is merely a cradle gently lulling you into false security— and shouta is nothing if not patient.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (mention of ovulating), monsters + cryptids au, mothman aizawa, implied monster hunting, captivity, cryptozoologist reader, possessiveness, dubcon to eventual enthusiastic consent, oblivious reader, monsterfucking, mating behaviour, breeding, mentions of size difference (he is 7ft; called ‘little human’ +‘little flame’), vaginal oral sex + tongue fucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, non-human genitalia, oviposition (reader receiving; but no belly bulging), unprotected vaginal sex, *slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn!!

wc: 7k+

A/N: now with art of mothzawa!!!! thank you so much, feral!

Tucked away into the seam between Shizuoka and Musutafu is the UA Cryptobiology research centre. In the eyes of the public it was an extension of the nearby UA University and largely harmless. Cryptids kept there are not advertised, atleast, not the living ones.

The building is huge. An architectural giant, and a stain on the natural landscape. You’ve worked there for years yet still find yourself struck by just how foreboding it looks. Head ducked, you slip past the thin crowd protesting by the security gate, staff card hidden in the sleeve of your shirt.

While they are few in number their voices are loud and accusing. You flinch at the vitriol as you try to reach the scanner. There was a small earthquake in a nearby prefecture a few days ago which was the likeliest reason they had gathered here.

On days like this you couldn’t help the thought that no amount of scientific research would wipe away the countrywide consensus on cryptids. Very early on in your career you came to understand why your superiors lied about the live subjects. If these people knew the truth they could probably birth a calamity all of their own.

Unfortunately it is not only the monstrous who are a target. You lock eyes with a guard standing by the gates and slip your keycard into the shallow of your palm. Nodding in acknowledgement, he places the whistle hung around his neck between his lips and the moment you swipe in he blows, hard.

The gate clicks and unlocks with a short beep that is drowned out by the noise. You walk through and quickly push it closed behind you. Thank you, you mouth over to him, scurrying across the lot toward the main doors. He offers a flippant wave in return.

You enter the mouth of the lobby. It is a wide dome shaped room with high ceilings that houses most of the lecture rooms, and acts as a junction to other parts of the facility. Looking up, you can see each floor twisting into a spiral.

Centred is the reception desk; large and circular to make room for five staff members to be seated at any given time. Yamada is there today, dressed with his shirt cuffs pushed to the elbow, waist length hair braided up into a ponytail. He leans dangerously far back in his chair and twiddles a pen between his fingers. Your unease falls away at the familiar sight.

“Yamada,” you intone sternly. A grin pulls at your lips when he startles. The wheels on his office chair squeak as he rights himself. Wide sheepish eyes land on you and narrow in disbelief.

“Don’t do that,” he pouts, dragging himself closer to the desk, casting another nervous glance toward his coworker. “Bully! I could’ve broken my neck”.

“Then you would’ve thanked me for the two months paid sick leave”.

Yamada smirks, peering at you above his yellow tinted lenses “…Touché”.

You rest both arms on the countertop and lean over, holding a hand out to receive the sign in sheet. “You have a good weekend?” you ask, falling back into idle pleasantries while you skim over the names already on the register. Hatsume Mei. Huh, you think. She’s early.

“Kan and Kayama dragged me out drinking,” Yamada admits tiredly, massaging two fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, opening again to glare at your huff of laughter. “Sure love laughing at my misfortune, don’t’cha? I think you’re spending too much time with those ghouls”.

Signing your name in the next blank row, you give a brief glance at the watch on Yamada’s wrist to mark the time. “Comes with the territory,” you murmur, amused by the whine in his voice, setting the pen and register down on his desk with some finality. “Seen Mei today? She signed in already”.

“You bet. That girl is hard to miss,” he slides the sheets toward his front. “Speaking of…” you turn at the amused hum. His pen is pointed left like the needle of a compass leading directly to a familiar figure. Hatsume is clutching her clipboard with a tenuous grip as she scurries through the lobby, pink hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Her gaze finds you and she perks up. You lift a hand to return a wave as she beckons you frantically. It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of her. Hatsume was the rare type— she loved this job. Any small change or news could garner this reaction from her.

The excitable exclamation of your name draws the attention of the people around you, though the intern remains entirely unperturbed, almost tripping over her feet to get to you. “Mei,” you smile, instinctively stepping forward with arms held open in case she stumbles. “What’s all the noise about? Did something happen?”

“Food!” she pants heavily, grasping your forearm for balance. Her eyes are wide and beseeching as if the word alone was enough to explain her enthusiasm. It doesn’t.

Slow, you repeated, “…Food?”

The band keeping her hair tied back loosens while she nods. “It’s the mothman. He’s not eating!”

“He’s not…” you blink. “Oh!” The realisation trickles in, and you find yourself gripping onto Hatsume’s arms with bruising pressure as it washes over you. Your cheeks ache and she mirrors your grin.

Yamada clears his throat, interrupting before you have the chance to speak. “What’s so great about that?” he asks. “Wouldn't that be a sign that he’s sick or something?”

“No,” you breathe. Energy buzzes lightning-quick under your skin. Restless, you begin to shake Hatsume where she stands, and the two of you laugh in astonishment. “It means he’s hoarding!”

“Hoarding?”

“Mothman cryptids will take food back to their nests for their partners but,” the burst of joy dwindles, then. You worry at your bottom lip. “But… previous observations show that this behaviour should come after they’ve met a potential mate”.

“You think we should be worried?”

“I think it’s unusual”.

Hatsume doesn’t wilt. She shrugs your doubts off like water to a duck’s back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and handing over the clipboard. As always, the notes are verbose but organised. Detailed down to the very last time stamp.

There, written in pen, it states that at 11:58 the mothman was seen hovering by the food hatch. It clarified that there were no signs of aggression or posturing. Shouta was simply waiting. Shouta never waits. At 12:00 his usual weekly meal was given and instead of consuming it immediately as he normally would, Shouta gathered the food to his chest and took flight.

You’re rushing off toward the cryptid wing before Hizashi can press any further. Hatsume is at your heel, her quick light-footed steps echoing through the corridors.

The mothman enclosure is immense. Space is required— most cryptids can grow up to seven feet or above, and their wings even taller. Separated from your observation deck by a thick, bulbous glass window, you needed to crane your head just to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, which remained mostly covered by a canopy.

Flora covers the entirety of the forest floor. The foliage is so dense that sometimes seeing further is impossible, which in turn makes your job that much harder; but it’s worth it, for the sake of Shouta’s comfort. Unlike your predecessors, you strongly advocated for him. You viewed him as an individual, another sentient being with autonomy, and thought building a good foundation of trust could only lead to better data overall.

The facility is vastly different to the outside world. Blacked out nest boxes were placed around the area, hidden away for him to choose from however he pleased, as well as broad net columns where he can rest. Your team was instructed to begin adjusting the seasons months ago. Gradually, the temperature was changed to mimic fall. The fauna acclimated, dousing the otherwise dark and dreary forest in a warm colour palette.

Tawny leaves perched loosely on branches like a flock of goldfinches. Camouflaged behind them are two red dots emitting an unblinking glow. It is very unlike him to be this close to the deck so early in the evening. Waiting for more food, maybe. You note that thought down. You see his eyes follow the movement of your pen and smile.

Mothman cryptids are bipedal winged humanoids. They have always been notoriously aloof and difficult to study. Catching them outright was nigh impossible. They’re a highly intelligent species, and very sensitive to their surroundings. Your best bet was to inflict injury first and capture later when an infection set in.

Shouta was different from the start. So unlike his kin that you sometimes wondered if the research collated about him was permissible. He had been wounded badly by nearby collectors and managed to escape, but rather than relocate, he entered the facility of his own volition. You’d heard the stories. An eldritch being prying open the doors, thick steel bending like paper, the employees paralysed with fear, rendered unable to do anything except kneel under the intense pressure of his glare.

They had been so frightened that the shivering malachite bundle in his arms almost went amiss. A Peryton fawn matted with blood. Director Yagi supposedly spit blood of his own when he noticed.

Shouta never left after that.

Everyone figured the rumours were exaggerated. A mothman wouldn’t surrender itself for the sake of another, not even it’s own kind. That is the universal truth— all cryptids are incapable of empathy. Their sole purpose is to serve as the herald of death, and death bringers did not save life. They took it.

While you knew that to be ostensibly untrue it will never matter. Monster hunting was a tradition practiced for millennia. Accepting that they might be capable of emotion would cast doubt upon such practices. More than anything humanity needed justification for their wrong doings; condemning something as monstrous only renders such violence as heroic.

You, however, had a fascination with them since you were a child. Those unanswered questions and curiosities are what led you to cryptozoology, and ultimately, into cryptid behavioural research. Having Shouta’s care handed over to you was a dream come true.

Shouta was averse to people and made that known; keepers could be found petrified by the feeding hatch, trembling in place for hours if they weren’t careful. Which is why your superiors were greatly pleased by his reaction to you.

You couldn’t confidently say he liked you— could a mothman like anyone? But the cryptid was, at the very least, intrigued by his new handler.

Within the first meeting you recorded vocalisations that were previously undiscovered. Soft chittering and clicks, surprisingly pleasing to the ear; it had a hypnotic quality to it that could almost lull you to sleep. The common denominator was you— rather, Shouta only ever made those sounds when you were visibly anxious, and you often toyed with the notion that he was attempting to soothe you.

You tried not to indulge in such hypotheses as not to cloud your judgment. Humans had a bad habit of anthropomorphising the things they cared about. Countless cynics argued that animals do not love, they simply form attachments to those that provide for them. Shouta may only treat you better because you are the first human to show him sincere respect but that didn’t matter.

Whether your place in his life was just that of a nuisance or not, you cared for him and his wellbeing all the same. That’s what made this so invigorating— not only answers to questions that plagued your field for centuries, but the real possibility that your subject might finally have true companionship.

Your mouth twists as your thoughts drift, imagining the smell of decay percolating in one of his nest boxes now that he was hoarding. Shouta could eat anything within reason if he needed to, but his preferred diet was on the bitter side. Rotted fruits and the like which had a more acidic, sour taste to it, though he could be partial to dry pantry food in the hotter months.

Mothman have been known to feast on flesh, too, in desperate times. Though it is rare for them to acquire the taste for human meat; too mild and too rubbery.

If he truly is readying for a mate then he would soon need more food, materials and bedding. The foliage worked as a foundation but you’re aware mothman cryptids liked to weave silk or cashmere into the structure for the young to cling to and eat.

That gives you pause. Your grimace curls into a wide, exuberant grin, that you immediately shield behind the clipboard. We could end up with babies this year, you think. The first to ever be bred in captivity— a near impossible feat.

Shouta’s antennae are fluttering. Their movements fracture the stillness of the canopy and make known his position. You stare long enough for the dark blob amongst the trees to sharpen into a solid silhouette.

A mothman has a wingspan of around thirteen feet. These measurements aren’t entirely accurate, because Shouta refused to allow anyone to touch them, but the sheer size was obvious at a distance even where they remained tucked to his spine, cocooning him in darkness.

They are covered in loose tiny hairs acting as scales for insulation, while creating intricate, iridescent patterns along the inner forewings that can only be seen in moonlight when open— a gift saved in hopes of wooing a mate. Maybe you’d finally get a glimpse this year.

“Hey big guy,” you call out. Your voice jostles his wings and beckons him forward. Shouta balances himself on a thick cedar branch directly across from the observation deck, a rare sight. He is magnificent in the artificial daylight.

Hatsume releases an awed breath behind you. “Gah, he’s always so responsive to you! I’m jealous!”

Shouta barely acknowledges her presence. His attention is steadfast, pinpointed to your every move; unblinking, lest you disappear from vision. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just known me longer, is all,” you demurred, turning to her with a reassuring smile.

But she is seeing beyond you. The hair on the nape of your neck prickles and suddenly a sinistrous shadow stretches across the deck. Mei flinches back reflexively and you daren’t look back. What was ephemeral fear in her features blossoms into wonderment.

Then, a tapping sound that echoes in your chest. It is careful and somehow that makes it all the more daunting. Brushing off the unease, you pivot on your heel, coming face to face with Shouta. Both wings have hunched forward to create a cocoon of darkness, his pale face barely visible.

Another tap, accompanied by a smooth rumble. His large hand is pressed up against the glass. You step closer and his wingspan widens just a fraction. The light reflects in his eyes. He is right in front of you, so contrivedly real-looking that it feels like it must be fake.

Call it curiosity, or stupidity, or an amalgamation of the two. You outstretch your arm. The pane feels cold where your body presumes warmth. You align your palm with his and it swallows yours, fingers splayed open, still unable to reach the width of his hand.

“Hi there…” you exhale, having to crane your head to hold his gaze. Shouta’s jaw shifts as he clicks his teeth and you are reminded just how impressive a mothman cryptid’s hearing is. “You’re acting all out of sorts, huh. Want more food for the nest, right?”

Dark talons leave marks on the thick glass, hairline fractures stemming from point of impact. His gaze darkens. Hatsume gasps when he shakes his head and you can’t blame her. Cryptids rarely communicated directly with handlers.

“No?” you repeat, brows pinched into a frown. Then, to yourself, “Nesting materials, then? Already? But it can’t be, surely”.

The choice is a difficult one. Every potential mate your team introduced Shouta to throughout the years has been adamantly rejected. There was never an effort to impress or prove himself. He either flat out ignored them or attempted to kill them. You want to enable his new behaviours— to encourage it, even — but there was no mate yet.

Pseudocyesis comes to mind. Though this situation is far different, you wondered whether something in Shouta’s environment had triggered these instincts.

The rich baritone in his purr vibrates against your hand. His eyes blink slow and beseeching, full of apparent hunger, emitting that dewy red glow. Distantly, you register the dull scratch of pencil to paper. Rambling whispers fall from Hatsume’s mouth as she writes, documenting everything the way you taught her to.

“I think,” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. Your throat feels dry and the implication behind your next words stings. “I think he wants me to go inside his enclosure”.

A sane person would immediately put their foot down and tell you no. Director Yagi himself would try to talk you down. However, Hatsume Mei is a far cry from sane. She barely considers her own safety, let alone yours.

“What for?” she chimes impatiently. “I noticed he has been keeping an eye out for a specific person all morning— it must’ve been you. Do you think he could really be sick like Yamada said? Since he’s humanoid we can test if our medicines work on him!”

“Mei,” you interrupt, your voice cutting through her exuberance. She shrinks somewhat and you feel bad for being so sharp with her. “No, I’m not sure if he’s sick. And no, our medication only works to an extent. The dose needs to be dangerously high and cryptids burn through it faster than it can be replaced”.

Shouta observes the interaction. The tension in his wings looks ready to snap, and the feathery fingers of his antennae have started to shiver. You take in the sight of your overlapped hands once more and step away, clenching it into a fist at your hip.

“Anyone who goes into a cryptid’s den doesn’t come out,” Hatsume comments, tone uncharacteristically somber.

“I trust him,” you reassured, leveling the mothman with a contemplative stare. He ducks into the fluffy plumage around his neck and glares. “Mostly”.

Hatsume snickers. The weight in your chest lifts and you smile at her. She’s still young. Too young to bear any responsibility for what might happen.

“Something is telling me I have to go in there. It’ll keep me up at night if I don’t,” you continue, adding emphasis with a pointed finger. “This was my idea and mine alone. Do not send anyone in after me. Capiche?”

She gives a mock salute, “Yes boss!”

Each wing with a cryptid enclosure has a staircase leading from the observation deck to a feeding room. You descend the stairs, too aware of Shouta’s stare, which followed until you were out of sight.

The room is dull. Devoid of natural light, furnished only by three large chest freezers and a closet full of linens. There is a hatch the size of a shoebox that can be pulled open to safely deposit food through, and adjacent is a vault door reinforced with steel and concrete.

You open the closet and parse through the fabrics. Admittedly a long shot as far as ‘I come in peace’ gestures go, but the only thing you can think might help. Silk slides petal-soft between your fingers and you tuck it under your arm, joined by another cashmere blanket, smooth and noticeably light.

The vault door requires both a code and a staff card. You input the code and swipe your card. The affirmative beep pierces through your equilibrium. Shouta is not harmless. But you are, and you’re hoping he knows that.

A loud click echoes into the feeding room. You grasp the handle and take one last steely inhale before heaving, struggling with the incredible weight. You curse the door as it groans on its hinges, alerting everything nearby of your arrival.

Mothman feast on anything. Vegetation and flesh, fresh or rotted, but legend always spoke of their hunger for misery. They coveted disaster and fed on it, babe to breast, and somehow grew hungrier the more they swallowed.

You step into the enclosure. The door shuts with a loud foreboding slam and locks automatically.

Shouta does harm to those who would harm him. He feasts on fruit. On cereal and rice. You’d watched him suck through ten packets of coffee jelly, but never misery. If anyone were to ask you, you would tell them that Shouta conjured the very opposite of misery.

You remind yourself of that repeatedly until your thoughts coalesce into white noise. The earth is soft beneath your boots. Something darts through the treeline, gone in a blink, and you feel the hair on your arms stand on end.

Easing into the surroundings, you cautiously call out to him, “…Shouta? You here, big guy?”

A low hum resonates throughout the trees. You feel it more than you hear it, almost like a caress. It coaxes a familiar warm feeling into the pit of your stomach, willing all tension from your muscles until the blankets pinned to your side unfold, falling onto the ground.

A coronal mist has set in, orchestrated by a chattering sound you know well. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. It’s harder to breathe now. Shaking, you try to advance. Your body is quickly paralysed by the innate urge to flee.

Shouta’s presence echoes throughout the brush and sinks it’s claws into you— throbs under your skin in time with your heart. But if you ran, would that make his blood sing? Would he interpret it as a challenge to prove his worth, or a rejection for which to kill you?

The air is temperate. That perfect balance between cool and humid. Lush oranges and yellows branch out into every corner. Light bleeds through the thinning canopy, the ground dappled with sunspots. This isn’t such a terrible place to die.

You don’t hear or see him. Like before, you feel him first. Fear washes over you and steals your breath. Shouta is at your back, shaping himself to your body in a way that boasts how large he is in comparison. You stay stockstill while he touches you, nosing gently at your throat.

Finding your voice, you croak his name. An eldritch purr shudders through him and he grasps at your hips, pulling them back against him. You exhale at the obvious press of his cock to your back. Those soft chitters you had come to love drown out the panic that follows your realisation.

You were the intended mate.

Death stands behind you, arms cinched around your middle, mouthing along the nape of your neck like he loves you. The line between instinct and desire is deceptively thin. You wonder if Shouta knows the difference, or if he equates love with the heat of your blood spilling into his mouth, seams undone by the touch of his lips.

Your legs collapse beneath you, hitting the floor. A grubby applause from the dirt dances around your knees. Shouta accepts your dead weight as though it were nothing, his wings enveloping you both in an abrupt darkness.

Minuscule scales shimmer and reflect the glaring bioluminescence radiating from his eyes. Before you is a sky soaked crimson and blood spattered stars. “Is this…” you start, voice caught in your throat. It should be harrowing. People would call it a depiction of hell. You call it beautiful.

Shouta tucks his nose into your jugular with a warm hum and you feel sharp teeth protruding beneath his lips. Neck ruffle tickles soft against your skin, keeping you tight to his torso, enough that you think he could consume you whole. He’s pleased. You can tell.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest. It’s as if you are a teenager again, sneaking out with someone to see a clear starry night. The moment is incredulously human.

A mothman does not bare his wings to anyone but his mate. Even in flight they are too fast to be seen. You are so enamoured by it that you don’t notice the shift in gravity until the force on your body lightens and your stomach drops.

You squeak. Frantically clinging to his shoulders and turning your face into his neck, Shouta makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. Your body sways in his arms as the too-corporeal trees rise to meet him. What you cannot see you listen out for; leaves rustling, groaning branches, any sign to indicate where you’ve landed.

When his wings retract the shadows do not recede. You’ve been brought to a dark place. A few metres above your head there is a long slit of light bleeding into the lofty space. You’re distinctly reminded of a grave. That thought makes your heart thump hard against your rib cage.

A calm tenor breaks the silence and you refocus on the figure above. Red eyes bleed into the darkness. Long black hair drapes over his shoulders and blends into the light fluffed ruff of his neck, reminiscent of a scarf that extends down his chest and back into his large wings, which he has tucked closely behind him.

Broad feathery antennae flicker on top of his head, so distinctly insect-like, but his body and hands are startlingly human— it would be, if not for the black tipped talons that grew from each finger and toe.

“Are you still frightened?”

You realise you’re being cradled with deliberate care, as if you might shatter. He treats you like this is the first time he has ever met another living thing. There is barely any pressure behind the claws curled at the base of your neck. All you can think is that he’s warm. Soft. Guided by wonder, inhibitions lost in a concussive fog, you reach up to cautiously touch his face.

Shouta had multiple nests. The team before you took over had planted cameras in all of them only for their recordings to be destroyed, pieces left strewn by the food hatch. It agitated him, thus you respected those wishes. But in doing so you also cut off any means of behavioural observation.

This meant you knew of them, but nothing more than that. You had no idea which nests he actually used. You had no idea how he spun them, or what they looked like from the inside.

What you have been lowered into is not a grave, though it is deep and narrow. The bedding yields, padded under your back, emanating the smell of upturned earth and petrichor.

This is his primary nest.

Your tongue feels too thick for your mouth. “You can… you can speak?”

A black tipped finger hooks into the collar of your shirt. You feel it sharp like a knife's edge, and the fabric rips with barely any pressure. Shouta snorts. And then, “Your kind is strange. Presumptuous,” he traces over the swell of your breast. “And soft”.

There’s only intent to satiate his curiosity, but you feel something dangerously warm coil low in your belly. The broad, feathered antennae atop his head curl toward you, almost prehensile in nature, as if they can sense it.

“You can’t,” words fail you as his tongue glides over your pulse. “You’ve never spoken before. You can’t blame me for being surprised”.

“That wouldn’t be logical,” he murmurs. You exhale shakily as his teeth nip gently at your lobe, pressing what could be a kiss to the shell. “It’s not as if your primitive ears would be able to hear me through the glass”.

The baritone of his voice frissons down your spine and you find yourself clenching your thighs. Shouta braces over you until he is all there is— and you are all he sees.

You argue fruitlessly in attempts to maintain self control, “We could’ve talked through the speakers”.

“We could have. But then the other humans would know this part of me,” he replies plainly. “Is that what you want?”

You’re a little embarrassed by the immediate ‘no’ that rolls onto the tip of your tongue. You bite it and let your silence answer for you. A disservice to your team and to your research— you seek truths and yet the truth is you are secretly happy that this is yours and yours alone.

Shouta huffs. He brings your foreheads together and your knees part reflexively to make room for him as he settles between them. The shine in his eyes has dimmed into a simmer. It reminds you of a pyre after the fire has burned; the glowing ash left to cool overnight.

“If I had not played along and acted beastly you wouldn’t have paid attention,” he continues. You tremble as he slots against the cradle of your hips, a suggestive pulse felt between your legs. The size of his body forces your legs wider around his waist. His cock is heavy and the heat emanates through your work pants. He doesn’t move, and he waits.

“You…” you’re breathless when it hits you. “You could’ve left all this time”.

He rises slowly at your words and tilts his head, beckoning you to continue. There is an unwavering composure about him that leaves you uneasy. You got the sense he knew your thoughts before you voiced them.

“You stayed and cooperated with our research. Even though… Some of them treated you like an animal. You could be anywhere but here”.

Shouta gives a disapproving chitter. The sound devolves into a hum. He settles a large hand on the top of your head and leans back into your space, uncomfortably close, as if to impress the answer upon you. “Here is where I am supposed to be”.

He’s not a monster, just something that wants to belong.

Your hand smooths over his cheek to his hair, the other guiding his palm to your chest where your heart sits. He squeezes at your chest, curious. Gentle fingertips brush the antennae rooted in a crown of thick black hair. The sweet resonant purr surges and you watch the touch shudder through his body in awe.

Your blood sings, reacting to his desperate call with a burst of exhilaration. A thought crosses your mind— had it been you he was chasing, or this feeling?

Was this how it felt to be a predator?

“Here. With me…” you rasp, wetting your lips as your eyes fall to his mouth. Shouta smiles and you have to temper the urge to touch his teeth. “I’ve worked here for a long time. Why wait until today?”

“Courting takes time. And though I was sure of you I knew you weren’t ready,” he rasps, rocking up against your sex. A gasp catches in your throat and his antennae flutter in response. “I can smell that you are now”.

“Smell?”

Shouta hums an affirmative. “All creatures have a cycle. Your body changes over the weeks,” the hand over your heart descends to your stomach, resting above your waistband. The repetitive stroke of his thumb is doting, almost. “Soon you will be ovulating”.

You are torn between horror and amazement. The craving to write this down was insatiable. Truthfully it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Shouta could know that— he was finely tuned to his environment. That was the entire purpose of chemoreception.

Regardless, that knowledge instills a sense of vulnerability in you. The scales felt tipped entirely in his favour and there was nothing you could hide from him. It was equally liberating and frightening.

A quiet trill pulls you from your thoughts. He must pick up on your anxiety, because mothman crowds you back against the nest and you sink further with a weak smile, your fingers threading into his fur. Wildflowers and long grass borders your periphery. You hadn’t much chance to appreciate his hard work in the dark.

“Shouta,” you faltered. Perhaps you should be more concerned that giving yourself to him was never a question. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I’m just a human”.

“I see that,” he stated dryly. “But you are my little human. My mate. This is not up for debate”.

Memories surrounding your tentative relationship over the years come to the forefront of your mind. How purposeful and gentle he was, the obvious preference for your company, his willingness to share his secrets and weaknesses just to see you satisfied.

The pregnant pause is mistaken for hesitance. Shouta brings your hand to his throat, inner wrist tickled by the plumage. Soft hair trails up his neck and thins by his jaw. Behind him, his wings unfurl and stretch. Pushing the heel up to his jugular, you feel six deliberate clicks. The rhythm of each is individual, some pitched and others deep, and the silence between is different in length, almost similar to morse code.

“What did you say?”

“Your name,” he rumbles.

There is underlying significance you aren’t privy to, yet you feel it all the same. You meet his gaze. Skin feverish, breathes coming quicker. Your hips twitch helplessly and he bites back a croon.

“Okay. Touch me, ” you slowly coil your arms around his neck and bring him into an embrace. He goes doubtlessly, engaging you with knees settled either side of your hips.

Shouta cuts your clothes off carefully and with ease. The simple hook of a talon and they tore like thin paper. His tongue, long and tube-like at the tip, glides between your breasts, flicking over your nipples and watching with fascination. It’s as though the roles have switched. You are the subject now.

You laugh breathily as he nuzzles into you, palming at your soft stomach. Shouta works his way down your body, giving a curious churring sound as more of your body reveals itself. He tears away your pants, but rather than discard them, he tucks them into the borders of the nest.

The air feels good on your skin, cool where it kisses your arousal. “Hold yourself open for me,” he says. “I want to taste you”.

An overwhelming wave of embarrassment washes over you as he guides your hands to the back of your thighs, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders. Pressure behind his claw-tipped fingers, Shouta gently pries your folds apart to demonstrate his wishes. “Like this”.

You moan, bear down on his tongue at the first lick as it glides over your clit, a shudder rolling through your body at the threat of his teeth. He descends again and again with bottomless yearning, no longer hunger, rather like an elastic compulsion pulled impossibly taut.

A pleased chitter vibrates against you. His wings extend and shudder, looming above like tapestry. “So good,” he breathes in, shameless as he noses along your cunt. “So warm. You smell even better than usual”.

The muscles in your thighs clench as the narrow tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You push down into your heels with a weak cry of complaint and he obliges, gently pushing inside you.

Your breathing falters. “Sh—Shouta,” you croak, reaching down desperately to grasp his plumage the deeper he sinks. It feels never ending, flexing and twisting experimentally as he draws out, still keeping his lips pressed up against you.

Gradually he builds a rhythm. Observing raptly from his place between your legs, his gaze never strays, gleaming when your hips buck into his mouth. It’s his expression that spurs you on— that rapt, intense desire.

Shouta stretches you on his tongue, the obscene slick sound of saliva echoing throughout his nest. The tension low in your belly coils, taut, and you feel it pulse. Your toes curl and you let out a loud, broken moan that sounds like relief.

“Don’t stop. Feels so good,” you keen, balancing right at the crest. Shouta’s pace grows anxious the closer you get, his big hands palming at your thighs, talons pinching skin. He forces them wider as he presses his weight into you with a long groan. “Yeah. That’s it, make me cum. Oh fuck—!”

A moment passes without air, yanked under by the force of it. Your body wrings tight and the tension snaps. Undone, loose at the seams as he takes you through the aftershocks quaking through your body.

You return to yourself, registering the quiet hum reverberating in your skull. Shouta nuzzles your sensitive clit before making his way up your torso. He smells like sex. His ruff, chin and cheeks are wet with arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks over the seam of your lips, and shivers when they part to meet him.

The kiss is strange; not quite a kiss, more a press of mouths. You suppose it can’t be helped with teeth like his. His effort is far more endearing than it has any right to be.

Brief fatigue washes over you and settles into a giddy afterglow. The black spots in your vision dissipate. A short, soft chitter comes from his throat. The noise is familiar— they’re exactly like the sounds he would make when you were anxious.

“I’m okay, Shouta. You— You’re a bit too good at that,” you reassured, taking his face into your palms and feeling it in his cheeks when he smiles. The shifting wings behind his head draw your attention as they flutter. He’s near enough for you to reach out and stroke them.

They’re breathtaking. The texture is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You pause at his squirming, “Does it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh. You think that will never get old. “It doesn’t hurt”.

“Feels nice?”

“Too nice,” he says, stroking your hips. Lifting your hips, you grind lightly over his cock. You swallow, noticing how much it had grown, now completely unsheathed. Shouta reflexively chases the feeling, bucking up against your sex. You both hiss at the sensitivity.

Timidly, you ask, “Can I see?”

He nods.

The size is daunting. His cock is curved, long, but more notably it is thick. Fleshy in colour and hot, leaking a clear liquid over your hand. Ribbed around the shaft, the slight bumps slide under your palm as you bring your fist up to the narrowed head. No spikes. Good. If you met God you’d thank him.

It is crowned by sensitive skin, not unlike a human’s, but in gently pulling it back you find it reminds you more of an ovipositor. Shouta’s rumbling deepens, head hung between his shoulders. Drapes of long dark hair fall to curtain his face. His antennae quiver in place, wide red eyes looking back at you.

You feel yourself ache with unfulfilled arousal. Pressing your thighs together does nothing but tease. Shouta watches you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs, his chest heaving as you glide him through your wet folds, drenching yourself in his slick.

The cryptid pushes into you with a gentleness that is almost terrifying in its intensity— so out of place for a supposed harbinger of suffering. “Careful, little human,” he rasps, an ever present humming in his chest.

A pleasant tingling sensation begins to spread throughout your abdomen, relaxing your muscles, like sinking into the soothing heat of a hot bath. You’ve long shut off your avid questions, rendered thoughtless and pliant by the pressure. “Oh,” you exhale, struggling to keep your eyes open. He’s barely halfway in.

Shouta pulls out slowly and rocks back in, repeating the motion as you open up to him. You crane your head, jaw slack as you moan, reaching out to the immense silhouette above you. Everything about him is big. It’s all you can notice. He’s taking handfuls of you, kneading the fat at your thighs, hooking around them and pushing your knees toward your chest.

“Look at you,” his voice is thick and trembling. You whine, watching the way you swallow around him, clit swollen and twitching. “Perfect,” he rasps, the mix of your arousal dampening the fur around his base. He pulls out again, tantalisingly slow, and your legs start to shake.

“Shouta,” you choke, not knowing what it was you were asking for. He gives it to you anyway, rocking forward in one harsh movement, setting a pace that splits you in two. You can almost feel his cock is in your throat; touching parts of you you didn’t know existed; carving out space for himself and making a home of it.

The earlier mindfulness is gone. Shouta sets a divine pace. He shifts on his knees, gripping at your waist with his talons pressing into skin, pulling you down onto his cock. Praises have dwindled into a language you cannot understand, but you recognise those six successive clicks— he’s calling your name, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ah. What is—?!”

The hypothesis is reaffirmed by the sensation of him stretching you further, widening inside you, inflating as something pulses through his shaft, abandoning his body and slipping into yours. Your mouth falls open as heat prickles across your skin and what feels like a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re left suspended in a free fall that never seems to end.

It feels too good to panic about. Sperm packets or eggs or both— whatever they are, they’re smooth, cooling where they gather inside of you, and right pushing up against your sweet spot. Tremors wrack through your limbs and Shouta appears no better. His upper lip curls, wings fully presented and twitching.

Weak, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle him to your chest. Your fingers brush over the apex of his wings and with barely any exertion, he slams you back onto his cock, a loud groan drawn from his chest. His pelvis slaps against your clit and in a moment of lucidity, you feel the ground rise to meet you.

Rigidity bleeds from your muscles as you cum again, soon replaced by a wave of exhaustion. You grimace at the uncomfortable bloated feeling in your belly. Shouta is muttering, antennae curled and brushing the swell of your cheeks. You can hear his voice. Muffled, as if you were under water, “You did well, little flame”.

Thinking aloud, you mumble, “What if they don’t take?”

He nudges your chin, gathering you into his arms to cocoon you both, “I’ll make sure they do”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader

1K notes · View notes

dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

FORGIVENESS. — aizawa shouta x male reader

wc: 2.1k

WARNING: dirty talk (sho has the filthiest mouth ever :O), choking (brief), manhandling, slapping, face-grabbing, degradation/humiliation, semi-public sex, frottage, blowjob mention, creampie, ruined orgasm

genitalia terms: dick, cock, hole, cunt, pussy (even though these terms are used the readers genitals are ambiguous)

a/n: UMM I THINK I GOT CARRIED AWAY WITH THE…….. DIALOGUE no one talks about how embarrassing it is to write this stuff outtttt my face is burning

“I just want to know why.” Aizawa says, hunched over with his hands in his pockets. You can see how tense his shoulders are, and the furrow of his brows almost makes you want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. In the middle of Musutafu’s central police station, you sit in an uncomfortably stiff chair that digs into your thighs, the plastic all but holding you in place. It wasn’t even your fault— Okay, maybe throwing the first punch was your fault. And ignoring Shouta’s dire instructions to stay out of trouble. And maybe you deserve a slap on the wrist for instigating….But what was a broken leg to a regeneration quirk?

And maybe the whole argument-in-front-of-the-police thing wasn’t very smart either. So what, you’re a big boy. You can handle yourself, you don’t need Shouta’s saving.

“He’ll live.” Is all you say, watching Shouta’s jaw clench. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he nods once, crossing his arms over his chest. Through his black shirt, though baggy, you can see the swell of his biceps as they rest on his opposing knuckles. And because you just can’t help yourself, you grumble, “Bitch deserved it anyway.”

“Right..” He laughs, almost in disbelief, as he signs something you can’t quite make out at the reception table. Then he turns to you and grabs your arm, tightening his grip as he walks you out the station. You have the urge to run, to scramble out of his grasp and go as far as your legs will take you. To your left, a police officer looks ready to ask you more questions but he’s interrupted before he can even take an opening breath. “He’s with me, I got it handled.”

You’re fucked.

“Airheaded little boys and bars don’t mix,” He makes a passing comment, opening the passenger's seat to his car and hastily pushing you in. Usually, the casual dominance of his large, veiny hands buckling your seatbelt for you would have you swooning, raising your chin to steal a kiss on his stubbled cheek with a saccharine smile. Instead, you turn your head away, watching Shouta close the door and briskly walk to the driver’s seat, and from there he sits with bristle, moving his hair out of his handsome face. His eyes remain heavy-lidded, dark circles cascading into deep shadows around his tired eyes. “Do you—“

“I know you can’t say the same for yourself, but I handle myself just fine.” You feel quite proud of yourself for that one, crossing your arms over your chest and setting your jaw— just like you’d seen the hero do before.

“Aht, what do I always say about speaking over me?” Aizawa’s grip on your jaw tightens, squeezing your cheeks and pushing your lips together. You look much sweeter like this, quiet and anticipating as you look at him with wide eyes. His dark eyes are even darker, stone cold and unrelenting— but you can see a trickle of red light gleam through them. “Repeat it.”

“‘M’not sh’posed sh’to…” And part of you wants to ignore how the sadistic quirk of his lips upturns as you speak, but the brat in you just can’t let it go. You roll your eyes, averting your gaze as if the traffic lights are the most entertaining things you’ve seen in a while.

“Oh, so you can listen,” You just choose not to. His grip loosens as he pulls out the parking lot, driving in silence.

Save for the occasional blinker signal sound as he drives— wherever you’re going isn’t home, you’d realized after a particularly sharp turn into a vacant lot. During the drive, Aizawa seems to have collected himself, his long, dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail that trickled down his shoulders. Evidently, he didn’t want to drive angry, and most certainly didn’t want to punish you while angry. “Need me to pound some sense into you, baby? Knock those bratty thoughts right outta that pretty head of yours?”

A high whine threatens to escape your throat, Shouta reaching over to grab your throat and nip at your lips, trailing hot, wet kisses and bites down to your chin and throat. He seems to move your body so easily, manhandling you into the perfect position to be used, into positions that have you whining and moaning like a slut. Your legs spread across his lap, and had his seat not been lowered, you’d surely have smacked your head into the ceiling.

It’s embarrassing, all it takes is a few kisses and bites to have you rutting in his arms, desperate to blow off steam and even more desperate for him. Aizawa’s hands rest at your hips, holding you down while he grinds into you slowly, like he’s fucking you, save for the layers of clothes in the way. You click your tongue, fingers exploring the dark sea of hair framing his face. You go to pull, wrapping the locks around your fingers, but your efforts are fruitless.

“You wanna touch? That’s cute. Ask for it, I know you can use your manners, gonna ask to touch me, baby?” He whispers in your ear, his voice deep and gruff and stern. It’s completely rhetorical, he’s demanding you ask. The low purr of his voice sends shivers down your spine, instinctively you move to touch between your thighs, to feel pressure where you need it, but you can’t.

Because Shouta stops you with his stupidly large and strong hands. Because Shouta’s gaze is stern and downright scary. Because Shouta’s dick could be inches down your throat by now, had you just been a good boy, and the promise of that in the future makes you want to pause. Still, you groan, because how dare he deprive you of his dick. How dare he let you sit there, drooling for it and whiney as if that’s not evidence enough.

“You just needed some attention, didn’t you?” Aizawa purrs, unbuttoning your clingy jeans and pulling them past the swell of your ass to place a harsh smack straight across it. You jerk forward, face falling into his shoulder as he laughs at you, condescending and evil and mean. “Needed Daddy to hold your hand, whisper a few pretty words in your ears and give that greedy pussy a stern talkin’ to.”

“Don’t— don’t call it that,” You whisper, weak in the knees and your limbs feel like jello.

“Why not? That’s what it is, isn’t it? Always so ready and pretty, always aching for Daddy’s tongue, fingers.. his cock. Got a perfect pussy on my boy, don’t I? S’a perfect fit.”

His dick springs to life, through the fly of his comfortable pants and twitching against his matching black sweatshirt. Your mouth waters, watching as the brown-pink tip leaks precum, a particularly pretty vein disappearing into the head and wrapping around his shaft. You want to trace it with your tongue, drool all over it and have him force it down your throat while you cry and moan. Knowing Shouta, he’d pinch your nose and watch you struggle to breathe with a sweet smile on his face.

You can hear the faint click of the center console organizer closing, and the loud squelch of lube pouring, but you don’t expect the cool sensation of it being rubbed into your skin. It feels nice against the blazing smack from earlier, but all you can think of is how obscene you must look, whining in your Daddy’s arms while he prods at your hole and squeezes handfuls of your ass. Cool air brushes against your hole, you’re spread out for anyone to see, back arched while you push back on his fingers and moan like a whore.

“Such a greedy hole,” Shouta tuts, smacking your ass once more as a warning to get you to stop moving. You both know if he wanted to he could simply grab your hips, hold you in place and finger your brains out, but he wants you to keep your composure yourself. You said it, anyways. You can handle yourself just fine. “Gonna let me fuck this cunt stupid, baby? Stretch you out like you need it. Don’t rush.”

His fingers curl inside you, moans bubbling in your throat as your hips buck forward, your front clothed and aching. Your eyes roll back, a knot forming in your stomach as your abdomen clenches and his fingers thrust into the same sweet spot over and over and over. You mewl and cry, blabbering nonsense into his ears while he nips at your cheek, calling you a slut for liking this so much, for trying to take his fingers deeper, even once they’ve reached the final knuckle.

“Never. Fuckin’. Satisfied.” He enunciates with particularly sharp thrusts before slowly sliding his fingers out of you, feeling your hole wink around nothing, empty once again. He wipes the remaining lube on his fingers onto your face, watching as your watery eyes blink in delayed confusion. He smiles, sadistically sweet before slapping you across the cheek and pushing his fingers into your mouth, watching your lips curl into a dopey smile. Still, you’re empty.

Too empty.

“Wait.. wait.. Sho’, wan’ more.. c‘mon, give it t’me, please! I can— M’your good boy, m’a good boy..” You sob, wailing in his cock as he pushes his head against your hole. You wriggle down, watching as his strong hands tighten around your waist. He holds you there, thrusting up into your hole to use you like a fleshlight, groaning as your warmth wraps around his big dick, and kisses his tip with velvet.

You squeal, eyes scrunched closed as he raises you up and down as if you weigh nothing, an aching burn in your thighs as you struggle to push down onto his cock.

“Shut up, if they catch you taking a Pro-Hero’s dick like some whore that’s all you’ll ever be known for,” He gasps, spreading your cheeks apart to watch his cock disappear inside you through the side-view mirror. Sticky precum holds you two together, making a particularly sloppy sound when he pulls out completely, then slams back in. “But you’d like that wouldn’t you? Wanna be passed around at an agency, see how many loads you can take in that fuckin’ cunt.”

“M’sorry, Shou— M’sorry Daddy, please..!”

“You’ll take what I give you, brat,” His thrusts grow sluggish and sloppy as you crash into him and pant in his ear, tears streaming down your pretty face as every coherent thought leaves your brain. All you can muster out are jumbled pleas, toes curling as you grab his shirt— how slutty you must look while he’s still fully clothed. “You can handle yourself, right? You’ll cum on this dick with no hands, let Daddy fuck a load into you while you cum since you think you’re such a big boy.”

The knot in your abdomen tightens, your hole fluttering around his cock as Shouta moans, and you feel your body shutter as it briefly goes numb. You’re cumming, your head falls forward as he uses you like a fucktoy, bouncing in his lap with tiny, “Uh, uh, uh”‘s. Your hole grips him like a vice, swallowing his cock impossibly deep until you feel warmth flood your stomach, but before you can ride the high of getting your release, Shouta shoves you down at the hilt of his dick, pumping rope after rope inside you.

You want to cry, ball your hands into fists and beat at his chest because of course, you’re not allowed to cum. Of course, your orgasm is ruined and he gets to huff out satisfied breaths.

So mean.

“I know,” He sighs, breathless and tired as he slowly lifts you off his cock, hissing at the sensitivity. You let him do it, clawing at his shirt with a newfound lack of strength, whining as he catches the cum leaking out of you and pushes it back into your spent hole. He squeezes your ass one last time before pulling your pants and underwear back up, buttoning your jeans as if he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life and leave you high and dry. “I’m so mean, so mean. I’ll make it up to you.”

Too fucked out to say anything, you let him situate you back in the passengers seat, watching as he buckles your seatbelt for you. Whining, you grab his wrist, letting a sleepy smile grace your lips as he kisses your cheek. You had a lot to talk about once you got home, but he’d let you sleep for now.

“Brat.” He hums, nothing but love in his voice.

2K notes · View notes

loveharlow · 3 months

Text

SEVEN - 005

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[6.2k] based on 1x05.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mild violence, detainment, mentions of child abuse

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ here's how I imagine TR's midsummer's outfit, also shoutout to Chris on the tumblr support team and bigger shoutout to @thepoguelife101 for helping me to get this uploaded.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎ��˗

PETERKIN SLAMMED HER OFFICE DOOR SHUT. You sat in the chair across from her personal one, avoiding her eyes as she sat on the wood of the desk. “Y’know, I expected to see your friend in here. But not you.” The woman started. “Especially not with a felony as your first offense. Felony destruction of property could get you tried as an adult.”

You remained silent, fiddling with your fingernails as she tried to intimidate you with an unwavering stare. A common interrogation tactic, you learned that from your mother.

“Unlawful discharge of a firearm, trespass on protected habitat, felony destruction. Those are all Maybank’s charges, your little partner in crime?” She listed off. “I want you to take a trip with me into uncharted territory — your future. Picture this,” She started, leaning in further. “You, six months from now, sittin’ in juvie in Wadesboro, just a cell block away from the Maybank boy.”

You cringed at the thought, eyes finally looking at the Sheriff in front of you. She pulled out two papers from a manilla folder, laying them out in front of you. “You seen these guys? You know ‘em?” She inquired, crossing her arms over her chest as your eyes scanned the pictures.

They were mugshots of the square groupers. But you remained silent, jaw clenched and eyes stoic. “Do I need to repeat myself?” Her voice was lower now. You pondered for a few moments, should you tell her or keep quiet? But you figured the damage was already done.

“They…broke into John B’s house, trashed the place. They chased us through The Marsh, too.” You told her, making eye contact with the older woman now and scratching the back of your neck.

She huffed under her breath, pulling more documents from the folder. “Here’s a more recent photo.” She laid them out, the photos presented to you almost made you gag. They were autopsy images of the groupers — deep slashes, pale skin, and bloated bodies. “Somebody gaffed ‘em, then used ‘em for chum. Whoever killed these men is still out there, and I got pretty solid reasons to believe their next target is that friend of yours. John B?” She told you.

Then, she was leaning down so close that her lips were right next to your ear but you didn’t move. “You kids don’t think you’re the only ones after the Royal Merchant, do you?” Your eyes flicked over to hers, staring at the woman through hooded lids. “Yeah, I know about that, too.” She muttered before getting up and rounding the desk again, placing herself behind it.

“He isn’t looking for it, anymore.” You blurted, straightening in the metal chair. “Okay? He’s done.”

“Yeah, your friend said the same thing when I had him in here. I’m just tryna keep him safe. So, I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told him. See if your friend John B is interested in talkin’ to me and maybe we can keep you out of Wadesboro.” She snipped, shuffling the documents back into her folder and leaving the office.

“ARE YOU HER GUARDIAN?” The officer behind the reception desk asked, your mother shuffling with her purse angrily on the other side of the glass as you stood behind her.

“Unfortunately. I’m her mother.” She snapped, sending a nasty glare your way that you rolled your eyes in response to.

“Hearing will be in two weeks. If you fail to show up, you forfeit your bail.” The lady-officer informed, not even offering up a glance. “The restitution will be based on the average of three outside estimates of the cost of the damaged article. Sign right here, please...” She instructed, shoving the clipboard through the glass-slot.

You squinted your eyes harshly and sighed. You didn’t even think about restitution and your were praying that Topper’s boat wasn’t crazy expensive. You could faintly hear your mother muttering under her breath as she absentmindedly scribbled her signature on the bottom of the papers, spinning the clipboard back around to the officer before turning on her heels to face you.

“Let’s go. Now.” Her pumps clacked against the precinct floors, the woman practically throwing the Sheriff Station doors open. You followed closely behind, throwing your slightly matted hair into a ponytail. The jailhouse look was not your best one. “So, when I told you about the Thornton’s boat you just neglected to mention that you were the one that did it?”

You yawned as you tried to keep up with her pace, too tired to respond sensibly. “Yeah, I guess…”

She chuckled with no humor behind it. “The least you could do is pretend to care. The only reason I’m not going to make you pay this restitution your damn self is because I don’t need this becoming a bigger issue than it already is. Do you think I need the entirety of Figure Eight knowing my daughter’s facing a felony charge against one of the most prominent families on the island?”

“Right…” You dragged out, licking the bottom of your front teeth. “Because God forbid the Cul de sac finds out I sunk a boat after getting roundhouse kicked in the ribs...”

Your mother sighed, stopping on the driver’s side of her sleek, black SUV as your rounded the passenger side. Just then, you spotted JJ walking with his father, who you hadn’t seen in God knows how long. Your mother seemed to follow your line of vision, wagging her finger from the other side of the car.

“No. You?” She pointed. “You stay away from that boy, do you hear me? You stay away from all of those pogues.”

“Are you serious? He’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, well not today, he isn’t. Get in the damn car.” She spat, yanking her own door open and jumping inside before slamming it shut. You stood with your hand on the handle, watching JJ hesitantly get in the car with his father. Reluctantly, you opened your own passenger side door and got inside. Your mother nearly broke the key with the aggressive that she started the car with.

Your eyes were glued on Luke’s vehicle as your mother drove off but you could’ve sworn their car was shaking a crack-addict. And if you weren’t crazy, you saw a fist connect with a face through the back windshield. Your back straightened in your seat. “Wait, mom-”

“You mind your business.” She warned, looking between the road and you. “What happens between that boy and his father is none of your concern...”

YOU PRACTICALLY BOLTED UP TO THE COMFORT OF YOUR ROOM WHEN YOU WALKED THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR. Marley was sitting on your bed. You felt bad for being away from her so often recently, but you knew she could entertain yourself. You always left her three bowl of food and water when you had a feeling you’d be gone, knowing your mom didn’t care for the dog as much as she used to. Or at all, really.

Your mother had stopped her yelling and berating about ten minutes into the ride home, receiving a phone call from Shoupe. Even with the device to your ear, you could still make out what the man was saying.

He and Peterkin sent out units to basically spy on John B ‘s house, planning to wait until the boy appeared and make their move. Moments like this made you despise living on an island that was hit by frequent hurricanes, unable to warn any of your friends about what was happening, especially not knowing when John B would pop back up after his run from DCS.

The animal jumped off the bed at the sight of you, jumping on you as you knelt down to her height.

“Hey, Marls.” You cooed, scratching the retriever’s neck as you wiggled up underneath you. “I know, I miss you too. How you been, girl?”

“...Thanks, Anna. I’ll let her know..” Your mothers voice rang in your ears as she stopped in front of your open door, ending the call she was on. Her attention was directed towards you now as she rolled up the sleeves on her blazer slightly. “Clean yourself up. You’re going dress shopping with Kiara.”

“For?”

“Midsummers. You’re going.” You groaned, you’d never been to Midsummer’s because this was your first-year as a Figure Eight resident. With the help of Mrs. C, Kie’s mom, your mom managed to wiggle her way into the Island Club, scoring you an place at Midsummers. Kie described it as the ‘Met Gala from Hell’.

“Wouldn’t a better punishment be not allowing me to go?” You tried, even though you knew she’d never go for it.

“No because that’s exactly what you want, both you and Kiara.” She said, so you assumed this was a small punishment for your best friend, too. “Shower, buy a nice presentable dress, and be there. On time.” Was all the woman said before she continued down the hall to her own room.

Your eyes drifted down to the dog as you pouted, she was staring up at you cutely, mouth open and tail wagging. “I’ll steal you some sliders”

“SERIOUSLY, YOU LOOK GREAT.” Kie gushed beside you, eyeing your hair as you walked into the dress shop. “Like, I know neither of us want to go but you look like a goddess. For real.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, bell jingling above the door as you both entered the small corner shop on the mainland. “I won’t say I don’t want to go just yet. I’ve never been...” You told the brown-haired girl.

“Anything I can help you ladies with?” An employee approached with a bright smile, hands clasped in front of her. She looked so well put together.

“Oh, we’re okay. Thank you.” Kiara politely declined, leading to the racks in the back by your arm. “Everything in here is so hideous but there is a gold mine in the back. No pun intended.” She whispered as she tugging you towards racks you wouldn’t even know were there without her.

“Sometimes, people try and hide their shit on the clearance rack so no one will take it and they can come back and buy it later.” She told you.

You eyed a couple of dresses that peeked your interest — a slim black one, a floral green one, a lacey blue one. There were so many. You plucked up at least five dresses from the rack, Kie’s arms just as full as you both silently search, the shop music playing in the back.

When you were both satisfied, you rushed to the dressing rooms. Kie went first and you almost forgot how picky she was. The girl looked good in almost anything but when she walked out in a purple, cowl necklace, satin dress, you both knew it was the one.

“Oh my, Kie, you look so good!” You exclaimed, squealing like a school-girl. “The purple makes your skin look amazing, Kie, you have to get it.”

“I’m not leaving the shop without it.” She said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, a smile on her face. “Okay, let me change so you can try yours on.” She said, slipping back into the dressing room as you gathered your hangers of dresses from the seat beside you and entered the room after she left.

The first couple of dresses were just not your thing. It was either too loose or unflattering in color. You were about to give up and head back to the racks until you realized you still had one more dress to try on — a mulberry colored dress with a sweetheart neckline. Slipping it on, you stepped out of the dressing room and did a twirl for a Kie.

“...If you don’t buy it, I fucking will.” She looked you up and down with wide eyes.

“Is that a yes?” You questioned.

“It’s a hell yes.” She scoffed. “You look stunning in that dress, Y/N.”

“Need any help in here?” The same employee from earlier came in, stopping in her tracks when her eyes landed on you. “My God, it suits you so well.” You weren’t sure if she was just doing her job but her compliment was all you needed to decide that this was your Midsummers dress, for sure. “Oh! I have just the thing to compliment it.” The woman gushed, rushing out of the fitting room and returning within seconds, a flower-band hairpiece in her hands.

She placed it gently atop your hair, adjusting it until it sat right. She told you you looked beautiful and left you and Kie to yourselves once more, not before bringing a matching hairpiece for Kie that suited her purple dress. The employee took all of your unwanted dresses back for you while the both of you re-dressed and went back out to search for shoes.

With Kie’s help, you settled on a pair of block-heel pumps that closely resembled the color of your dress. The woman at the register happily rung you both up, offering you a friendly smile on your way out the door. You were maybe five feet from leaving when a familiar head of blonde hair entered the shop as you and Kie were leaving, bumping in between the middle of both of you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry-” She stopped mid-apology when she realized who she was apologizing to. “Oh. It’s just you two.” Sarah’s tone wasn’t as cheery as she eyed you both up and down. “Midsummer’s?” She asked, motioning towards the bags in your hands.

“Yep.” Kie gave the girl a fake smile. “How about you? Out for prey?”

“Okay, you know what, Kie?” Sarah started, causing a scene in the small shop as you tugged on Kie’s arm.

“We should just go…” You whispered.

“Oh! And thanks for sinking my boyfriend’s boat, Y/n. Real classy.” You couldn’t help but scoff, edging in front of Kiara.

“Which boyfriend? I mean, it’s clear that Top isn't your main man anymore, so when’s the next guy gonna pop out?” The blonde girl smiled, licking the bottom of her top teeth before speaking.

“Be careful what you wish for.” She spoke in hushed tone, your eyes pinching in on each other.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Kie jumped in.

“Is there a problem… over here?” An employee came over, a much older woman. The manager you assumed.

“No.” You replied, winding your arm through keys before pushing the store door open. “No problem at all.” You told the lady, eyes mugging Sarah as you left.

“EXCUSE ME SIR, DO WE HAVE TO SHUCK THESE OURSELVES?” Kiara put on a fake accent as you both snuck up behind Pope, the boy turning around with an irritated expression before realizing it was you two. “‘Cause it might mess up my costume.” Kie laughed.

He smiled and pulled you both into a tight hug. When he released you both, he turned to you first. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve never-”

“Pope, don’t. It was my idea.” He swallowed his pride, accepting that you wouldn’t allow him to apologize.

“Have you seen JJ? Since the arrest?” He asked, voice laced with worry.

You nodded. “We spent the night in the holding cell together. Last I saw him was when he left the station with his dad…” You told him, the events of this morning flashing in your mind. You knew JJ’s dad was a little off his rocker but now you were wondering just how bad it’s gotten.

Pope’s mind seemed to wander after that. You wanted to ask if he knew anything, if you were right to be worried but you decided to just wait until you saw JJ.

“You ever seen this many kooks in one place?” Kie cut in, staring at the growing crowd of people.

“Yeah,” Pope replied, standing next to her. “Last year.”

“We’re in the lion’s den.” She said solemnly, eyeing Topper and Kelce from across the field. Applause broke out prompting your attention to turn to the family entering the party — The Camerons. Rose, Ward, Rafe, Sarah, and Wheezie descended the stairs in typical Cameron fashion. “Here come Lord Capital and the Exploiters. This is gonna be fun…”

IT’D BEEN A COUPLE HOURS SINCE YOU’D ARRIVED AT MIDSUMMERS. You and Kie had been sneaking Pope drinks as he worked, almost getting busted by Heyward.

“Y’know, I’ll admit,” Kie started as you both leaned against each other while Pope continued preparing food in front of the grill. “This is a lot more fun with you guys here.”

“Aww,” You cooed, rubbing the girl’s arm. “We love you, too.”

She giggled. “Are you tipsy?” You looked up at her through your lashes as you leaned on her arm. You held up your hand, hovering your index finger and thumb in front of one another.

“Jus’ a little.” You whispered, eyes drifting around the party. You watched the party-goers dance and drink and socialize. But your eyes managed to land on a familiar head of scruffy blonde hair. “Is that JJ?” You perked up, taking your weight off of Kiara. You hiked up your dress slightly in order to speed-walk across the lawn and reach the boy, Kiara calling out behind you. “JJ!” you whisper-yelled, catching the boys attention.

He looked star-struck for the briefest of moments and he still hadn’t spoken when you reached him. You waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of it and watching a small smile edge on his features.

“It’s so good to see you, princess.” He cheered quietly pulling you into a tight bear-hug, lifting you a few inches off the ground. You didn’t hesitate to hug him back, wounding your arms around his neck right before he put you down.

But your smile dropped when you got a good look at his face. “JJ..” You whispered, fingers tracing the bottom of his lip where a large cut sat, a large bruise on his cheek. “Did your dad do this?”

His blue eyes met yours, pulling your hand from his face and holding it in his own and edging closer to you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“What do you mean don’t worry about it, JJ? He can’t hit you like that-”

“It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before.” He cut you off. “Okay? Just keep it to yourself. Please, Y/n.”

You looked between both of his eyes — they were pleading with you to just drop it. To let it go. And you didn’t want to. But JJ did. You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Okay…” you agreed. “Don’t worry about all of this, okay? My mom’s gonna pay the restitution, so if that’s why your dad’s mad just let him know-”

“It’s okay.” The blonde. “John B and I, we have a plan. We’re back in the G-game.” Your eyes went wide.

“But there was nothing there. The wreck was empty, JJ.”

“John B will explain everything, alright? But I have to do somethin’ really really quick.” He backed away, walking backwards from you, basically skipping. “And you look gorgeous, by the way! Prettiest Pogue Princess there ever was!” He mildly-shouted as he walked away, a bright smile breaking out on your face.

You turned back around to find Kie just standing there. “What was that?” She inquired as you both walked back to Pope.

“What was what?” You asked, plucking a shrimp off the scorching grill as Pope swatted your hand away with the tongs.

“You and JJ…” She trailed off. “You don’t think that was weird?”

You scoffed, looking up at her through your lashes. “He’s one of my best friends, Kie. Plus, we’ve been through a lot in the last 24 hours. Why are you making it weird?” She didn’t respond after that, just giving you an odd look. You only spoke again once Pope asked what happened. “JJ says we’re back in the G-game.”

“How?” Pope asked, still paying most attention to the food in front of him.

“Not sure. He says John B will explain it all later.” You pulled your phone out of your bra, looking at the time. “Shit. I need to go find my mother before I become the next thing on the grill. She wants me to meet some business partners of hers.” You dismissed, waving goodbye to your two friends.

You weaved through the crowd, spotting your mother at one of the decorated table talking to a much older, elderly couple. She spotted you and pointed before motioning you over. You stood next to her, smiling at the couple.

“Mr. and Mrs. Daugherty, this is my daughter, Y/n.” You shook their hands, told them it was nice to meet them. Your mother had explained that these were the people that helped her succeed in law so she wanted you to meet them and get their advice, despite your several protests that law was not your desired career path.

She kept trying to fit you into her shoes knowing they would never fit. But you listened to their takes and advice, mostly for their sake. You’d been idly engaging until you saw JJ bolt into the clubhouse, Rafe and his crew hot on his tail. Your plastered smile dropping for the smallest of moments.

“I’m so sorry,” You chuckled awkwardly. “You wouldn’t mind if I used the restroom, would you?”

“Not at all, darling-” The old woman told you but your mother was quick to add in her two cents.

“You can hold it, can’t you?” She fake laughed, eyes going back and forth between you and her mentors. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to be rude.”

“I didn’t know peeing was rude, Mother.” You cocked your head, lifting the skirt of your dress as to not trip over it on your way into the clubhouse, looking at the Daugherty’s once more before you left, offering them a smile. “Excuse me.”

You walked as fast as you could into the building, accidentally bumping guest after guest on your way in. You no longer had sights on the group of guys, following the trail of shocked guests and shifted furniture that they left behind.

To the people around, you probably looked a little crazed but this wasn’t like at The Point or at The Golf Course or during The Movie. Rafe would have JJ cornered with two guys behind him. You knew that realistically you stood no chance against a trio of guys but you weren’t about to leave JJ to fend for himself.

You searched the place up and down, stumbling towards the restrooms, immediately heading into the men’s one. You ignored the wold-whistles, protests, and men peacefully using the urinals, following the sound of hushed voices into the connected locker room.

“Actually, there is an issue,” You heard JJ’s voice as you got closer. “We got a criminal trespass in progress here. Blatant disrespect for private property, I’m in violation of all kinds of shit here, sir.” You shook your head at his words, knowing he was seconds away from getting thrown out. The Island Club’s security was tight.

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice startled you from behind, causing you to whip around. “You can’t be in here.” You opened your mouth, stuttering to find an excuse as the other security stared at you but you just settled on throwing your arms up. Clearly, JJ was safe, even though he was getting kicked out.

As you were being led out, you looked behind you to see that the other officer had a hold of JJ before Rafe’s voice sounded out. “Hey, tell Y/n she looks hot in that dress! But she looks so much hotter out of it, trust me!” The Cameron boy laughed out and you watched as JJ snatched himself out of the guard’s hold and charged back into the locker room. The action made your heart jump but you weren’t sure for what reason as the other guard continued leading you out into the main hall of the clubhouse.

You weren’t sure which exit the other security guard has escorted JJ out of so you made your way back to the deck of the clubhouse, head whipping left and right until you spotted that familiar head of blonde hair. JJ was reckless and chaotic but he was still your friend.

You weren’t gonna watch as they practically threw him out an event when he didn’t even instigate anything. “It’s okay everybody! Do not panic.” He shouted with his hands up in the air, the majority of the party’s attention now on him. “Leave it to the men and woman in uniform. Let’s hear it for them! Rose, you look like lady liberty.”

“You can let go of him!” You called, skipping down the steps and into the grass. “He doesn’t have to be manhandled, he didn’t do anything!” The security turned to you, still gripping JJ by the upper arm. JJ took the opportunity to shove the man off of him, his blue eyes on yours across the lawn.

“Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, princess!” He pointed at you. “Kie? Pope?” He motioned to them as well. “Rixon’s Cove. Let’s roll! Throw off your chains!” You watched as Kiara snatched away from her parents and Pope ran away from his dad. You were making a move to follow them when a hand gripped your upper arm, your mother coming into view.

“We talked about this.” She said firmly, fire in her eyes. “Do not embarrass me, right now.” The woman warned.

“I don’t think there’s any way for me to make you proud anymore, Mom.” You told her sadly in a hushed tone before snatching your arm out of her grip, running towards your friends. You could hear her calling out your name behind you but you ignored her, jumping into JJ’s open arms and leaving Midsummers.

CICADA’S CHIRPED IN THE MIDDLE OF RIXON’S COVE AS YOU ALL SAT AROUND A RAGING BONFIRE, waiting for JB to speak. “So, like, my dad’s already gonna kill me.” Pope started, sat on a log in front of the fire across from you and Kie while JJ and John B stood, throwing rocks. “So, what’s this mandatory meeting about?”

The two boys sat down, eyeing each other before JJ spoke. “Might as well tell him before we’re gaffed, man.” He said, the statement mainly directed at John B.

“...The gold never went down with the Royal Merchant. It’s been here the whole time.” The brunette said, a small victorious smile on his face.

“Here?” You exclaimed incredulously from where your head laid on Kiara’s shoulder. He just offered up a simple nod.

“It’s on the island.”

“I would like to voice my skepticism.” Pope raised his hand.

“I’m sure you would, Pope, but can I please present you my evidence, sir?” John B spoke mockingly as he got up to speak at the forefront of the group.

Pope motioned with his hand. “Proceed.”

“In my backpack, I have a letter from Denmark Tanny. Denmark Tanny was a slave that survived the Royal Merchant wreck. Check it,” He handed Kiara the letter as you eyed it as well. “Slaves weren’t mentioned as crew members on the ship, but my dad found the complete manifest. That was his big discovery. Tanny used the gold from the Merchant to buy his freedom, and then his farm.”

Kiara passed the paper across the fire for JJ and Pope to see as John B continued. “And that farm is, drumroll please…” Kiara patted her thighs rapidly, shaking your frame back and forth which prompted you to sit up straight. “Tannyhill Plantation.”

You blinked hard, craning your neck forward. “Tannyhill?” You and Kie exclaimed simultaneously. Like, the Cameron’s Tannyhill?

“Yeah. After that, he used the money to free even more slaves, and then he sold a shit-ton of rice, which pisses off all the white planters, and they decide to lynch him. On the day they were coming to get him, he writes a farewell letter to his son and in the last line of that letter, he leaves a coded message about the gold’s location.”

“Where?”

“Harvest the wheat in parcel nine, near the water. Except, there’s no wheat. Wheat is code for gold, seeing as the gold has the wheat symbol engraved into it.” He slapped Pope’s shoulder with a smile.

“Holy shit...” The dark-skinned boy said.

“All we need is an original survey map of the property, and we’ve found the gold.” John B concluded, small smiles on the faces of the entire group.

“So, whats the plan?” You asked, and you figured it was nothing good when John B had his attention fully on you and Kiara, his shoulders square. “Well, Sarah Cameron’s coming tonight-”

“Hold on...” Kie was the first to speak.

“She’ll bring an original survey map.”

“Why Sarah?” She asked.

“This is gonna be good…” JJ muttered, looking down at his feet.

John B sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “She… got me into the archives at Chapel Hill yesterday. That’s where I got the letter.”

“You were at Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron?” Kie spat out unbelievably.

“He was mackin’ on her.” JJ added in quickly, avoiding all eye contact.

“Of course...” You muttered disappointingly.

“I wasn’t macking on her, okay? I was… using her for access.”

“Did you tell her about the treasure?” Kiara inquired, an undertone of hurt laced in her voice.

“I was trying to get into the archives!” JB argued back.

“Is that a yes?” You chimed in, truly not believing John B could be that idiotic. But you guessed that was the Sarah Cameron effect.

“I was just using her for information. I’m trying to make us filthy rich here. Okay? So, that we can pay off a boat, or send Pope to autopsy school so he can study dead bodies. Look, you guys know me.” He continued talking, looking around at the group. Kiara was visibly uncomfortable. “Do I look like the type of person to fall for Sarah Cameron?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed with scoff.

“Look, you guys don’t know her yet, I do!”

“John B, we do know her. A hell of a lot better than you ever will,” You started, anger and betrayal in your voice. “For the last time, you can’t trust her. With the gold or your feelings.”

“Her brother did hit me in the back with a golf club...” Pope reminded, massaging his shoulder with a grimace.

You blew out a breath of air. “Yeah, her brother’s done a lot of things…” You quipped underneath your breath.

“What’d she do to you both, exactly?’ JJ aimed the inquiry at you and Kiara.

“She’s like a spitting cobra.” Kie spat out. “First, she blinds you and then- and then she-”

“This is a bad analogy…” The blonde muttered.

“Listen to me!” Kiara pleaded. “Whatever we get, she’s going to try to take...”

“I THINK I’M GONNA DO THIS ONE BY MYSELF…” John B told the four of you who were crowded in the back of The Twinkie. Kiara rolled her eyes and the rest of you sighed unbelievably. “I don’t wanna spook Sarah with the peanut gallery.”

“I just don’t understand why we’re involving her at all.” Kiara snapped, throwing her shoulders up.

“Kie, we’re not involving her, okay? It’s just, like, a business…meeting…thing.”

“A business meeting between their tongues…” You muttered as JJ made kissing motions with both his hands.

“Look, once we get what we need, we cut her loose, alright?” John B reaffirmed the group, dismissing your suspicion and doubt.

“...Promise me nothing is happening between you two.”

“Nothing is happening, Kie.” The boy sighed.

“I’m being serious. This isn’t about you and this isn’t about us,” You, JJ and Pope shared a tense glance. Was Kiara sure she didn’t have a thing for him? “Dude, she’s gonna get inside your head. Just promise me nothing’s happening between you guys.” She spoke solemnly.

“I…I promise.” John B told her. “...Anyways, I’m gonna go.” John B said in farewell, opening the van door and exiting.

“We’ll just sit here…in this hot ass car.” Pope said as he shut the door.

“...Can’t believe he’s been seeing Sarah Cameron.” You thought aloud, disgust filling your words.

“You guys do know that holding onto your grudge is like drinking poison and hoping Sarah will die, right?” Pope threw out.

“‘Hope is the companion of power and mother of success.’” You quipped back, remembering the quote from a random in class.

“Seriously, what went down between you three? This is like some deep-rooted hate.” JJ added.

“Does it matter? We’re supposed to be a team and John B jumping ship to mack on the Kook Princess doesn’t exactly scream teamwork.” You told them. “We all know that deep down, when we find this gold, John B is going to have fallen madly in love with the serial cheating, two-faced snake that is Sarah Cameron and she’s going to break his measly little heart and steal what we find and then we’ll be left gold-less and picking up the pieces of John Booker Routledge’s little broken heart.”

The space fell silent after your small rant, wide-eyed glances exchanged between the three. “Okay, I was wrong. That is some deep-rooted hate.”

“We shouldn’t have let him go out there alone…” Kie muttered, staring out of the window, thunder clapping outside. It was a thought shared amongst you all, a silent agreement. The van fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments.

Until it was broken.

“...help!”

Your eyebrows pinched together, lifting your head from JJ’s shoulder. “Did you hear that?” You asked looking up at the blonde.

“Hear what?” You all sat silently for a few more moments, the only sound being the howling wind and the thunder booming until you heard it again, this time you all did.

“Somebody please help!”

You all didn’t wait to sprint out of the van, almost knocking one another over on your way out. You don’t even know how you and Kiara managed to run in heels without tripping. The four of you bolted in the direction of the tower, following the path that John B took and reaching the end of it to find Sarah cradling his unconscious body.

“Sarah! What happened?” Pope questioned as you all came to an abrupt stop in front her.

“He needs help. I don’t know what to do. Topper shoved him.” She cried, rocking back and forth with John B in her arms.

“From the top of the tower?! What the fuck was Topper doing here?” You spat out, head whirling left and right looking for any sign of the aforementioned boy.

“Where is he, now?” JJ interrogated.

“Please get help, I don’t care who. Just call someone.” Sarah bellowed as JJ urged Pope to run for help, especially with all of your phones being abandoned in the Twinkie.

“John B, stay with me…” The blonde girl cooed, running her fingers through his hair before planting her lips against his. You glanced to the side, not missing the absolute look of betrayal in Kie’s eyes and maybe you would’ve found the same emotion in your own.

John B lied, to all of you. But that was the least of your concerns now.

YOU HATED THE FEEL OF HOSPITALS. They were stale and sterile and boring. But most importantly, they made you anxious. The four of you sat in the waiting room, they wouldn’t allow you in the actual hospital room because Ward had paid for it and he wanted to give Sarah a moment with John B when he woke up.

“This is such bullshit.” You said unbelievably, tapping your foot incessantly. “She cheats on her boyfriend and gets our friend thrown from a tower but we can’t even sit in his hospital room? She’s probably holding his hand and praying like some widow…”

“Let’s just be glad that John B’s okay…” Pope tried to reason.

“No, Pope,” Kiara rolled her eyes. “He lied to us. Did you see the way she was holding him and-” She cut herself off, throwing herself back into the chair.

“Look, we can be mad when he wakes up, but let’s just chill right now, alright?” JJ snapped, basically telling you all to shut it and you only then took notice of how tense he was — biting his fingernails, his hands visibly shaking. You took his unoccupied hand into yours, giving it a squeeze. He absentmindedly returned the gesture. “When I find Topper, I’m going to kill him. I should’ve done it on the beach…”

“Don’t say that.” You told him firmly. “That’s how they want you to think, JJ. Don’t feed into it, otherwise they win.”

“They always win, anyway.”

“Only if you let them.” You concluded, letting the hospital noise fill the silence — telephones ringing, patients coughing, nurses walking, family members crying.

Taking in the scene around you, where you had all landed, you were starting to wonder if finding gold was really worth the trouble.

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