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kidstemplatte · 7 months

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shattered pt. 2

pairing: terzo/ fem! reader summary: terzo seeks help for his struggles with addiction. warnings: alcohol, drugs, addiction this is a sequel to this fanfiction i wrote. message at the end as usual. please enjoy. ♡

He didn’t remember.

You wished you didn’t.

The morning after your violent dispute with Terzo, you woke up on the couch feeling nearly as sick as he had been been waking up recently. You were so exhausted from the night before that you didn't bother to clean up the absolute wreck he had caused. But to your surprise, there was no glass on the floor, no staining from the liquid on the hardwood. The items that Terzo had carelessly thrown out of the drawers and shelves during his were placed neatly where they belonged. For a moment you wondered if it was all a fever dream. Until you saw all the bottles of liquor on the counter were missing and were snapped back to reality.

You opened your phone and checked the time: 11:37 am. Much later than you usually slept in. There were no messages from Terzo, which you had conflicting feelings about. You decided to go find him, assuming he was still in the bedroom. You entered your shared room carefully, but did not see your husband, rather than a large suitcase sitting by the closet.

Where was he going?

After getting dressed and dragging yourself through your daily routine, you decided to gather up some courage and look for him. When you opened his office door, you were not only faced with your husband sitting with his head in his hands at desk, but a sea of familiar faces surrounding him. Sister Imperator and his brothers, Primo, Secondo, and the new Papa: Copia.

Terzo looked a mess. Clearly last night was one of the worst nights he’d had, if not the worst. His hair was disheveled, he was free of makeup, the bags under his eyes were heavy and nearly a scarlet color.

The room became silent when they caught sight of you anxiously standing in the doorway. Sister Imperator gestured for you to come in, politely stepping aside to make room for you by his desk.

“What… what happened?” he wearily croaked, looking up at you. “They… they can hear.” he stammered.

Wow. Terzo was really trying to take accountability for things he didn’t even know he had done. That was a bold but needed and heartfelt move.

“Um…” you mumbled. “How much should I say?”

“Everything.” Terzo weakly responded, not even able to look you in the eyes.

“… You really don’t remember?” you winced.

Terzo, riddled with shame, shook his head.

You then described everything he said and did, not leaving out a single word. Not a single bit of it was censored out by you, even the most graphic of moments. As you continued enlightening the room on the events of the previous night, your words quickly turned into sobs, and your voice a painful cry.

You weren’t the only one who cried. Terzo’s beloved half-brother, Copia, couldn’t help but shed a few tears at the tragedies you were describing, and for a second you swore you saw a tear fall down Secondo’s face. Primo’s eyes were covered by his hand as he kept his head low. Sister Imperator shocked you more than anyone, though. She did not attempt to conceal the tears that welled up in her eyes, but still kept a strong face and demeanor. Terzo was utterly mortified by the things you were telling him, his face painted in pure shame.

“I… I am so sorry. I can’t-“ Terzo cut himself off with a hiccup and a broken sob. “I am so sorry, Y/N.” He was utterly humiliated, and more importantly, furious with himself for treating something as precious as you so horribly. “I didn’t- I didn’t-“

“I know you didn’t mean what you said. You don’t even remember.” you interrupted.

“I know, but still, I’m… I’m so sorry.” he cried.

“We’ll give you two some space.” Sister Imperator spoke, leaving the office as the other men nodded and followed. The door was shut. It was just you and your husband. You took a seat across from him and looked into his tired eyes. “You are right. You have been right this whole time. I have a problem. I am going to get help.” He stated, breaking the silence. “You mean like a treatment program?” “Yes, it’s not too far from here, I’ll be gone for four weeks.”

You nodded. Finally. He was seeking help.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I love you so much. Everything I said last night was so far from the truth. You’re everything but a burden. I love you for so much more than your body. You’re the light of my life. I have been so horrible to you recently. I would do anything, anything in the world, to take it back if I could.” He paused, as if the next thing he was about to say would physically pain him. “I understand that my mistakes have left scars that won’t heal. And I understand that I have to let go, even though I do not want to.” he uttered.

“Let go of what? Substances, you mean?”

Terzo shook his head solemnly.

“Of me? Why would you have to do that?” you questioned.

Terzo was completely shocked by your response. “Why would you stay with me after I’ve done such unforgivable things?”

“Because I know you, Terzo, I’ve seen you at your best and worst. I know who you are, and it’s not whoever you’ve been for the past few months. We can fix this, Terzo. You’re the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me. There is nowhere to go but up from here.” you explained, placing your hand on his.

Terzo was utterly blown away by your never ending support, experiencing graciousness at new heights he had never reached before.

“Y/N. If I ever do anything like this ever again, which will not be the case, but still- I’m begging you- please, leave me. Please do not settle for this.”

“I know it won’t happen again, Terzo.”

“Still, promise me. I want you to be happy. I want you to understand you deserve better. Please, I want you to be happy.”

“I’ll promise you, Terzo. If you promise me you’ll never mess with that shit again.”

“I promise. I promise.” He said, taking your hand in his trembling ones, and kissing it after each promise.

“Thank you. Thank you, amore mio. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” he wept. “I love you.” He professed, not even expecting the sentiment to be returned.

“I love you too, Terzo.” you replied. “We’ll get through this together.”

❥

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You reassured Terzo, standing in the waiting room of the large treatment facility. Truthfully, you were reassuring yourself just as much as you were him. You knew he would come back, physically, but you were worried he still wouldn’t come back Terzo. Your husband that you missed dearly. The man who made you laugh, who made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, showed you things about the world you didn’t even know were possible. You were anxious to be separated from him, and anxious for his stay, praying he would have a positive and beneficial experience.

“Very soon. I love you so much, tesoro.” He said, leaving you with a quick kiss on the lips, something he hadn’t done in ages.

That night, as you entered your quarters, a lonely feeling began to sink in. Even though Terzo had been a menace recently, you couldn't help but miss him. You almost went to pour yourself a glass of wine, quickly realizing that wasn't an option in your current location. It felt a little ironic considering you had just dropped your husband off at a rehabilitation center, but you really needed a break. You decided to send a text to the one other person you knew you could count on.

"hey, would you wanna have a glass of wine?"

"Yes please"

And within a few minutes, you heard a knock at your door. You paced over and opened it, and were faced with none other than Terzo's half-brother, Copia, a bottle of wine in hand.

"Please, take a seat." You welcomed him, gesturing to the couch.

There was an awkward silence from both of you, as you weren't quite sure how to tackle the topic at hand.

"So what did Terzo tell you before I came?" you asked, pouring him a glass of wine.

"Well, he texted me very early this morning to meet him in his office at 11, and that Sister Imperator and the other brothers would be there. He did not say anything else until we got there. He was clearly in distress, and then, just- word vomit. He told us he'd been struggling recently and that last night was bad. But he couldn't remember what happened, he only knew something went wrong when he woke up and saw what a disaster the place was. He told me he needed help and he couldn't bear to hurt you ever again."

You nodded.

And in the blink of an eye, you and Copia realized you had a bit more wine than you initially intended, experiencing the highs and lows of drunkenness: the serious conversations, existential and solemn, and the silly things, laughing and holding onto your stomachs as you struggled to sit upright. On his way out, you thanked him,

"Thank you, Copia. It was nice to spend some time with you, you saved my life tonight. Goodnight."

"No worries, Y/N. Always a pleasure." he said, waving goodbye as he exited your quarters.

You checked the clock. 3 am. Damn, it was late. You walked into your room to get changed into some pajamas and as you opened the drawer, made a shocking discovery. Your clothes were folded just the way you liked them. The only other person who knew of this preference was Terzo.

So he was the one who cleaned up the place.

Rummaging through the drawer, you noticed a small piece of paper underneath a pair of shorts, with handwriting on it belonging to no other than your husband.

Amore Mio,

I find it difficult to express my gratitude for you in words throughout any language. So I am going to do so with my actions, my progress, and my dedication. I am going to get better. And even on the harder days that are bound to come, when I don't feel like it is worth it, I will think of you. And you are always worth it. You are a blessing, the greatest gift Satanas has ever brought me. There is no title I long for more than that of being your lover, and I will wear it with pride for as long as I live and even after I have passed on. I owe everything to you. You are the most compassionate person I have ever known, stayed with me by my side even when I am at my lowest. You piece me back together, make me whole again, even when I am shattered and I feel unfixable. Thank you. Not just for helping me, but for being you. That brings me more joy than anything. Focus on yourself for these next few weeks while I am gone. I will see you very soon, cara mia.

I love you so much.

-Terzo

You fell asleep with that note under your pillow that night, like a little girl making a desperate wish, hoping a magical being would visit you and make his words come true.

❥

Before you knew it, 28 days flew by. During those 28 days, you found yourself forming new relationships with people you least expected. His brothers, Copia especially, became your rock during his absence, listening to you cry, rant, or simply giving you a laugh. You found out that the brothers all shared the same humor, though some hid it more than others. They made you feel closer to Terzo despite his distance. You also found out that Sister Imperator had a caring heart, and was able to provide you with thoughtful insight during your times of need.

Terzo sent you many letters. 28, to be exact. You smiled each time you received a purple envelope in the mail, your name written in his distinguishable handwriting. He told you about the things he processed in group therapy as well as one-on-one counseling. The facility sounded like a very nurturing environment, one he had needed for some time, containing lots of opportunities and activities. You got to call him a few times a week as well, and as time progressed, you heard his voice grow lighter and lighter over the phone. You heard his laugh for the first time in what felt like centuries when he told you about “Equestrian therapy” and a particularly rude horse who wanted nothing to do with him. Although it sounded silly, that moment was so magical, and you felt a joy you had been deprived of for quite some time. You were so impacted that you wanted to drive to the facility and shake the horse’s hoof, personally thanking it for its impact. But instead of praising the horse, you praised your husband, providing him words of encouragement and love as he powered through the ups and downs of the treatment process.

“Thank you for being my everything. I miss you, amore mio. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.” He’d say at the end of each conversation before he had to hang up.

To that, you responded, “You don’t have to thank me. I miss you too, Terzo. I love you. Goodbye.

Those 4 weeks weren’t just about Terzo’s healing, they were about your healing as well. There was no doubt that though his issues with addiction were a battle within his own mind and body, they scarred you as well. You scheduled several extra meetings with your therapist to work through your trauma, as well as discussing options regarding couples’ counseling, which Terzo agreed to.

Before you knew it, the twenty-eight days had passed, and you were driving to the treatment center to pick up your husband. You walked into the common space, gazing around the room to find Terzo. And there he was.

He looked so much better. So much better. He looked clean and well-kept, the color in his face had returned, his posture improved, and he was smiling.

Immediately, you dropped your purse and sprinted towards him, a reaction so triumphant people might think you hadn’t seen him in years. You crashed into his strong arms, holding him tighter than you had ever held anything or anyone in your entire life. There you two stood, in the middle of the building, while you wept into his chest, not caring who heard you.

You pulled away from the hug, and placed your hands on each side of his face. Your heart was pieced back together again once you saw the glimmer in his eyes had returned.

“You’re back.” You whispered. “You’re back.”

“Yes, I am. I wouldn’t be without you. Thank you for being my everything. I missed you, amore mio. I love you.” he said, similar to what he had ended your phone calls with, except this time, there was no goodbye.

There he was.

Terzo was back.

And he was there to stay.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

AAAAA😭 i’m so glad we have a happy ending now!!! if you take anything from this let it be that even though addiction and mental health issues in general feel impossible to deal with, it is possible to get better! you are not defined by your mental illness and you are a good person!!! don’t be afraid to reach out for help because so many people love and care for you! (including me!) more fics coming soon, the next one coming up is super fluffy (there is a new addition to the emeritus family!!!) and the one after will be one of two soft terzo/reader fics im working on 🥺❤️ and another copia fic im thrilled to get to work on! thank you so much for reading, it seriously means the world, you all make me feel a little less alone in this weird world. i love you! 🤍, alice

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #papa emeritus iii #terzo #papa emeritus #papa terzo #papa emeritus x reader #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader

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kissingrhi · 1 year

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i can’t stop thinking about remer with a size kink TAKE MY PHONE AWAY

this request actually awakened something in my soul

matt's 6'2 [weeps] [wails] [falls to the ground]

definitely realized it in one of the dumbest ways imaginable and was Super embarrassed

like you were probably just comparing hand sizes with him and in his mind he's like "am i attracted to this???"

spoiler alert: he absolutely is

while he is very crude sometimes, he can actually be very gentlemanly!

so he had nothing to do but sit and blush (at least in the beginning) when you would playfully poke fun at how "gargantuanly tall" he is or ask him to carry you everywhere

only way you got it out of him was during an extremely drunk make out session at 4 am

you two smelt like liquor and sweat and you can vaguely recall him mumbling something about how easy you are to move, how "pliant you are in his hands" (his excuse: he's an emotional drunk!)

even though the next day when you brought it up he was absolutely mortified and threw a pillow so hard he thought he'd knocked you out, the secret was out

from that point forward, he was basically shameless

giggles like a mad man at the sight of his hand against your ass, even in the most intimate scenarios

"it's like i can cup both your cheeks with just my fingers" "please shut the hell up"

whenever you wear his clothes he loses it

"you should know better. last time i slammed you into the wall so hard i think there's a dent."

the KING of goofy dirty talk

he'd bust out laughing while fingering you and be like, "aren't you just so precious and small? snookums." with a pinch to your cheek while you're literally grinding against his fingers and begging for him to touch you

once when you were on top you dragged his hand up to grasp around your throat and you're sure you've never seen him that aroused in your life

his eyes darkened and he squeezed a gentle push into one of your pulse points and the same exact time he thrusted up into you, proceeding to ravage you just from how much of your body his palms could cover

whenever you two fight, which is a lot and usually over very stupid shit, it'll most likely end with him pushing you against the wall and fucking you right there

"keep mouthing off and i'll show you how small you are next to me"

such an ass about the difference in your sizes in and out of the bedroom

100000% uses you as a headrest

finds it very endearing and very pleasing when you gag on his length

"no, no it's okay, baby - i'm too big for you, aren't i?" with the stupidest grin on his face

in his sellout era he was the cockiest of all, swinging you over his shoulder and giving your ass a firm smack whenever you'd frustrate him, all while laughing maniacally (it is extremely hard for him to take sex seriously!)

he holds both your wrists in one of his hands during doggystyle

he gets extremely aroused when you take control and the size difference even catches him when he's feeling more submissive

like when he's panting while making out with you and grinding his clothed cock against your knee and you mumble, "not so big and bad now?" into his mouth and against his tongue.....he cannot handle it. will cream his pants. has creamed his pants. doesn't wanna talk about it.

him holding your entire body and moving you while fucking you!!!!! the control does wild things to him

"i can just have you however i want, huh?"

he is so cocky and goofy in bed i cannot stress this enough

#baseketball #told y'all i'd take one for the team #doug remer #matt stone #doug remer x reader #baseketball x reader #size kink

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ugh-yoongi · 7 months

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Hello! Can I pls request headcanons for BTS members crushing on female reader who is a friend of their friend. Like reader and they are not close friends but they have mutual friend. Members ended up falling in love with reader and gets jealous when reader is close with their mutual friend.

I know it's very specific 😅 you don't have to write them if you don't want to. Thank you anyways ❤️

hi, tysm for the request! i am a lil rusty on headcanons but i do hope these suffice. no gendered terms or pronouns used! <3

[bounced ideas off of @the-boy-meets-evil & @hot-soop for this. thank you both!]

bts with a crush on a friend of a friend

seokjin

he's ✨ a w k w a r d ✨

torn between wanting to hang with the group & see you vs. never wanting to go out in public around strangers

the urge to see his crush wins out and that's when everyone else figures him out. not subtle at all.

also way too awkward to snoop for info. your friend makes one reference to you and seokjin's entire body turns red. rip

absolutely plays off his jealousy as a joke

attention back on him, please and thank you

a one-upper to the extreme ("oh, you liked that recipe? well guess who gave it to them" even tho they're not talking about food anymore); mortified when he thinks back on it later

yoongi

actually pretty direct imo

i think he'd straight up just tell you/your friend he's into you and wants to see where it goes

just sort of shows up whenever you're hanging out with your friend

also invites you to things one-on-one, doesn't give a shit

probably not all that great at dealing w his jealousy tho

not in a shitty way? just more withdrawn

disappears into his work

hobi

he's an aquarius man luv good luck getting shit out of him

intensely private and protective of this crush

blows his cover tho bc he gets the giggles. he tried

fidgets! fake laughs! "oh ha ha it's totally cool you and your friend have plans, wouldn't want to intrude!"

and then immediately leaves to go work on something and lies about why he left. it was NOT because he got moody out of nowhere! wtf! why would you ask that!

why is this guy always excusing himself to the bathroom

would probably let this go on for years if left to his own devices

namjoon

number one jealous guy but thinks he's too enlightened for it

"i don't feel entitled to them/their attention and don't think i own them, so how can i be jealous"

meanwhile he's brooding in a corner doing that jaw clench thing

breaks stuff on accident bc he's too busy analyzing how close you're sitting to your friend and every facial expression the two of you make

sends book/music/podcast recs over insta dms bc he thinks it's too forward to ask for your number

would then keep up this ruse months into proper dating bc he thinks it's now too late and too awkward to ask

jimin

not subtle at all. grills your mutual friend for intel

shameless tbh

does that "omg let's compare hand sizes" shtick to have an excuse to touch you

i also don't see him getting super jealous? like, he knows your mutual friend and he's the queen of gossip. he'd know if there was something going on

although i do think he might also have one-upper tendencies, just more subtle

whereas jin plays off his jealousy as a joke, i think jimin would lean into it. it would come off more cocky/overconfident

full on pouting if you ignore him or don't play along, though

taehyung

group meeting time in the living room; we're going to war

"do you think they like me? do you think they're dating our friend? have you heard anything? should i crash their hangout?"

absolutely refuses to listen to reason. head in the clouds.

romanticizes the shit out of everything and then whines when reality doesn't live up to it

this man has an aries moon; that spike of jealousy is hot and quick and he can't hide it for the life of him but also doesn't entirely know why he's jealous (ask me how i know)

can honestly see him being hotter than normal and manspreading on a couch for attention let's be real. weaponizing the hell out of his giant dick brood

jungkook

perilla leaf debate 2.0

gen z as hell. like he's sending you tiktoks and trying to rope you into challenges and thinks that counts for something

overanalyzes all social media interactions

passive-aggressive; can't hide his jealousy at all; petty

will send his friend to the kitchen for drinks just so he can take their spot next to you

it's the middle of winter, why is he still wearing sleeveless shirts?

sort of leans into toxic masculinity in the "thinks everything is a challenge/competition" way before he gets scolded and told to knock it off

otherwise super sweet. doting & would do anything for you, even in early crushing stage. like, once he realizes he likes you it's game over for him

#bts headcanons #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts x you

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nehswritesstuffs · 6 months

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How Dr. Hart-Steeler Saved the Logue Town Royal Revue

I literally had the idea for this in the shower during summer, so congrats.

9835 words; full disclaimer in that I’ve never watched a single drag competition, mostly because I don’t like reality/competition shows in general (except sports, and I wouldn’t say this is a sport while still acknowledging how Serious Business it can be), so please forgive me if something’s off or I did something weird like used your fave irl queen’s name or whatever bc I don’t even know how to cosmetics correctly let alone be this fabulous; tangibly related to Double Date from Hell (FFN/AO3), but I guess you don’t need to know much other than that Law and Nami are dating the same time as Cora-san and Bell-mère, to hilariously mortifying results; this took me so long to write partially due to Secondhand Mortification and a serious case of the Giggles or y’all would’ve had this back in, like, August lol; shout-out to Gen for suffering through me and this fic all these months, because ooohhhhh they be suffering

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Having never really considered himself weak in the ankles, Law was beginning to rethink his lifelong self-assessment as he slipped his feet into the absolutely terrifying shoes that had been shoved in his direction. With Nami on one side of him and Perona on the other, Law shakily attempted to stand, not enjoying the extra wobble he gained by simply standing still.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people,” he grumbled lowly. His girlfriend, however, scowled.

“You live in heels—I don’t want to hear it.”

“I wear boots, Nami-ya, not whatever torture devices these are.” He looked out over the rows of shoe racks and saw that the difference in height was… concerning. “Fucking hell—these have three extra inches than normal.”

“Well, yeah,” Perona scoffed. “You need to look your best, and they’re already doing wonders for your ass.” She hummed. “Well, what little you’ve got, anyhow.”

“Why are we even here?” Law groused. “Can’t I just order some online?”

“We are not,” Nami said, “because I am not going to have to deal with ordering shoes for your massive man-feet and then them not fitting properly. Turnaround is way too quick for us to need to worry about shipping.”

“I feel like a fool,” he grimaced as he continued to curse the integrity of his legs.

“We did not drive to the only shoe store in Greater Logue Town that carries wides in-stock for you to chicken out,” Perona scolded.

“I’m not chickening out,” he insisted sourly. “I just have way too much coordination to know first-hand why Cora-san practices walking in these things.”

“Well, you’re about to get a lot more familiar with them if we’re going to get you anywhere,” Nami said firmly. “Now go ahead and try to walk to that rack there.”

Two steps and Law went sideways into a shelving unit full of narrow-widths. Nami and Perona stared at one another—they had a lot more work ahead of them than they had feared.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

One month earlier…

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Pulling into the driveway, Law was glad to finally be home. He had been covering in Emergency for the past week, meaning that he was practically living between Logue Town General and Penguin and Shachi’s couch for exactly that same amount of time. Now all he wanted to do was relax, eat something, and fall face-first into his bed and not wake up until Nami came over in the morning. It was honestly all he could do to not head on over to 1000 Sunny Rd and fall asleep in her bed there instead, but knew that there wasn’t an amount of money in the world he’d accept to sleep in that house without her protecting him. He didn’t care what was going on—extremely loud sex could be happening right at that very moment and Law was certain that it wouldn’t even register with him.

…because, yeah, even though it was extremely weird and awkward that Cora-san and Bell-mère-ya were fucking, he wasn’t going to allow that possibility to deter him from sleeping in his own bed.

Instead, however, when Law entered the house, he heard the telltale click of heeled shoes against the kitchen tile. There were only two reasons as to why heels were in the kitchen, and since Nami’s scooter wasn’t parked outside…

“Practicing already?” he mumbled as he shuffled into the kitchen. A glance over at his foster father showed that, yes, the older man was in his highest pair of heels, looking ridiculous in his skinny-jeans and bedazzled mega-pumps.

“Hey, you know how long it takes me to get used to these,” Cora replied. He shakily took a mug of coffee from the counter to the table and sat down, breathing a sigh of relief. “Izou says this time is gonna be big.”

“It’s just the charity drag show,” Law noted. He shrugged off his jacket and began to root around in the fridge, wondering what had appeared in it while he’d been gone. “It’s the same thing every year: you and your friends dress as women and do skits and ticket sales go to whatever organization doesn’t hate you at the moment. What makes this year so special?”

“We’re expanding, for one,” Cora said. Law found some store-bought onigiri hiding in the fridge and put it on the table before grabbing himself coffee as well, his mug ceramic instead of Cora’s silicone. “This year we’re going to have not just Queens, but Kings and Enby Royalty as well. You’d know this if you attended the meetings.”

“I don’t need to attend committee planning meetings to know it sounds like the perfect thirst trap cocktail; Penguin and Shachi will be more conflicted than usual.”

“Belle’s participating.”

“Good for her.”

“So is Izou’s kid sister.”

“Isn’t being trans, but also a drag king, cheating according to some people?”

“She’s the one who demanded there be a non-aligned Royalty category, to alleviate that potential problem while still shaking things up,” Cora shrugged. “If Nami-chan didn’t already have your dick on lockdown, I’d say…” He stopped as Law gave him a deadpan stare. “What? She’s tall, she’s cute, she likes swords, she literally can’t be weirder than us…”

“This conversation is getting worse with each passing word that comes out of your mouth.”

“…andthewinnersoftheRevuearegoingonImpelDragRacenextseason.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion catching up to him, but Law stopped shoveling tuna salad into his onigiri and stared at Cora and the whiplash-inducing topic change. “Come again…?”

“The winners of each category are going to be featured on Impel next season!” Cora repeated, stars in his eyes. “A chance to meet Iva themself…!”

“You know, I can just haul you over to Strawhat-ya’s next weekend if that’s what you want to do.”

“Now that’s cheating,” Cora said decidedly. “I want to meet Ivankov on a professional level, not as ‘your godson considers my son one of his besties against his will’. It’s lame.”

“…and you were going to tell me all about this when…?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“Eventually.”

Law took a deep swig from his coffee mug, glad he was long-past the point where caffeine wasn’t going to do jack fucking shit except paradoxically soothe his nerves. “I should plan to go camping that weekend.”

“You wouldn’t!” Law simply stared at him and bit into his onigiri, too tired to banter. “We’d be down four of our most long-term staff!”

“It’s bad enough that every year Penguin and Shachi are in a weird philosophical rut about ‘what even is gender and sexuality’ for three weeks after the show,” Law reasoned. “You might get them for a few hours but I have to deal with the lasting fallout.”

“Fallout that is worth it considering we get a handful of normies who are trained medical staff and willing to beat up troublemakers to defend our honor.”

“Mmhmm—you can defend your own honor just fine,” Law scoffed.

“Not in these shoes I can’t.” Okay, he had a point there. “Please, son… for me…?”

Law sighed, his tank well-past empty. A grown man and he was still trying the pity card from back when he was a teenager freshly rescued from both the system and his brother’s grasp…

…because of course he was going to help. It was on his calendar, wasn’t it? Law took another bite of onigiri and sighed through rice and tuna. Only Cora-san.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a few days later in the house at 1000 Sunny Rd and Law knew he was in trouble. Although she did greet him with a kiss when he arrived, his girlfriend was pointedly ignoring him as the afternoon went on. It was unusual for Nami to act as such, and he simply let the situation stew as he got roped into her friends’ other antics. Zoro had even pulled him into a sparring match in the backyard, which was even more of a rarity.

“Do you know what I did?” he asked as they were cleaning up. The younger man shrugged.

“It’s hard telling with the witch,” Zoro scoffed. “I get in trouble with her by breathing, so who the fuck knows? All I do know is that she’s been spending more time here than usual, so it’s probably something to do with something not-here.”

“I’m sure we’ve dealt with worse,” Law replied, exhaling heavily. “I don’t know how any of you handle her platonically…”

“By reminding myself that she’s the one who fronts bail,” Zoro reminded him. Law nodded; good point. They threw the equipment into the shed and trudged back to the house, where a plate of onigiri each was waiting for them on the counter. “Ah, shit-cook, how did you know?”

“It’s called not wanting your miasma of body funk hanging around my kitchen any longer than it has to,” Sanji deadpanned. “Now scram, both of you, before I kick your skulls in. You can only come back after you’ve showered.”

“Shower Day isn’t until tomorrow,” Zoro reminded him. Sanji cringed and flipped him his middle finger—clearly he was far from the mood for pleasantries.

“That is nasty, I hope you know,” Law said. “As a medical professional I’ve got to side with him on this one.”

“People aren’t designed to wash that often,” Zoro grumbled. He took his onigiri with him as he retreated to his room, muttering the entire time about Sanji being things such as ‘prissy’ and ‘high-maintenance’. This left Law to his own devices in the unusually-quiet house; most of the regular crowd was either at work or off chasing after Luffy somewhere.

Sighing, Law decided to at least take advantage of the quiet and get some stuff done. He went into the office area with his onigiri and found where he had placed his work bag. Sitting down on the pleather couch (all the better to wipe his excess sweat off later), he opened his laptop and began reviewing patient charts. He had a ridiculous amount of procedures quickly approaching to accommodate his time off to help with the Revue and he wanted to make sure there were no surprises. About an hour had passed when Nami came into the room and staggered in shock at the smell.

“Fuck… you reek like Zoro,” she grimaced.

“We were working out together,” he explained. Law watched as she grabbed her own laptop and hesitated, staring at him. “Like what you see?”

“A bit annoyed at what I see,” she replied. “Your dad has my mom being weirder than usual.”

“It’s no different from cosplay,” he shrugged.

“Usopp cosplays. Bell-mère is stomping around the house acting like she drives an extended-cab-short-bed pickup truck.”

“That’s different from how she normally acts how…?” he asked. Nami folded her arms across her chest and scowled sourly at him. “Hey, I’m not the one who was raised by the woman.”

“True, but it doesn’t change the fact that her practicing her act is more than aggravating.” She frowned as he shrugged at that; it wasn’t his fault that their parents were the way they were. “It’s one thing having some of the goobers around here get into it, but Bell-mère is another.”

“…and you’re going to take it all out on me? I’m insulted, Nami-ya.”

“You don’t look much insulted.” She ran her eyes up and down her boyfriend, trying to calculate how long she could stay cross with him specifically before her libido gave way. “You’re allowed in my room, but only if it’s to go straight to the shower.”

“…and where might I be allowed after that?” he asked, already standing up and reaching for the sanitizing wipes on a nearby table.

“Bed, where we can finish our work,” she wiggled her laptop for emphasis, “and then we’ll talk.”

He shrugged and popped the canister open with his thumb; he’d take it. “I’ll see you up there.” He threw in a wink for good measure, only for her to roll her eyes in exasperation.

“It’s like I’m dating an old man,” she whined playfully before leaving. She knew full-well he’d only try to prove her wrong later for that comment. In fact, Nami would almost place money on it.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Later that night, as Law resisted going to clean up his condom in lieu of being too damn comfortable, he was alerted to the concept of something being wrong as Nami sighed heavily. He hugged her hips a bit tighter and nuzzled her chest, glad at least she hadn’t stopped carding through his hair.

“What’s the matter?” he wondered cautiously.

“Just… still thinking about Bell-mère,” she admitted. “She’s been really happy since she hooked up with Cora-san again.”

“I can almost guarantee that is reciprocated.” He felt the gentle scrape of her nails on his scalp and nearly melted. “You know… this drag thing… it’s pretty harmless…”

“Oh, I know that much,” she chuckled lowly. “It’s just going to be a pain in my ass, like everything about you weirdos.”

“I resent that.” He took a playful nip at her breast and let her roll them both over as she giggled. She then sat on his midsection, partially pinning him. “What? I thought this was a thing because I bring just as much braincells into this house as you do.”

“Doesn’t make you not a weirdo,” she smirked. She gently pressed her knees against his shoulders and hummed as his inked hands found her thighs. “Good thing I like weirdos so much.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“It’s going to cost you.”

Something told Law that he was going to enjoy paying the price.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It had already been a long day at Logue Town General when Law, Penguin, and Shachi took their lunch break. Bepo had lost the impromptu rock-paper-scissors competition, meaning the charge nurse was stuck back on the floor while the other three were jammed into their usual booth at Don Silver, the restaurant empty aside from a few other sets of scrubs and the occasional delivery courier.

“Cora-san wants me to remind the both of you that the charity show is coming up,” Law said. He was stretched out on his own side of the booth while the goobers sat on their own as they demolished the breadbasket. “He signed us all up again.”

“Should’ve known this was how our life was gonna be,” Penguin muttered through a mouthful of bread. Law raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “The first time we were allowed over to your dad’s, he was literally practicing his routine.”

“Can you fault him for taking advantage of his semi-androgynous profile?”

“No, but I feel like we’ve worked every single one of these charity shows since we met him.”

“Not to mention the fact that we can’t even meet women at these places because something, something, something, no fraternizing with the customers for our own safety on orders of Cora-san,” Shachi mentioned. “Come on; this is, like, a complete drag. Figuratively. And literally. And several other qualifiers.”

“Besides, we show up with a literal bear; how can we compete with that?”

“That’s your problem, not mine.” Law eyed Gin as he came over with their respective meals—burgers for the techs, a shawarma wrap (no pickles) for the surgeon, and a giant plate full of fries—and put his legs down so the proprietor could slide into the booth next to him.

“So, I hear there’s a ripple in your old man’s charity show,” Gin grinned. It would have been menacing if it weren’t for the fact that Law could probably flip the guy over with one hand.

“Since when have you cared about my dad’s charity show aside from letting us put up a flyer for it?”

“Since it’s apparently a really big deal this year, but also will make Blackleg extremely uncomfortable if I show up.”

“If your place wasn’t so tasty and conveniently-located, I’d say you’re an ass for that comment and several others,” Shachi frowned around his burger. Gin shrugged.

“You know my beef now; like I give a shit.”

“You’re such a sore weirdo,” Penguin added. With his sight line towards the door, his eyebrows shot up and he kicked Law in the shin to get his attention as the other man was picking at the fries. “Look alive: Bepo’s about ready to have a crisis.”

“You people are going to be the death of me,” Law groaned. He heard the sleighbells on the door chime and before long Bepo was standing at the booth, looking indeed as though he was about to break into hysterical sobbing. “You know I have a pager and my cell phone, right?”

“I don’t think this is something that you want to hear over the phone,” Bepo said, wringing his paws. “I just got a call from Marco down in the ER, and… and…”

Shit—that wasn’t good. “…and…?”

“He says your dad’s being less dramatic than usual…?”

Panicking, Law pushed Gin out of the booth and ran out of the restaurant, glad that it was literally in the hospital’s shadow. He hurried past security and into Emergency, where he found one of the most horrifying sights possible:

Cora-san. Laid up in a hospital bed. While Marco instructed some sap doing clinicals on how to properly wrap a freshly-set broken leg in a cast.

Oh hell.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was two days after Cora-san had been released from the hospital and Law suddenly found that his father’s milquetoast cookie-cutter suburban house had suddenly become Drag Central earlier than normal. He didn’t mind his foster father’s friends from the drag circuit—in all honesty, they were some of the nicest people he’d ever known—but at the same time, there was way too much overreacting going on and he did not wake up with enough wherewithal, mana, or general patience that morning to deal with much more than the drama queen he actually lived with.

“There has to be something we can do,” Izou frowned as Law was bringing a tray full of drinks into the living room. It was only Izou, his younger sister Kiku, and Marco at that point; the three of them plus Cora-san were essentially the core of the planning committee and had shooed out the others by that point. “Our regulars are going to expect Rosi Thoughts—if she doesn’t show up, then it could be a disaster.”

“This one imagines there must be some sort of way to do a routine from a wheelchair,” Kiku said. She pondered the concept carefully. “The venue is handicap-accessible, after all…”

“Only for the patrons,” Izou noted. “You haven’t been behind stage yet, but the back wasn’t built with this sort of thing in mind. We’re just going to have to figure something else out.”

“I can do the routine in crutches,” Cora-san offered. He accepted his no-spill tumbler from his son and pouted. “I don’t want to let down any fans!”

“No,” Law said firmly. “Marco-ya showed me your break—it won’t be well enough for a walking cast by then.”

“Patient confidentiality!” Cora-san gasped, pointing at Law in horror.

“You’re my foster father, not my patient. Besides, it would be Marco-ya you’d have to point that finger at… if I wasn’t listed as your emergency contact, that is.”

“He’s got you there, yoi,” Marco chuckled. He was about to continue when the front doorbell cut him off. “Huh… I wonder if that’s Thatch coming back…”

“I got it; I got it…” Law grumbled. He went to the front door and opened it, only to be met by a person in a baby-pink suit, a bowlcut, and a trowel of makeup. “Auditions are closed; they’ll get back to you.”

“Where are they?!” The new person barged their way into the house, pushing past Law and not even caring that he was there. They caught sight of the group sitting around the living room and their face lit up. “Ah! Here must be the belles of the ball—Shenix Fyre, Ganmodokidoki, and…” their eyes landed on Cora-san, “Rosi Thoughts.”

“…and who the fuck are you?” Law asked. Another person came in, this one dressed in orange and white while looking decidedly feminine.

“My name is Inazuma, and this is Bon-chan,” she replied. “We’re here as representatives of Impel Drag Race. We have reason to believe that your production might be in jeopardy?”

“What ever gave you that idea?” Kiku giggled sweetly, trying to throw them off the scent. Bon-chan gestured at Cora-san’s leg with a flourish.

“We’re not here to call the show off, but we are here to inform you that you need to make sure the show goes on with the same amount of contestants,” Bon-chan replied importantly. “We are planning on doing an entire episode revolving around local and independent events like the Logue Town Royal Revue and to have anything less than the nine contestants we were promised is a breach of contract.”

“…but this isn’t someone dropping out because they’d rather go on vacation,” Izou frowned.

“Indeed, yoi,” Marco chimed in. “I work at a hospital—what if I came down with something two days before the show?”

“It doesn’t matter—it’s in the contract,” Inazuma replied. “We’re here as a courtesy to make sure you are aware of the stakes and know that it’s no offense and standard procedure. Iva wants to have a contestant from your revue, so they’re giving you a fighting chance.”

“The show is only a few weeks away,” Cora-san frowned. “We can’t just cook up a replacement that fast! Auditions were months ago! We’d have to contact everyone again!”

“Then you might have to go on an accidental breech of contract and try again next year,” Bon-chan said. “It would be your first infraction, so it’s not like it’s a weighted disqualifier…”

“I’ll do it.” The entire living room stared at Law and all the breath felt as though it left his lungs; fuck, he said it out loud. “I… I’ll take his place. Make it three in the category again.”

“…and you aaarrreee…?”

“Law, kiddo, you don’t have to…”

“I’m his kid—if I take his place in the show, will it still be a breech of contract?”

“No.” Bon-chan pursed their lips and looked Law over. “Ever perform?”

“No, but I’ve been helping out with the show since I was fifteen, and that has to count for something. If I win, then he gets to go on Impel.” He gestured at Cora-san, who was too choked up with tears to say anything. “Let me be a stand-in—it’ll work.”

“A child sacrificing for their parent in order to keep the show going… I love it!” Bon-chan squealed, mood shifting violently. They spun around, nearly knocking over drinks in the process. “We’ll let Iva know right away!”

“We’ll look forward from hearing from you soon,” Inazuma nodded. She deftly dodged Bon-chan as they somehow pirouetted out of the house, leaving the committee more startled than anything. They all turned towards Law, who went deathly pale as his brain caught up with him and the events of the past ten minutes actually sunk in.

Oh… oh no… what did he just do…?!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Nami parked her scooter outside the well-kept inner-city apartment complex that served as Goober Central; for some reason she was summoned here and not her boyfriend’s dad’s place. Why, she had no idea, but she entertained it for the time being, since it was Bepo who called. She couldn’t say no to Bepo, not really. It was kind of like saying no to Chopper—it just wasn’t done.

Heading into the building and up the stairs, she went to the second-from-topmost floor and over to the door at the end of the corridor, it opening before she even had a chance to knock.

“Good, you came,” Penguin said. He looked out past Nami, attempting to see if she’d been followed. “No one else?”

“You said it was ‘of the utmost importance’ and that Law was ‘in danger’,” she deadpanned. “What sort of nonsense do you have him roped into this time?” Nami entered the apartment to find her boyfriend laying face-down on the living room floor, Bepo and Shachi attempting to coax him out of some sort of rut.

It was a damn good thing the sex was so good or this would be ridiculous.

“Alright, what’s going on that I have to fix?” she asked as she sat down on the couch. Law remained still, though she could feel him cringe at her voice. “I take it has to do with Cora-san, since we’re here and not at his place?”

“More than just Cora-san,” Shachi said gravely. Nami rolled her eyes.

“Well, since it doesn’t involve Bell-mère dropping out of the Revue, I don’t know what it could possibly be about.” She watched as Law shifted his head so that he was looking at her shoes.

“People from Impel came to warn the Revue’s organizers about a potential breech in contract with him switching to being a judge,” he grumbled.

“…and this has you laying on Penguin and Shachi’s un-vaccuumed carpet because…?”

“I volunteered.”

She blinked at that. “You volunteer every year…”

“No: I volunteered without thinking about the consequences.”

Oh.

“He might’ve well as called himself a sacrificial goat the way Cora-san told it over the phone,” Penguin said blithely. “Man’s fucked.”

“…and what does that have to do with me?” Nami asked. She knew, of course, but wanted to hear it from her boyfriend’s mouth.

“I need your help, Nami-ya,” he groaned. He shifted his head so that he could look up at her, all sad and pathetic and absolutely delightful. “I need help.”

She grinned at that and pulled her phone from her purse. “You’re going to need a lot more help than just me.”

“So… you’re not angry…?” Bepo wondered. Nami smirked as she fired off a couple texts.

-----

Shopping trip?

I got a project. You’re gonna love it.

-----

“Angry? I might just get some entertainment value out of this whole debacle yet.” Her phone chirped and Nami shifted her weight from one hip to the other as she snapped a photo of her puddle-boyfriend and sent it off. Less than ten seconds and she got a reply.

-----

Ooooh… finally accepting pointers?

-----

Not the kind you’re thinking. Still have those trial palettes from when you got the idiot those beauty boxes for the hair dye?

-----

Yes but…

…

…pick me up in hald an hour

*half

ykwim

-----

“We’re in luck,” Nami chuckled. “We’re going to be accompanied by an expert.”

Law wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Shopping with Nami and Perona had been an interesting experience, to say the least. Law had no idea who the cavalry was until they rolled up to the weird mansion that was in a densely wooded plot in the middle of what was otherwise zoned for commercial property. Haunted land bought cheap enough to afford the zoning board’s subsequent bribe, so the story went, and it honestly made sense given who lived there. When the distinctively large pink ringlets came bouncing out of the house and down the circular drive, it became apparent that he was going to be in for a time.

“It’s a good thing you got a hold of me,” Perona said importantly as she got into the back seat of Law’s car. “It’s bad enough your dad tapped the rest of Zozo’s weirdo friends to round out his revue, but this? This is a project I’m definitely interested in making happen.”

“Just tell me where we’re going,” Law grumbled.

“That depends on what your persona is going to be,” Nami said. Her boyfriend stared at her, seemingly confused. “What? You mean you don’t have a persona picked out?”

“I was thinking we could just get stuff for me to imitate Cora-san’s act…?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…” Nami tutted. “Rosi Thoughts might become a legacy character, but only after the original retires, not gets temporarily sidelined as one of the judges. We need a brand-new queen for this scene.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Perona smirked. She looked smug as a fed cat in the rearview mirror. “We have to come up with something with glamour and pizzazz if you’re going to even have a shot.”

“I’m not glamour or pizzazz—I’m a disturbingly young surgeon who still lives with his foster father and has a bunch of weird friends who are way too cheerful and energetic and loud to be worth it if it weren’t for the crucial facts that A) they actually put up with me, and B) that’s how I met Nami.”

“How about we go with that?” Perona offered, refusing to unpack all that. “The surgeon thing.”

“Marco-ya is also a doctor and his thing is a pineapple-phoenix.”

“…and it’s not like we have a lot of time to develop a distinct act for you,” Nami reasoned. “Maybe if we had two months, but not under two weeks.”

“I draw the line at Halloween-store ‘sexy’ outfits,” he warned. “I don’t care what it costs me; I will leave you both behind.”

“Who do you think we are? Amateurs?” Perona gasped in false indignation. She leaned back into her seat and buckled up. “Just drive, loser. I’ll tell you when we need to make a turn.”

So he did, and Law was taken to all manner of stores in the hunt for supplies. Between his girlfriend and… their… mutual friend’s… sister (…? Their femme style consultant…? Nami’s torture expert…?) he had all sorts of things held to his face and body and even had to try on no less than ten pairs of hellish shoes. By the time they walked into the final store of the afternoon—the scrubs store—he was desperately thankful for the normalcy involved.

“Now this is more something I’m familiar with,” he breathed in relief. He took solace in the rows upon rows of women’s scrub tops that were no different in make and design than the men’s on the other side of the aisle. The only real differences were the patterns and how they were sized. “They probably shouldn’t be the same as what I wear at work, so it—”

“They need to be cute,” Perona insisted as she idly sorted through some patterned tops. “We’re already trying to negate the not-cute things about you, so we’re gonna need to try hard.”

He glared at her, suspicious. “What about me isn’t cute?”

“Those tattoos, that scowl, the fact you look like a scarecrow…”

“Izou-ya has a tattoo sleeve and Cora-san is even scarecrowier than me.”

“…and you’re still not cute!” Perona huffed. She flitted her way over towards some bat-print scrubs while leaving Law to sulk. Nami giggled quietly at the entire thing.

“What…?” he grumbled. “I bet you’re enjoying this.”

“I am, but not in the way you think.”

“I thought you enjoyed torturing me, Nami-ya.”

“What we do in the bedroom has nothing to do with it,” she smirked. His face went red at that—busted. “It’s just nice having a day like this, where I get to go around and dress you up.”

“…but Ghost-ya…”

“You know it has nothing to do with Perona, even if she is giving us a neat perspective.” He rolled his eyes and she playfully nudged him in the side. “What? She can sew and Usopp is too busy with helping both Sanji and Robin…”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted quietly. “The guys just… they aren’t really equipped for this. Working the show, yeah, but…” He rubbed a piece of fabric between his fingers as his eyes lost focus. “Not just any girlfriend would call in the cavalry when she learns her boyfriend is taking his father’s place in a drag show.”

“When you put it like that, you’re absolutely correct,” she said. Nami popped up on her toes and kissed the corner of Law’s mouth. “Just be glad I’m not charging you for my time.”

“I know my payment is going to be how I least expect it,” he said. “You just have that way about you.”

“…and you know it,” she grinned. It made him feel a little better, admittedly, and he bent down to press a proper kiss to her lips. He was nearly there when they heard Perona clear her throat; she was holding up a tight-cut scrub top that was hot pink and decorated in black hearts.

Not just no, but fuck no.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was two days before showtime and everything was in a panic. Law was already off work, meaning he had been chasing Cora-san around the house all morning and afternoon as the taller man tried to wander around on his crutches doing things for the Revue. He eventually needed to threaten his foster father with packing everything up to go to Izou’s tiny apartment in Logue Town-proper. Since they all had sworn that they’d never do that again as long as Cora-san still had his house, the man sulked on the couch with his leg propped up all until Marco left carrying the last tote of decorations. Law helped his coworker out to the car and swore to be at the venue the following day to help unpack, retreating back into the house once the vehicle revved up. He couldn’t help but let out a little laugh as he saw Cora-san pouting right where he left him.

“Your face will stick like that if it’s not careful,” he teased as he closed the blinds.

“It won’t.”

“You’re not going to listen to a medical professional?”

“Sometimes they’re wrong.” Law looked at his foster father and sighed, already regretting what he was about to offer.

“I’ll get together some snacks and maybe you can watch me figure out my makeup?”

“I’ll do it, but I’m still angry with you,” Cora-san grumbled. Well, it was progress. Law helped him to his feet and went to the kitchen while his dad attempted to navigate the stairs with crutches. By the time he brought the tray of tea and sandwiches up to his room, it looked like Cora-san was already nursing two extra bumps to his head and elbows. “The turn in the hallway moved.”

“Mmhmm… now you sound like Roronoa-ya,” Law hummed. He balanced the tray on a stack of boxes and handed Cora-san his tea before filling his own Sora, Warrior of the Sea mug. “So what do you think of the palettes Ghost-ya and Nami-ya got?”

“I think I like this one best,” Cora-san said, handing his son one of the makeup palettes that was sitting on the bed. “Brings out your eyes, I think.”

“Thanks.” Law sat down at the vanity mirror and turned on the lights, preparing to put on more cosmetics than he’d ever had on in his life.

“Can I ask why your cute girlfriend isn’t helping you with this?”

“She’s helping Ghost-ya with my outfit—wants the final product to be a surprise,” he admitted. Law dug through the debris that was littering the vanity and found his old foundation, shaking the bottle well before opening it back up. “Shachi showed her pics of me as a teenager already—she knows I’m not helpless.”

“You were really cute then,” Cora-san recalled. “Do you remember why you had me teach you?”

“…to hide my Amber Lead spots.”

“No… it was because you wanted to have the coolest Halloween costume in your new school. Hiding the spots was only a bonus.” He watched the younger man put on concealer and foundation, layering slightly thicker than he normally would. Blush came next and Law glared at his reflection.

“I feel ridiculous,” he seethed.

“For lack of a more… dignified term, we’re essentially a modern variation on clowns,” Cora-san offered. “Feeling ridiculous is baked in—it’s just all about how comfortable you feel while ridiculous is the thing.”

“…but I have never worn makeup like this.”

“No, you haven’t.” The older man chuckled quietly as he watched Law put on eyeshadow up to his eyebrow, scowling at his own efforts. “You know… I’m very proud of you for doing this. I know it’s well out of your comfort zone.”

“You’ve done similar for me, and would do it again.”

“That’s… that’s not the point.” He placed a hand on Law’s shoulder, the younger man stopping to turn and look at him directly. “You barely wanted anything to do with this when we first moved here.”

“I was a young teenager who had just gone through hell; I didn’t want anything to do with anyone.”

“…and now you’re here, doing this, while your cute young girlfriend helps get your costume together. I never thought we’d get anywhere near this.”

“Don’t get too sappy on me or my makeup will run and then I’ll have to start from scratch,” Law warned. There was no venom in his voice, simply experience. “Now, what do you think I should do with my eyelashes? You aren’t going to get out of this easy, Rosi.”

…and oh, ideas were had.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was finally Revue Day.

Despite the fact the show was going to be at seven in the evening, Law pulled up to the back door of the venue just before eleven in the morning, car full of the last bits of costuming, decorations, prepwork, and Cora-san. Penguin and Shachi were already there, very clearly faking a smoke break as they leaned up against the wall of the building.

“Who all is here?” Law asked, rolling down his window. Penguin shrugged.

“Some of Pops’s gang was already here with Marco when we showed up,” he said. “If Izou and Kiku are here they just came in through the front door, Straw Hat’s crew beat us all here…”

“…even the kid; he’s doing homework at the bar,” Shachi interrupted. “Marco’s about ready to kidnap and adopt him.”

“A common sentiment,” Law nodded.

“…yeah, and, at least most of the contestants are here,” Penguin finished. He took his unlit cigarette and handed it to Shachi, who put them back in the pack and pocketed them. “I think all we’re really missing is the two of you, the Drag Sibs, two other contestants, and Bepo, but the buses are running late due to that festival in Shells District.”

“That’s probably what’s keeping Kiku,” Cora-san said, leaning towards Law’s window. “Izou got his motorcycle fixed, so if anything’s keeping him it’s traffic.”

“Try telling that to Pops’s gang,” Shachi droned, rolling his eyes.

“Alright,” Law put the Polar Tang in park and killed the engine, “I’m gonna get Cora-san in while you two start unloading. It’s all the usual stuff from the house, so nothing too weird.”

“Weird today is a bare-faced businessman in a cheap suit,” Penguin quipped. Law pretended to not hear that and popped the trunk before getting out of the car and grabbing Cora-san’s crutches so the older man could attempt to support himself while he got the costuming supplies.

“Boys, Law is bullying me,” Cora-san whined.

“You don’t even know the definition of bullying, you wet cat of a man,” Law sniped. There was no venom in his voice, however, as it technically fell under the auspices of pre-show banter.He heard twin engines and sure enough: Bepo and his moped and Izou and his pristine vintage Shandoran motorcycle came into the alleyway. “About damn time.”

“Sorry I’m late!” Bepo cried. He and Izou parked their rides in the same space, looking nearly comical next to one another. “Had to pick up batteries on the way and the line took forever.”

“You know we have batteries here,” Law replied. “Marco-ya alone should probably switch to a twelve-volt.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still feel weird taking them,” the bear frowned. He adjusted his backpack full of photography equipment before offering a paw to Cora-san as the man wobbled dangerously on the edge of a pothole more a crater of rubble than anything. “How are you feeling today, Cora-san? Have you been keeping your leg elevated at home?”

“As much as I can,” he replied, with Bepo seeing right through the lie. Law stood next to the car as Penguin and Shachi quickly ran some stuff in, with the pair coming out so they could all grab the last of the stuff together.

“If it’s any consolation, Sanji’s set himself up in the kitchen and has been cooking and baking since five so we can all stay fed with his cooking specifically while he’s competing,” Shachi offered. Law raised his eyebrow at that.

“How’d he get in at five?”

“That’s for Straw Hat to explain, not us,” Penguin scoffed. He stuck his foot into the ajar door and swung it open, careful to not disturb the piece of concrete that was serving as a stopper. “It’s best not to think about it, right?”

“Yeah, true.”

Once Law got into the building he knew it was going to be a much more exhausting time than the year prior. He could smell Sanji’s cooking in the air, which was all sorts of heavenly that they were going to need to filter out before the doors opened at six. Marco and Izou’s extended friend circle all seemed boisterous as ever, the Straw Hats and their crew mixing together well. Even the ones who Law had only seen in passing due to the auditions and last-minute materials pickup were having a great time as they helped set up, with both Luffy and Ace latching themselves onto the two non-Kiku Royalty contestants.

“Oh, it’s Torao!” Luffy gasped as he saw him put down a box. He bounded over, a young rose-haired man in-tow. “Torao, this is Koby!”

“I know… he’s been at my house.” He then turned to the newcomer, who seemed quite nervous. “He’s not giving you a hard time, is he?”

“Luffy-san’s really nice… I don’t mind…”

“Yeah! Koby and Yama-bro are our friends now!” Luffy gestured back to Ace and the other non-Kiku Royalty contestant, both of whom were laughing at something Thatch said. “They’re both gonna come over to the house next weekend! Won’t that be fun?”

“It will be if you don’t scare them off first.” Law looked and saw Nami frowning as she went up to them. Luffy took that as his cue to bring Koby over to the snack table, where Sanji was setting up a new round of food. “I swear, if he keeps this up, he’s going to adopt the poor guy into the group against his will.”

“Strawhat-ya wouldn’t do that,” Law chuckled. He leaned down and pecked a kiss to Nami’s lips in greeting. “Please tell me you remembered my costume.”

“I didn’t, mostly because Perona did,” she replied. He raised an eyebrow. “She was the one who decided to do some down-to-the-wire adjustments. All I did was approve them.”

“Then let me drop off Cora-san’s stuff in his dressing room and we’ll do the grand reveal,” he said. She agreed and helped take everything labeled “Rosi Thoughts” to the closet-sized space that its occupant had not yet gotten to, getting distracted by the spread to rival any professional craft services team.

“Alright,” Nami said as they stopped outside the door with Law’s name taped to it (permanent marker on copy paper; very professional), “close your eyes.”

“Nami…”

“Humor us, alright?”

“Fine…” he groaned. He closed his eyes and held out his hands, which she took in both of hers. “Better?”

“Much.” She opened the door and led him in, Perona’s giggles of glee preceding her. “Okay, you ready?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not much, no,” Perona replied. “Go ahead. Open.”

Law opened his eyes and almost gasped when he saw what was sitting on the costuming dummy. It was a sparkling disaster, with the bright yellow scrub set having been taken in to better contour to his body and blue rhinestones outlining where his chest tattoo sat. There were no sleeves and barely anything left of the pant legs, a bright blue feather boa stethoscope, and his eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the heeled shoes on the vanity counter, which were so thoroughly covered in their own rhinestones that he couldn’t even tell they had been brown.

“Well, yeah,” Perona said. She turned the dummy around to show that there were more rhinestones to mimic his back tattoo, as well as have two hearts styled like the ones on his shoulders sitting on the ass. “I think it’s going to be stunning. You couldn’t be cuter.”

“…but you hate yellow.”

“I hate what yellow does to my complexion,” she scoffed, swatting the words away with a limp wrist. “It looks fine on you.”

“You two are both enjoying this way too much,” he groaned. A glance over at Nami’s beaming expression confirmed his suspicions—he was going to pay for this, and it wasn’t just going to be letting his girlfriend sit on his face. “Where’s my makeup bag?”

“Oh, shit, I left it at Cora-san’s dressing room…”

“…then I’ll get it,” he insisted, glad for an excuse to escape. Law did not move quickly as he walked down the narrow corridor towards Cora-san’s room, wondering how the community theater company’s kitchily-large costumes ever tolerated such a narrow walkway.

He only had the door open for two seconds before he saw that the tiny room was decidedly occupado with Cora-san and Bell-mère, the latter with her shirt off in the process of stripping them both for an activity they really should have locked the door for; crutches had been hastily abandoned and the noises coming out of the injured man were fucking indecent.

Law shut the door as quickly and quietly as he could, face beet red, and decided to see what sort of snacks Sanji had put out. The makeup bag could wait.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Alright, everyone!” Penguin called out as he meandered down the corridor. “Emcees are on in five! Glam it up! Last call!” He stopped in front of Law’s room and knocked softly. “Captain? You alright in there?”

“I am going to die,” Law announced from behind the wooden barrier.

“No he’s not!” Perona’s voice insisted. She popped her head out and scowled at Penguin. “He’s just being difficult.”

“Who’s being difficult?” Shachi asked as he appeared around the corner. Perona opened the door and stepped out in order to present her project.

If it wasn’t for the fact they knew it was Law who was getting roped into things, they almost would not have recognized him. Heels and fishnets, well-hidden padding in the chest and rear, a short-cut wig with face-framing bangs, and expert makeup that covered all his tattoos except his shoulders and contoured his face into something leagues more feminine… he was honestly drop-dead gorgeous.

“I thought you were going with more… erm… traditional makeup for the occasion,” Shachi noted. Law simply seethed.

“That apparently was not part of the plan,” he hissed. Ah, shit, his goatee and sideburns were gone. Nami and Perona, however, were ignoring the exchange.

“I think he’s ready,” Nami said, nodding sagely.

“Yes,” Perona agreed. “She is ready to take her place as the Queen of Queens.”

“You know that’s Strawhat-ya’s auncle,” Law replied. He wobbled slightly as he realized that Bepo had appeared behind Penguin and Shachi, snapping a pic with his DSLR before he even had a chance to react. “I said: minimal pictures!”

“You look great, Captain!” the bear beamed. “You better get to your station! The show’s about to start!”

“Good luck,” Nami smiled sweetly, kissing Law on his left shoulder, right over the exposed tattoo she knew would not smudge. “I’ll be helping Zoro contain Luffy. You know who my votes are behind.”

“Oh, is it me, dearest Nami-swan~?!” Both Nami and Law glanced over to see Sanji nearly pirouette out of his dressing room as he saw them. ‘Never took ballet’ his ass—the surgeon could almost bet his tucked balls on Sanji having had a secret life where he had done all the stereotypical rich kid bullshit like ballet and fencing and had been good at them.

“My cheers belong to my beau,” she teased. He picked up her hand and delicately kissed the back of it, which Law found fairly ridiculous in his garish makeup and skirted chef’s outfit.

“Then I shall promise a dessert for tomorrow evening guaranteed to be a petite mort?”

“Stop trying to seduce my girlfriend, Kitchin Bitchen,” Law growled. Sanji glared at him, which he returned, only for Nami to groan and punch them both in an arm.

“Ladies, you’re both pretty,” she insisted. “Now get going!” She smacked them both on the ass and left, Law taking it more as the sort of smack a sports coach would give, while Sanji threatened to bleed out of his nose.

“I am not performing emergency medical procedures on perverts tonight, so be careful,” Law warned as they joined the other contestants in the staging area just out of view of the audience. He blanched when he realized that a very crucial part of the whole show was missing. “Where’s Cora-san?”

“Usopp took him around the back to get to the judges’ booth,” Bell-mère said. Fuck, she looked like some washed-up trucker whose long-hauler broke down on the outskirts of Greater Logue Town and hoofed it the entire way there instead. “He’ll be seen, don’t worry.”

“Think about it,” Izou said, doing one final check of his hair before taking a microphone from Thatch. “Are we going to let him out of our sight with crutches if there’s a chance he can ruin the coat that took me murdering how many feather boas because he can’t be trusted with needles?”

Unable to refute that logic, Law shrugged and watched as Izou and Marco looked at one another, took a deep breath, and slap-slap-slap-slap-slapped their hands together in a quick secret handshake of brotherhood (or in this case, sisterhood) before they stepped out onto the main of the stage, the spotlights quickly finding them.

“Hello and welcome to the Annual Logue Town Royal Revue! Can I get a ‘yoi’?”

“YOI!” the crowd shouted back.

“Excellent! You all know me, yoi. I’m Shenix Fyre, and this is my sister-in-heels Ganmodokidoki. We’re your mistresses of ceremony for the night, where we’ve got a stunning display for everyone!”

“That’s right!” Izou grinned. “Our most steady crowd will know most years it’s just us and our sister Rosi Thoughts on the stage, cracking jokes and being our silly selves, but tonight we’ve got a special treat for you all!”

“That’s double-right!” Marco shifted so that his feathered wings shimmered in the lights, showing off the glitter and beadwork better than just the internal string lights could afford. “We have a brand-new, high-stakes format with a cast full of fresh meat for us to devour tonight!” The crowd cheered. “Now, is everyone ready for a transcendent time?!”

The crowd clapped and cheered; it was always a corny line, but Law found it somehow worse this year. He had to hand it to them—they really knew how to fire up and engage the crowd.

“Then let’s get started,” Izou said, “and begin introducing the fine and fabulous who are going to make up the teams! Each team gets a member of Enby Royalty, a King, and a Queen, who all have to cooperate in order to complete our grueling tasks!”

“First up in Royalty, we have Rose Marina, yoi!”

Shakily, Koby hobbled out onto the stage, almost tripping on himself; Killer scoffed at the sight.

“Poor lad’s about to piss himself,” he grunted.

“Well, yeah,” Bell-mère replied. “I don’t think he’s been even exposed to this before and now he’s in it.”

“Meeker than a wee lamb, that one.”

“Let’s give it up for Snowy Mum!”

“Now you’re just being mean,” Robin smirked, edging herself over towards the next spot. “Don’t let Luffy hear you say that about his new friend.”

“Tch…” Killer shrugged and tried to drop it.

“…and give a hand to our final member of Royalty, Kozuki Oden!”

“Is it usually this tedious?” Sanji asked. He was bouncing his leg and fidgeting. “I don’t think I’ve ever needed a smoke break more.”

“Give it a moment and you can run out the back for a hit,” Law deadpanned.

“Now to start off the Kings, yoi! Here we have Devil Ray!”

“Life really turned to shit when you stopped being able to smoke inside.”

“Bell-mère-ya, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“Eh; what are you gonna do about it, kid?”

“Time to meet Smartea Pants!”

“Flex my medical degree at you?”

“You’re a cardiothoratic surgeon on the best of days—you couldn’t tell me shit about anything else.”

“…and here he is, the Beast of the East!”

“See you out there, kids,” Bell-mère chuckled before she walked out under the lights of the stage.

“God, I hate this already,” Law groaned.

“There is no God here,” Killer stated. Law opened his mouth to explain it was just an expression and there was no reason to be a dick about it when Marco’s voice cut him off.

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, yoi! Here are this years Queens!” He paused to let the crowd applaud—they knew what they were here to see. “First up is Killer Queen!” Killer sauntered onto the stage and ate up the applause and cheers, some of the loudest coming from the man’s personal cheering section.

“If there is a God,” Law sighed, “then he’s making sure those two fuck.” He pointed out the punk with cherry-red hair and a prosthetic arm.

“Mmm… who knows,” Sanji shrugged. “I know I don’t want to.”

“Here’s a special gal who will cure what ails you, Dr. Hart-Steeler!”

“You’re up.” Law felt Sanji’s hands on his back and the younger man push him our towards the stage. The whole crowd clapped as he found himself under hot lights. He smiled awkwardly and quickly searched the crowd, finding not only where the Impel representatives were, but also where Nami-ya was with the rest of the non-participating Straw Hats. Law was so concentrated on his girlfriend, however, that he let the heel of his shoe slip and he rolled his ankle, landing hard on the worn lacquered wood of the stage floor to a round of gasps and one fairly annoying “faffaffaffa”.

Oh, they were off to a great start.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was two days since the Revue and Law was laying on a couch in Luffy’s sus-as-fuck party house at 1000 Sunny Rd, his feet propped up on the far armrest and his head in Nami’s lap as she idly carded through his hair. Her weather data-crunching laptop was balanced on the other armrest as she used it one-handed, not wanting to stop touching her boyfriend’s fluffy hair.

“How are your feet feeling?” she asked. He grunted in response, leaning into her touch.

“Better,” he admitted. “Ankles not nearly as sore either.” His eyes were closed as he simply enjoyed her touch and company. “I do still think I bruised my hipbone.”

“Did you now?” she wondered idly. “I guess this means that it might need some attention later…?”

“Possibly,” he smirked. “You’ll have to check for signs of contusions.”

“Hey, time to play doctor later,” Zoro warned as he walked into the room. He had his reading glasses on as he squinted at a newspaper—the Foosha Free Press—sourly. “It looks like they even did an article about you all the way out here in the fucking sticks.”

“They did not need to do an article about any of us out this way,” Law said, hoping the glare he was giving would help Zoro take a fucking hint.

It didn’t.

“I guess the editor is an old friend of your dad’s or something,” Zoro replied nonchalantly.

“Between your adoptive pain in the ass and mine, who don’t they know?”

“Boys, you’re both stupid, now what does it say?” Nami frowned. Zoro adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat before peering down at the paper, attempting to find where he’d left off. When it took him too long to find his spot, Nami tore the paper from his hands. “Silly me thinking you could read.”

“Witch! Can to!”

“Mmm… sure.” Nami opened up the paper and found the article Zoro had been hunting for almost immediately. “Huh. ‘The Logue Town Royal Revue, always a show that surprises and entertains, mixed things up to the extreme with their all-new drag show in their attempt to woo support from Impel Drag Race. With the goal of raising money for charity, it felt as though this year one got a lot more for their ticket price. Was it a change in budget? The novelty of new contestants? No one can say for certain.’ At least it seems like they really liked you.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Law whined. Nami grinned wickedly at that, knowing precisely what to do.

“‘The Revue,’” she continued reading, “‘was emceed by the two show founders, with their longtime third helping them with the judging portion. Anyone who knew of Shenix Fyre, Ganmodokidoki, and Rosi Thoughts’s prior acts came in with expectations that were delivered on. They were able to handle a rowdier-than-usual crowd that was there to support the fresh performers.’”

“Oh, get to the good shit already,” Zoro whined. Both he and Nami tried to not snicker as they watch Law curl up and try to hide his face in his girlfriend’s lap—no sale.

“Let’s see… blah, blah, ‘Royalty was a unique model the contestants brought to life’, blah, blah, blah… oh, good, nothing about Bell-mère. I was worried about that. It’s all about the one we didn’t know. Devil Ray…” Her eyebrows raised in amusement as she continued. “‘…but the true crowd pleasers were the Queens, especially Dr. Hart-Steeler, whose klutzy act reminiscent of her mother Rosi Thoughts endeared her to myself and the entire crowd.’ Law! They loved you!”

“…no…” he whimpered.

“Who knew your old man surgeon was sexy enough for that,” Zoro laughed. Nami silently dared him to try harder. “At least you know you can go back if you want to do it again.”

“Maybe if Cora-san had gotten into stunt kites… or maybe historical reenactments…”

“See?” Zoro pointed at Law haughtily. “Old man. He’s so old he doesn’t even have an ass.”

“Be nice; his ass suits my needs.”

“Nami, his ass needs implants it’s so flat.”

“Can you please not talk about my ass?”

“Mmm… too bad,” Nami hummed. She skritched his scalp with her nails and smiled at the photo included with the article: Dr. Hart-Steeler making an unintended dive towards Inazuma’s chest, limbs flailing and expression one of pure panic.

She was going to take what she could get.

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

(Not So) Casual Friday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,456 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch (it's not a main component but he very much has the tummy here), Pining, Accidentally admitting attraction, Embarrassment, A little angst, Oral sex, Protected sex Summary: Your best friend Derek finds out about your feelings for Hotch and teases you mercilessly. You can manage it, though, until the first ever Casual Friday, when Hotch shows up to work in a black polo and jeans and you kind of ruin everything. Or maybe you don't? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Okay, girlie, today’s the day,” Derek says when you set your bag and coffee cup on your desk on Monday morning. You shoot your best friend a tired smile and wonder for the—you’ve worked at the BAU for almost two years, so it’s probably the 500th time—for the 500th time why he has to be such a morning person when you would prefer not to have a conversation until at least 10 AM.

“Today’s the day for what?” you sigh, asking out of obligation, because it’s obvious that’s what he’s waiting for; he smiles, picks up your coffee and hands it to you, which must mean you sound bitchy. You take a grateful sip, close your eyes and exhale through your nose.

“For you to admit to me that you’re in love with Hotch.”

You spit out your coffee—only all over yourself, which is great, wouldn’t want to inconvenience Derek at all—and then cough so hard he has to thump on your back to help clear your airway.

It draws some attention; Hotch comes out of his office, takes a look at the two of you and probably regrets hiring the both of you, then walks down the stairs to make sure you’re okay.

“What happened? You’re wet,” he says a bit gruffly, looking at the coffee all over your chest and sleeves. You glare over at Derek, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“Derek made me spill my coffee.” You grab a handful of tissues off your desk and pat at the wet spot, trying to soak up the worst of it, but it’s not salvageable. You’ll have to change your shirt.

“And then you… choked on it?” Hotch asks, to clarify. Derek does laugh at that; the things Hotch is saying happen to have dual meanings, slightly sexual, and now that Derek knows—thinks he knows—about your thing for Hotch, it’s clear he finds it all so hilarious. He’s a twelve year old boy in a grown man’s body.

“Okay, I didn’t spill, I spit,” you correct, looking up at them, and Derek makes an exaggerated face of disapproval.

“Should have swallowed,” he says, trying to sound serious, and you shoot him an irritated look and reach out to slap him in the chest. Asshole.

“Do you need help getting cleaned up?” Hotch’s expression is kind, sweet, but you’d sooner die than have him blot coffee off of your boobs. It would be mortifying, especially in front of Derek.

“No, no, I think I’m okay. Thanks,” you add with a soft smile, and then you reach up and pull your sweater over your head, unzip your go bag, and search for another top.

For some reason, Hotch has a coughing fit scarily similar to the one you just had, and you turn to pat his back like Derek did for you.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking up into his face, and he nods despite his watering eyes.

“Fine,” he croaks, and he leaves as quickly as he came. You sigh, because it’s not even nine and your day has already been so weird.

You’re wearing a tank top, and thankfully the coffee didn’t get through to that layer, so it’s quick and easy to throw another lightweight sweater over top of it; you ball up the wet one, shove it in the dirty clothes portion of your bag, zip it up and stash it under your desk. Derek looks like he’s having the best day of his life.

“You realize you just undressed in front of Hotch,” he says with a tone you don’t appreciate. You roll your eyes.

“I did not. I had a tank top on underneath.” You almost always wear an undershirt, because you’ve been a cop long enough to know that sometimes your clothes get torn or messed up in the line of duty, and you’re not trying to offer a free show while taking down an unsub. Derek wiggles his eyebrows, points at your chest.

“Yeah, one that put those little boobies on display. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character.” This time, you punch him in the arm, hard. It’s too goddamn early for this.

“Can you please shut up already? I don’t have a thing for Hotch.”

“Ah, I didn’t say you had a thing, I said you’re in love with him. And I have evidence; lots of it.” You tip your head back, groan, wondering what you did to deserve a best friend who is also such a pain in the ass, and it’s that moment that Hotch chooses to rejoin you; he looks a little flushed, probably from the coughing earlier.

“Uh. We have a case; I know not everyone is here yet, but you can head up to the briefing room, I’ll grab the others when they arrive.”

“Sure thing, sir,” you say easily, grabbing your tablet and what’s left of your coffee; you gesture for Derek and he follows, laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, what is it now? I’m so glad you find me entertaining today.”

“‘Sure thing, sir,’” he says with a high, breathy voice you assume is supposed to mimic yours. “You want his dick so bad.” You narrow your eyes at him as you head upstairs.

“Uh, because I was being respectful? I know that’s a foreign concept for you, the world’s biggest asshole, but you don’t have to read anything into it.” You take your usual seats at the table, pull up the note-taking app on your tablet, and Derek sits back, crosses his arms behind his head.

“Well you’re not calling me ‘sir’, and I’m the sexiest piece in the office, so it’s hard not to read into it.” You look over at him, elbow on the table, chin in the palm of your hand.

“Sexy is subjective, and you don’t do it for me, sorry to break it to you.” He scoffs, laughs, and you laugh too because you both know you see each other as brother and sister, buddies, and fellow former cops, and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah, I get it, only Hotch does it for you; he’s not my type, but I can see how a young lady like yourself could be drawn to his brooding exterior.”

“I’m not drawn to his exterior!” you practically growl, and then you’re joined by Spencer and JJ.

“Good morning. What’s going on with you two?” JJ asks, loading up the monitors for the debriefing, her eyebrows raised.

“She’s in love with Hotch,” Derek says completely nonchalantly, and you rest your head on the table, on top of your forearms, and sigh.

“She’s what?” JJ’s whole face lights up, and you seriously regret everything.

“I’m not in love with anybody!” you mumble against your arms, and then you sit up, because you’re clearly going to have to defend yourself. “And I’d appreciate it if you quit saying that I am.”

“I told you I have evidence,” Derek reminds you, leaning back in his chair a little. One swift kick would have him toppling ass over tea kettle, but you’re too nice, even when he’s actively trying to ruin your life. “Shall I go over it while we wait?”

“I’ll be an objective third party,” Spencer says with a brief smile, and you sigh, wave your hand toward Derek.

“Alright, let’s hear it. I’m sure I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever evidence you might think you have.” He grins like this is the moment he’s been waiting for, and you feel a little stupid for encouraging this.

“For one, you always look at him. When I’m delivering a profile, I notice you watching the locals, making sure they understand what we’re going over, since you're the queen of analyzing the micro expressions. But when Hotch is delivering a profile, your eyes are on him the whole time. Same goes for discussing theories on the jet; anyone else, and you’ve got your face in your tablet, scribbling notes, but you always look at him when he speaks.”

Your cheeks get hot. He’s a captivating speaker, is all, with that deep, velvety voice, and you can learn a lot from him, so you pay attention. That’s just being smart.

“Second, you tense when he gets close to you: not like you don’t want him to touch you, but like you’re halfway to jumping him already and trying to control it. I could probably put my hand in your pocket and you wouldn't even flinch, but if he leans over you to point at something you look like you’re about to cream your pants.”

“I have seen that, actually,” JJ offers, and you look over at her, betrayed. Sure, you get a whiff of his clean, crisp cologne, or feel the heat of him at your back, and your body reacts, reminds you that this is your boss and you’re at work and you can’t get turned on by the way he smells, but that’s actually a good thing, not an indicator of feelings or anything.

“Third, there’s something up with you and the gray suits. I can literally tell that he’s wearing one before I even see him, all because of the look on your face. It’s like you’re drunk on the gray suit.”

“Okay, that’s not true,” you say with a roll of your eyes—the gray suits are god tier, but there’s no way you’re that obvious—but it’s Spencer who speaks up, this time.

“You know, I have noticed that. Your pupils tend to be more dilated when his suit is gray or blue than when it’s black.” Fuck. You sigh.

“He barely ever wears the blue. It looks so good on him,” you murmur, and then you snap your eyes shut, cover your face with your hands. “Fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“To be fair, we are profilers,” Derek says, leaning in to pat your back. “But also to be fair, he’s been a profiler longer than any of us, so if we know, he definitely knows.”

“Not helping, Derek,” you grind out, and then you’re joined by the rest of the team. Penelope takes the seat next to you, leans in with a worried tone of voice.

“Is everything okay?”

“She’s having a small crisis, but she’ll be fine,” JJ says with a smile, and you don’t miss the way Hotch looks you over when she says it, concern in his eyes. “Alright, so we’re headed to Arkansas…”

Later that morning, when you’ve been given your instructions—yours are heading to the crime scene with Emily and Derek—Hotch pulls you out into the hall, rests a gentle hand on your arm.

“Are you alright? JJ mentioned you were having a crisis earlier. This is the first time I’ve been able to get you alone, and I wanted to check on you.” You take a deep breath, look up at him, so handsome in a black suit, white shirt, green tie—he almost never wears a green tie, and you absently think it brings out the more golden tones of his eyes—and smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s really nothing. Personal stuff, and I’m dealing with it.” If by ‘dealing with it’ you mean you’ve been repressing it, shoving it down day in and day out until your feelings are choking you, then yeah, you’re dealing with it. “Thanks for checking, though, that’s kind of you.”

“Of course. I’m here to help in any way I can, if you need me.” Good god, do you need him, emotionally, physically, but that’s fantasy, and this, what he’s offering, is rooted in reality. Good things do happen, but not to you.

“Thanks.” Your voice is weak to your own ears, and he swallows, nods; you see Derek hovering by the door, waiting for you, and you pull away to join him, plastering a smile on your face. You don’t talk about it again until Friday, and at that point it’s extremely unavoidable.

It’s Casual Friday, newly implemented by the bureau as a way to boost morale, and while it doesn’t really excite you, because you’re fairly casual anyway, others take full advantage of it. Others, including Hotch.

He shows up to work wearing a black polo and dark jeans, his usual watch. It’s easily the most simplistic, basic outfit a man could decide to wear on Casual Friday, but this isn’t just a man, it’s Aaron fucking Hotchner, and so naturally, you lose your damn mind.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the damn polo didn’t fit him perfectly, tight across his shoulders and chest and the little tummy he has that makes you want to be under him so badly, your stomachs pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly, his strong thighs working against yours…

“Hello, are you alive in there?” Emily asks, waving her hand in front of your face; the two of you, along with Derek, are in Penelope’s office for lunch while Rossi, Reid, and JJ are out of the office for a seminar. You blink, shake away your thoughts and hope and pray they don’t come back—but they’ll come back, they always do.

“She’s just short circuiting because of Hotch’s Casual Friday look,” Morgan says with a wink, sitting backward in his seat. “She’s been drooling so much I’ve had to follow her around with a mop to clean up after her.” You push your wheeled chair away from them with a groan, needing space and air and, potentially, a brain transplant. You’ve gotten nothing done all day long.

“Can you blame me? The man comes in here everyday, buttoned up tight, looking incredible in a suit and tie, and then he shows up in that black polo, all snug and hot and delicious, and you expect me not to freak out? You guys are lucky I didn’t pass out.” You’re met with silence, and you blink, confused, at your friends, but they’re all just kind of staring with looks of barely concealed humor. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret that I want to climb him like a tree.”

“Pretty sure it was a secret to him,” Penelope says, looking shocked, and you whip around in your chair to see Hotch standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little flushed.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I, uh—” He raises a hand, waves you off.

“It’s okay. No harm done; thank you, for the, uh. Compliment.” He steps forward, hands a manila folder to Penelope. “Thanks for taking care of these,” he says softly, and then, unsurprisingly, he gets the hell out of there. You wish you could disappear off the face of the Earth.

“Fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter when he’s gone, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “That’s it, I’m quitting. It’s been nice knowing you guys.”

“Okay, don’t be dramatic,” Derek says, and you look up to glare at him; he’s the one that started all this in the first place. You were fine, feelings tamped down and suppressed, until he brought it up and then told everyone you know.

“Don’t tell me not to be dramatic, Derek! This is all your fault. You never respect my boundaries, you never know when to just let me be, you always have to pick and pick until you wear me down. Maybe I had a reason for wanting to keep my feelings private, did you ever think of that?”

“I know you're upset,” Emily begins softly, because there’s some pretty thick tension between you and Derek now, but you stand up, push your chair across the room, and shake your head.

“I’m not upset, I’m fucking humiliated. I’m going home; let him know I’m sick, will you?” You exhale deeply, storm upstairs and grab your stuff and drive home with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life, and add that to the absolute heartbreak you’re feeling? You’re just happy you make it to your apartment, so you can break down with cheesecake and a sappy, romantic comedy with a happy ending: those perfect, fictional worlds are pretty much the only place one is guaranteed. You are, as planned, hunkered down on the sofa in your softest pajamas, watching You’ve Got Mail and eating the center out of an entire cheesecake with a spoon when there’s a knock at your door. You groan, pick up your cheesecake tin, and walk over to it, fully expecting it to be Derek come to beg for forgiveness for ruining your life, so it’s no surprise you drop your dessert on the floor when it’s actually Hotch on the other side.

He looks down at the tin, then up at your face, cracks the barest hint of a smile.

“I thought you were sick; I brought soup,” he says, holding up a paper bag, and your heart thumps in your chest. You wipe a hand over your face, because you haven’t been exactly neat in your heartache cheesecake consumption, and then you kick the tin across the floor and invite him in, closing the door behind him.

“I thought it was obvious that I wasn’t actually sick, just… really embarrassed,” you say when he turns back to look at you. “I can’t believe you heard all that stuff I said… I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You take the bag from his hand and invite him to follow you into the kitchen, where you set it on the counter, lean against it. He comes close, but not so close you can’t function, which is good; your comfy pajamas are shorts and a loose tank top, so you feel a little exposed already.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says softly, and you frown, must have heard him wrong. He presses his fingertips against the counter, as if for support. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was… unexpected,” he explains, “very unexpected, but I’m not uncomfortable.”

You flush hot, and you can feel the bad decision part of your brain switching on, warning bells ringing in your head.

Whatever you do next has the potential to be extremely stupid, and you would like to avoid that at all costs; you love your job, after all, despite how physically and emotionally exhausting it can be, and you love your team. Time to think with your upstairs brain only.

“That makes me feel a little better,” you say truthfully, and despite the pep talk you just gave yourself, you move closer to him like there’s an invisible magnetic force between you; you would imagine a guy like Hotch would step back, keep his distance, but he only cranes his neck a little so he can look down at you more easily.

God, he’s tall. And he smells good, and his face is perfect, and that goddamn polo...

“Good, I’m glad. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. I’m not uncomfortable, it’s not… it’s not unwanted.” You swallow audibly, looking up at him, wondering if he knows what he’s saying, what it sounds like.

“It’s not?” you ask, and it comes out breathy; he takes a small step closer to you, brushes his fingers over your arm, peers into your eyes.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking of you, too; I know you know you’re beautiful, but you’re also so smart, and strong-willed, and a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud to have you on my team, and I’d be proud… to have you climb me like a tree.” He smiles again, just the barest hint of one, and you put your arms around him and pull him closer for a kiss.

One long, slow, perfect kiss turns into another, then another, and he presses your back against the counter, his hands on your face and your hands on his thick waist; you hum into the kiss, revel in the feel of his lips on yours, his tongue sweeping past them, and when you pull back for air it feels like there’s only one question that needs to be asked.

“Bedroom?” you breathe, and he nods, and you take his hand and pull him in that direction, pausing to kiss him several times before you get there. “You don’t happen to have a condom, do you?” you ask, breathless, guiding him to the bed, and he frowns, shakes his head.

“I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.” You grin at that, lean forward and kiss him, your fingers in his hair.

“I find it so hot that you even say presumptuous. I might have one here somewhere.” You open your nightstand, move around books and toys until you find a couple; you flip them over, checking to see if they’re expired, and offer him a couple options. “They’re still good, surprisingly. You can, uh. Choose the one that would work best.”

He looks them over, picks one and hands back the rest, and you throw them back in the drawer and slide into his lap, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says, holding your waist as you look down at him, completely in awe that this is happening. “But I want to clarify: if you’re looking for something casual, I don’t think we should go any further.” You inhale softly, surprised by his straightforwardness, and you lean in, kiss him slowly.

“I don’t want casual. I want to be with you.” His eyes are so brilliant, dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and he nods, presses his lips to yours and slides his hands beneath your top, guides it over your head. Then they move to your shorts, slipping them gently off your hips, and you stand so he can push them to the ground.

You’re both breathing heavily, a little rough, and you step between his legs, kiss him again, run your hands down his chest, closing your eyes with a sigh because you finally get to feel him after a year of just imagining what it would be like. After a beat, you open your eyes, look into his, smile.

“Really grateful for Casual Friday,” you whisper. “Otherwise you might never have found out I’m kind of in love with you.” You ease the polo over his head, drop it on the ground and encourage him to stand so you can take off his pants; he does, but before you can drop to your knees as planned, he takes your face in his hands, presses one soft kiss against your mouth.

“I’m more than kind of in love with you.” Oh, if that isn’t the greatest sentence your ears have ever heard… You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss a little more, forgetting that you planned to finish undressing him; when you remember, you make quick work of it, then have him lay back against the bed and settle between his legs.

You put your mouth on him because you want to, more than anything, and his hand drops to your hair, caressing you while you suck slowly, deeply, holding him with one hand and pressing against his stomach with the other. His moans are soft and gorgeous, his body tense beneath your hand, and you’d do this all night, but he murmurs your name, coaxes you up, puts his hands on your back as you settle against him.

“You’re so incredible. I never would have imagined I’d get this, get you,” he breathes, skimming his hands over your sides and hips, and you kiss softly, steamy and sweet.

“Me neither.” You lean up, make space for him to roll on the condom, and then press him inside; your breath hitches, and so does his, and you lay on top of him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, arms around each other tightly while you move. “Hmm. Aaron,” you sigh, hair falling around him, and he groans, digs his fingertips into your hips.

“Sounds so perfect coming out of your mouth.” You smile, but it slips away when he surges up to kiss you, leans up so he’s sitting with you in his lap. He slides a broad hand up your back, wraps it around the nape of your neck, and pumps his hips up as you sink down, eliciting a series of soft, eager moans from the both of you.

“Feels like I’ve waited so long; I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I wanted you,” you tell him, chest heaving, and he brings you to him for a kiss, something a little rougher, less refined. He’s getting close.

“Never. You make me feel so much.” You reach back against his leg for support, work harder to bring him off, and when he comes he crushes his mouth against yours, delicious and more uncontrolled than you’ve ever seen him. He chants your name, so soft and sweet rolling off of his tongue, and then gets you on your back so he can press deeply inside.

You feel so incredibly full, panting beneath him, your hands on his waist and your feet on the backs of his thighs; his perfect face is inches from yours, all shallow breaths and decadent, passionate kisses, and when you climax you pull him closer, sigh, unravel completely in his embrace.

Maybe good things do happen after all. You hold each other and talk for a while, after a quick pitstop to the restroom, and then your stomach growls—understandably, since the only thing to fill it since lunch was that stupid cheesecake—and Hotch orders takeout on his phone from bed; god bless technology.

There’s a knock at the door twenty minutes later, and you know that’s quick for your favorite Thai place, but you’re not complaining because you’re officially starving. He offers to grab it, throws on his boxers and heads for the living room; after a few minutes, you wonder what’s taking so long, pull on your robe and go to check on him.

Hotch is talking to Derek, who is standing in your living room with a piece of cheesecake and a shit eating grin.

“I came with a peace offering, but now I think I’ll wait for a, ‘Thank you, Derek,’” he says, and you roll your eyes, stalk over and take the cheesecake out of his hands. You give it to Hotch, lean up to kiss Derek on the cheek, and push him toward the door.

“Thank you, Derek. Go away, Derek,” you say with a smile of your own, and he raises his palms and retreats down the hall, laughing as he goes.

This is just one more thing he’ll tease you mercilessly about, but this time the benefits outweigh the costs. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt #dad bod hotch

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crysalita · 3 years

Text

Brahms the Boy

Brahms Heelshire x reader

Word Count: 3097

Warnings: Violence, Death, Cole

When I was asked to accompany Greta with her new babysitting job, the last thing I expected was to find a doll that we would be looking after.

I didn’t dare question why we had to look after a porcelain doll because I felt it would be rude to ask, and besides, this just makes everything easier for us.

The house was lovely, slightly creepy, but lovely none of the less. It was a big house for an elderly couple and sometimes I felt so alone, minus the constant feeling of someone watching me.

Every now and then I would here creaks in the walls, but I would brush them off being the fact that the house was quite old.

We were given a set of rules that we were to follow, most of them were okay. I didn’t know how I felt about rule number 4 and rule number 10, never cover Brahms’ face and kiss goodnight.

After finding out that Brahms was capable of moving on his own, I was beginning to be more cautious on the things I did, always keeping an eye out.

“Tell Greta to think about us getting back together.” Cole pleads. I was pulled aside so Cole could convince me to talk to Greta about their, long gone, relationship. “I love her, I really do.”

“She doesn’t want to be with you. She’s moved on.” I reply calmly. I noticed that the more I denied his pleas, the more he was getting angry.

I wince as he grabs a hold of my arm and pulls me close. “You better hope that she wants to get back with me, because if not, she’ll be saying good-bye to you too.” He threatens.

He lets go of my arm and allows me to walk away.

Greta was standing outside of the room, holding onto Brahms. “He wants to talk with you.” I mumbled. I covered my arm behind my back before reaching for Brahms.

I hold onto Brahms tightly as I wait for Greta and Cole to finish their conversation. “Why can’t he just leave her alone.” I whisper to Brahms. “I just wish he would leave.”

Cole was never a personal favourite, for obvious reasons, but I never had the heart to tell Greta all the horrible things he would say to me. She always seemed so in love, and I didn’t want to ruin that for her.

I walk up the stairs and into Brahms room where I lay him down on his bed. I do the usual routine where I tuck Brahms into his bed and left with a goodnight kiss before I walked back to my own room and went to bed.

I was awoken when I heard calls from downstairs, I instantly shot out of bed and ran down. “Greta!” Greta was ahead of me as she entered the room that Cole was staying in. “Get in here.” Cole grabs Greta by the arm and pulls her into the room, me following behind her. “What is this?” We were met with the words ‘get out’ written in, what I could only assume, was blood. “Was this you?”

“I didn’t do that.” My eyes land on Brahms sitting in a chair, directly underneath the message.

“Brahms.” I mutter. I rush over to Brahms where I pick him up and keep him close to me, making sure Cole can’t get to him.

“The doll wrote this? How do we know it wasn’t your psycho bitch friend?” Cole points a finger at me as he scowls. This doesn’t work in his favour as Greta comes over to me and stands beside me. “Ok, fine. It wasn’t either of you. It was the doll.”

With each word, Cole takes a step forward until he’s directly in front of us. “Give me the doll.” I shake my head at his demand and the second he takes another step, I take off running out of the room, tugging Greta to follow along.

“It was me; I swear. Just don’t touch Brahms.”

My lack of direction caused me to end up cornering us in a room as Cole blocked the door. “Give me the doll!” He launches himself forward and grabs Brahms by the legs, shoving me backwards to I hit Greta.

I fall to the ground from the shove, and Malcolm comes running in. “Hey! Get your things and get out of here!” He shouts at Cole.

With the help of Greta, I am able to get back onto my feet and my eyes lock onto Brahms who was being swung around carelessly by Cole. “You know, everyone just seems to be in a big hurry for me to leave. Maybe-” He turns to Malcolm. “Maybe you left that message for me. Huh? Or are you gonna say it was the doll too?”

“Just put Brahms down and we can talk about this.” I attempt to get Cole to leave Brahms alone, but it’s no use.

“Cole, you don’t understand-”

“No, I think I understand exactly what’s going on here. What’s so special about this doll?”

As I go to take a step towards Cole and reach for Brahms, Cole raises Brahms up and swings him back down, causing the doll to hit the edge of a chair and shatter into pieces. The ashes from the doll fly up and I am left in shock. “Brahms.” I mumble.

Suddenly, from inside the walls, we could hear the sound of movement. There were creaks and bangs as well as the lights beginning to flicker. “We need to leave.”

It was as if someone was walking through the walls as everything stopped when it reached a mirror. Cole approaches the mirror and puts his ear to it, in order to hear what’s inside. “We should really go.” Malcolm places a hand on both Greta and me.

“There’s something-” The glass smashes in Cole’s face as he is sent flying back, hitting the ground right in front of us, but that wasn’t what I was focused on.

I was focused on the figure that stood behind the mirror. “Y/n?” My eyes widen as I hear my name being called. “Y/n? Are you okay?” A hand comes out from the mirror followed by the person behind it.

The man hidden behind a mask comes out from the mirror and stands to his full height, towering over Cole who was on the floor in front of him. “Is that-” I begin, but I am cut off by Malcolm.

“It’s Brahms.”

“It can’t be.”

Malcolm runs forward to block Brahms from getting to Cole, but he shoved a way and instead takes a hit to the side of the head with a broken stick of wood.

The man then turns his attention back to Cole and gets on top of him. “Brahms!” I try to stop Brahms from hitting Cole, but once again I find myself on the floor. “Brahms, stop it!” I cry.

Brahms then proceeds to pick up a broken piece from the doll and stabs it straight into Cole’s neck. Blood spills out from the wound and my ears are filled with a chocking sound from Cole.

I stare in shock at the sight in front of me. “Y/n!” My head snaps towards where Greta was standing as she calls me over. This gains Brahms’ attention as he wraps his arms around me and holds me back.

“No!’ I hear his childlike voice whimper. A bit of me broke when I heard him say that, but he also just killed a man right in front of me. "Please, no.”

“Brahms, let her go!” Brahms’ arms tighten around me as he pulls me close.

Brahms’ turn us around and walks us towards the open spot in the wall.

I hear the sound of someone getting hit and then Brahms’ arms loosen around me, and I yanked out of his grip.

Greta holds on as we run up the stairs and into her room that she was staying in. By now I was breathing heavily, whether it was from the amount of running I have done today, or because of how terrified I am, I wasn’t too sure.

Malcolm frantically runs around the room as he looks for a way of escaping. “Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt us.” The door handle then begins to rattle as Brahms tries to get in.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he just killed Cole.” Greta replies. The rattling stops and we start hearing the creaking from inside the wall. “The closet!” Greta runs over to the door and slams it shut. I assist Greta in holding the door shut as Malcolm looks around the room.

A plank from the door is smashed in and Brahms’ arm comes through, grabbing a hold of me again. My hand reaches up to release myself from the hold, and as my hand connects with Brahms, I feel him go tense.

The door opens and Brahms is met with a hit in the face, or mask, from Malcolm who was holding a telephone.

We are, once again, running out of the room and heading into another. “Look.” I point over to the hole in the wall. “We can go through there.” I take the lead as we run through the inside of the wall.

We dodge past pipes and chunks in of the wall that is sticking out.

We find ourselves in a whole new room that looks to be where Brahms has been staying. It was messy and the room smelt foul.

I recognise some things in the room that were once mine, for example, bits of jewellery, notes, and even some clothes. “Y/n, over here.” Greta was standing by a bed, and it was then that I saw the makeshift doll that was wearing a dress of mine that I had lost. The had been decorated with all things that I had lost over the time that I was staying here, and I didn’t miss the magazines and tissues that were scrunched up around the doll.

Beside the bed, and on the nightstand, was a piece of paper. On the paper had the words 'I love you Y/n.’ I didn’t know how to feel about that. Whether I should be flattered, or absolutely mortified at how creepy this all was.

“We will not be back, the girl is yours now, to love and keep.” Greta was reading another piece of paper that she had found. “They were never coming back. He’s been living in the walls this whole time, watching us, or more Y/n. They knew.” Malcolm comes down and guides us to the exit.

I take one last look back at the room before I leave.

We climb down the ladder and quietly make our way out, the only source of light being from the gaps between the wooden planks.

We are stopped when the wall comes caving in and Brahms falls down on top of Malcolm. Brahms is kicked in the face causing him to fall backwards, this way we could drag Malcolm up to his feet.

I feel an ounce of excitement when we end up finding a door that would take us outside, but I also felt sad. I didn’t want to leave this house; I grew attached in such little amount of time.

“It’s locked.” Greta shoves herself into the door in order to open it, but I am too distracted by what is about to come.

Malcolm shoves past me and is tackled to the ground by Brahms.

Fists are swung left to right, but in the end Brahms is the one that comes out on top as he smashes Malcolm’s head into the ground.

“Y/n!” The child voice breaks through. “Y/n!” Brahms’ head turns towards me as I watch his eyes behind the mask. They light up when we make eye contact, something that made me melt inside. “I’ll be good, I promise.” He peers through the pipes.

I look back at Greta who was still desperately trying to make an escape. “Please, Y/n. Don’t leave me.” Brahms begs. Greta shakes her head at me, and I send her a small smile.

“Go, I’ll stay.”

“What? Y/n, no!” I keep my eyes locked with her, but I don’t bother saying anything. “Okay but be safe.” Greta gets the door unlocked and runs out.

I turn back to Brahms who held his hand out towards me. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” He says innocently. I hesitantly place my hand in his and he gently helps me out.

My eyes stray everywhere else but Brahms and Malcolm, who I wasn’t even sure if he was alive at this point. “Thank you, Y/n. You’re the only person that wouldn’t leave me.” Brahms speaks.

I didn’t know if he’s child voice made the situation better or worse, when he spoke, I felt as if he wouldn’t hurt me, or anyone for that matter, but by the two bodies lying on the ground, I knew that I was far from right.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you.” I remember all the times where I had whispered to the doll Brahms, that I would never leave him alone. “But it’s bedtime, and you know the rules.” His shoulders drop as he nods his head.

Brahms guides me through the confined space in the walls and even helps me step over bits that are sticking out of the floor. “I love you, Y/n. You will never leave me.” Brahms whispers. I silently nod along in agreement and then we are finally out of the small gap and are in Brahms’ room.

I walk over to the bed and lift the covers. “Lay down.” I order. He follows along with what I say and keeps his arms tucked underneath the blanket. Behind the mask, his eyes follow my every movement. “Good boy Brahms, now go to sleep.”

“Kiss?” He mumbles.

I debate on whether I should actually do what he says, but since he was following the rules, the most I could do was follow them too, even if he didn’t necessarily deserve it.

I slowly lean down until I am right above Brahms’, his eyes were piercing through me. I place a gentle kiss right beside the lips of his mask before I pull away, only to be stopped when Brahms’ sits up.

He doesn’t say anything, but instead releases his arms out from underneath the covers and pulls me back down to him in an awkward kiss.

The porcelain lips were cold against my own, and I was unsure of what to do.

I place my hands on Brahms’ shoulders and push him down. “Go to sleep Brahms.” I smile. I watch as his eyes close and then I walk out of the room, flicking the light off along the way.

I walk back downstairs to see Greta walking back in. “Y/n!” She runs towards me and pulls me in for a hug. “You’re okay.” She checks over my body.

“I’m fine but listen. I’m gonna stay.” I tell Greta. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at me with confusion.

“No, Y/n. You’ll-”

“Get Malcolm and leave. I’ll be okay, I promise.” Her eyes held a sense of sadness in them as they glossed over with tears. “He won’t hurt me; he just wants someone to stay with him. I’ll call you often, don’t worry about me, and don’t go to the police about this, please.” I explain.

It took Greta some time, but she eventually ended up giving in. “Okay, I won’t go to the police, but as soon as I feel that something has happened, I will be storming up that footpath, with murder on my mind, you hear me?” I nod my head at her threat.

“Let’s go get Malcolm, and check if he’s fine, I’m not even sure if he’s alive.” I lead Greta up to the room that I knew would lead us down to Malcolm, the only problem is that that was the same room that Brahms was in. I peak my head in the room to see that he was now sitting up right, staring over at us.

As soon as he sees Greta he stands up and reaches for a weapon. “Wait, Brahms!” I run forward and stop him from grabbing something. “She’s going to get Malcolm and then she’s going to leave.” Brahms eyes Greta with a look of anger. “They won’t bother us any longer.” His eyes snap down to mine and then he nods his head, pointing over at the trap door that leads us to the wall. “I will stay, I promise.” Brahms gets back into his bed, and I take Greta with me through the walls.

When we stumble across Malcolm, he was just waking up as he rubs the back of his head. “Malcolm!” Greta greets Malcolm with a hug as she checks his wounds.

“Are you girls alright? Where’s Brahms?”

“We’re fine, but Y/n, she’s going to stay here, with Brahms.” Greta tells Malcolm. He looks over at me like I was some crazy girl, which I couldn’t blame him for.

“Are you out of your mind? He’ll hurt you.”

“Then I’ll be the only one to blame. Look, I don’t want to leave him alone again, he doesn’t have his parents anymore. He needs someone.”

“That’s not your job to keep him company, he is a sick person who needs help-” I interrupt Malcolm before he can continue with his insults.

“I want to stay, Malcolm, and that’s that. Leave while you still have a chance.” The door to the outside was still left wide open from when Greta had run through, leaving them with the perfect opportunity to make their escape. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Greta.”

“Yeah, if you’re still alive.” Malcolm mumbles. He crawls out the door leaving myself and Greta alone.

“Be safe Y/n, please.” We exchange a hug before she takes off behind Malcolm and I shut the door, letting out a sigh as I do so.

I take my time walking back and when I finally reach Brahms’ room, he was standing up and waiting. “You took too long, I got scared.” He whimpers.

Brahms’ fiddles with his hands as he stands across the room from me. “How about you sleep in my bed tonight?” I’m not sure why I decided to say that, but the look in Brahms’ eyes was enough to make me not regret the offer.

He was happy, so, so was I.

#brahms heelshire #brahms x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms the boy #the boy 2016 #the boy #Slashers #slashers x readers #slashers fandom #fanfiction

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #hurt comfort #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #harry holland

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

Poker Face

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader thought she could get away with speaking her desires out loud as long as they were in a different language. Turns out, someone could understand her.

A/N: Hey guys! This is my fourth fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! I got this request from @imagining-in-the-margins and if you want to see the original request go checkout my follower celebration Masterlist! I do not speak Russian, nor do I know someone who does so I made everything in italics as if they were speaking in Russian! Hope y’all enjoy reading and requests are open!

Warnings: 18+, Public sex (who’s surprised lmao), Reader is very unprofessional and probably should be fired lmao, Dom Spencer with hints of Sub Spencer in the future (dont worry all my Sub Spencer lovers I’ve got more coming for that soon!), Nickname use: Princess, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral sex (M receiving),Creampie

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.1k

Words in italics are in Russian

There was no harm in voicing my thoughts I thought to myself, in a different language, Russian specifically. Especially since the only one that could understand me wasn’t near me at the moment nor would she probably bat an eye at a slightly risqué remark. Emily was snuggled up at the other end of the jet, her headphones in both of her ears. They would plug up any sound around her preventing her from translating the lusty thought that sat on my lips.

If I said my thoughts in Russian, no one would be able to catch how much I wanted Spencer’s fingers inside me. They were long, obviously dexterous- I knew they’d be able to reach places inside me that I couldn’t reach myself. I couldn’t say these thoughts out loud, in English at least,

I didn’t want Spencer to ever know. But, I wanted to get the thoughts swirling in my head off my chest, the only way to do that without embarrassment was to say it in a way that no one here would be able to understand.

As Spencer shuffled with ease and delt the cards out with his dexterous fingers my lusty thoughts were too pressing for my lips to be able to contain. So I spoke quickly with my voice slightly lowered, maybe Spencer and the people around me would miss my transition into a different language, “I wished you would use those fingers on me instead, preferably inside of me.”

Spencer blinked back at me, obviously confused by my words.

“Sorry, just spaced out for a second, didn’t realize I had switched to Russian.” I giggled out, mostly because I was amazed that I had gotten away with it. I moved on quickly not wanting to linger on my ‘slip up’ any longer, plus I finally wanted to try and play against Spencer in a poker game, “Let’s see if your poker face is as good as everyone says it is, Spencer.”

—-

“Please, fuck me?” Over the course of my daring adventures I had become increasingly louder with my declarations. Last week I had commented about how much I wanted his cock in my mouth, of course in Russian and the week before that I had made my initial comment about how much I wanted his fingers inside me.

This one happened to be the loudest out of the three little sentences that seemed like innocent slips into another language to everyone else, but to me and only to me I was voicing my desires. Each time I did it a little rush of adrenaline sparked through me, no one besides Emily would be able to translate, who wasn’t with me in the file room. It was only Spencer and I in here right now, the rest of the team had gone home for the night.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that at the office, but if you asked me again somewhere else I’d do it.” He answered me back and in perfect Russian as well.

My entire being withered in embarrassment as soon as I had translated Spencer’s words, he understood me. He had understood all of what I had said, every last word. I should’ve remembered that he spoke Russian, we had a case where he spent the whole time translating, I couldn’t believe how idiotic I had been. I wanted the earth to swallow me up in that moment, just so I could escape Spencer’s piercing gaze. I couldn’t tell from his words or the look on his face what exactly he was feeling about my words, some profiler I was. He didn’t seem angry at least, maybe a bit bemused?

I shrank back a little more over fear if he was making fun of me or not. If I hadn’t been feeling so mortified I would’ve realized that Spencer wasn’t one to make fun of anyone, hindsight is 20/20 after all.

“Your poker face is spot on.” Was the only measly response that I could find myself to come up with, in an attempt to cover my embarrassment if only a little bit. A bunch of apologies also felt like they were crawling up my throat. I was absolutely mortified that I had been caught red handed, it was beyond unprofessional- I don’t think there was even a word for it. I had crossed the line so far I might as well have leaped over it, forgetting that it had ever existed.

“Well- I am from Vegas and before you start apologizing, you don’t need to. I liked it.”

Silence fell between us again after his smart remark. It was like we were sizing each other up, deciding what to do.

“You know- there’s no one here tonight, everyone’s gone home…” My confidence seemingly had come back after being knocked down a few pegs. I tapped my fingers absentmindedly on the large desk in the file room, my mind wandering to think about what it would be like if he bent me over it.

“That’s true.” A smirk was on his face now, one that I didn’t see often from him. I felt like I was going to be ensnared by him as soon as I took the time to blink.

Sure enough in a flash he had brought me into a bruising kiss that I got swallowed up by so fast there was no chance for me to try and win back any dominance.

In no time he had me bent over the table, my face pressed into the cool silver metal with my back arching up trying to reach his touch in any way I could. He gripped the waistband of my skirt roughly, but did not pull it down right away. He pulled my skirt down ever so slowly that by the time it reached the floor I impatiently wiggled to step out of it.

“You’re impatient.” He stated simply. I couldn’t deny it because of how true it was, all he’d have to do was pull my black lace panties off to see how wet I had become.

Instead I decided to lean in on how needy and impatient I was by whining out, “Spencerrr, please?”

“What do you want? Is it the same thing you said to me on the plane?” He pressed a kiss to my hip as he pulled down my panties just as slowly as he had done with my skirt, making me squirm again. Once I was bare from the waist down before him he paused for a moment to look at me; I withered a little under his gaze. I whined again when he carefully took his long fingers to just slightly part my folds before speaking again, “Tell me.”

I hesitated a little for a moment trying to focus to remember exactly what I had said on the plane. When I had collected my thoughts I whispered out in Russian, much more shaky than I had said on the plane, “I wished you would use those fingers on me instead, preferably inside of me.”

He was seemingly satisfied by my breathless reply, immediately beginning to work me up to orgasm. As he started to work his fingers inside of me he pressed his other hand down on the small of my back, a silent warning to not move.

I contemplated disobeying him, but when two of his fingers curled inside me to perfectly hit my g-spot it felt too good to lose.

“You gonna cum so quick for me, princess?” I got even wetter when he said princess like that, in Russian made me get even wetter than I already was. I was practically dripping down my thighs- and Spencer’s fingers.

“Yes! I’m gonna cum soon!” I gasped out and tried in vain to wriggle my hips to gain more friction, his hand on my back however was unyielding.

“Ask nicely and I might let you.”

“Please?!” I even asked it in Russian to make the plea possibly better in Spencer’s eyes. He didn’t respond right away, only picking up his pace faster. I tried to hold off my orgasm as best as I could, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to be able to hold it. “Please, sir?”

“Alright, since you asked so nicely. You can cum, princess.”

I gave up the fight of holding off my orgasm, it immediately washed over me. My legs shook with the force of how hard and fast my orgasm shot through me, causing me to cry out as well.

Once I had come down from my high I slid off the table and down to my knees to repeat what I had said while at the round table a week ago “I want your cock in my mouth.”

He looked at me with wild eyes and obliged me, letting his cock free from his slacks. My mouth watered at the sight of him, his tip was bright red and dripping with precum. He had obviously not been the only one to be turned on.

As I grasped him in my hands and jerked him slowly I relished in the way he felt in my hand. He felt hot and heavy, I couldn’t wait to take him into my mouth.

I wrapped my lips around his tip, sucking lightly. Spencer’s head tipped backwards, his hands curled into fists as if he was trying to prevent himself from grabbing my hair to fuck my face. Little did he know that was exactly what I wanted.

When I guided one of his hands to the back of my hair to reassure him that I didn’t mind if he took control that way he almost let out a groan, but successfully stifled it by biting into his other fist. He then fisted my hair harder, wrapping his hand around so tight that tears prickled a bit in my eyes. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all, I enjoyed it.

I enjoyed it even more when he started to use his hand to guide my head up and down. He set the pace to the one he desired. It wasn’t too fast or hard, it was actually quite slow. He dragged out each of my movements and when my nose nuzzled at the base of his cock he had me stay there for a moment each time. Each time I gagged a little on him he let out an almost whine, it made me wonder whether or not he’d look good underneath me as well. Though I was thoroughly content with being underneath him at this time.

Even though I had already had one orgasm the tingling between my thighs was not satiated, looking up at Spencer’s blissed out face only served to make me even more turned on.

“Stop.” I blinked up at him like he had done so at me on the jet, confused. I pulled off of his cock, a slight pop echoed in the air. He then lifted me up onto the table with my legs wrapped around his waist before I could ask him why he wanted for me to stop.

“Now what was that last thing you said to me? I want you to ask me again. ” His cock was running up and down my folds teasing me. My head fell back and I moaned when he bumped my clit.

“Please, fuck me?” My breathless voice sounded wrecked already.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” As he slid into me my eyes rolled back into my head as he slid into me. His pace was faster this time than what he had done while fucking my face. I was squirming with overstimulation and my orgasm was going to come ridiculously fast. Spencer could sense it too and brought his hand down to my clit to bring me over my peak even faster.

“You can cum again, princess.” My second orgasm was much longer than my first. It sparked through me slowly, almost in waves that felt like they had multiple peaks.

He too, was not that far behind me. When he tried to pull out to probably cum all over the tops of my thighs I kept him locked in place with my legs around my waist and asked, “Cum inside me?”

He obliged me with a groan pumping into me a few more times before spilling inside me. We were both slick with sweat, making me wish for a shower. As soon as I got cleaned up that would be the first thing I’d be doing when I bolted home. Maybe I could bring Spencer along for another round, I could hear him speak Russian to me all day.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up.” He spoke softly as if he was afraid I’d break, you’d think after the way he had fucked me that he’d realized I was not so breakable. I’d have to fix that later. As I sat there with his cum dribbling down my thighs waiting for him to return , mixing with my own I knew that I’d never underestimate Spencer’s poker face again.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Dom Spencer:

@rainsong01

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #1250 follower celebration #1250 followers

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promenadewithme · 3 years

Note

Heyy, congratulations on 50 followers! Could you write something for Finnick Odair (fluff with a little bit of angst?) based on the lyrics "How would you feel, if I told you I loved you? It's just something that I want to do, I'll be taking my time, spending my life, Falling deeper in love with you, So tell me that you love me too" from 'How would you feel' with a female reader. Please make whatever changes you want, absolutely adore all your writing :))

Ok so I loved this request because I love Finnick so much!! I really hope you like this! I'm sorry I took a bit longer to write this, I had a lot of uni work and studying to do this week.

requested by @boxofsilentwords

This is my first Finnick fic, so I'm nervous... Any and all feedback is more than welcome!

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Female! Reader

Song: How Would You Feel - Ed Sheeran

Warnings: Mentions of killing (nothing graphic), swearing, the hunger games, pining, fluff. Just before the 75th Hunger Games (Catching fire book/movie), but I changed the plot a bit so it would fit the story, Mags doesn’t go with Finnick, the reader does.

Word Count: 1,2k

Divider made by me on @promenadewithme-graphics

How Would You Feel

There were soldiers surrounding all the victors as you got up on the platform. Your whole body was shaking. ‘Why is this happening? I already won! I’m not supposed to be here’. You looked to your right and saw your best friend, Finnick Odair, and 3 other male tributes. To your left was Annie Cresta and Mags, who was squeezing your hand.

“As always, ladies first!” said the district 4 escort with a wild grin. You don’t understand how they slept at night, sending people off to fight to their deaths every year, watching like it’s fiction. These were real people, who had families, lives, dreams. You had dreams.

The escort grabbed one of the envelopes and walked back to the microphone.

“Let’s see...” he opened it and with glee he exclaimed “(y/n) (y/l/n)! Come on over, dear!”

You looked at Finnick with desperation in your eyes before giving Mags’ hand one last squeeze and walking away. You felt like the world around you was shrinking, like there was no air to breathe. The escort’s voice was but a whisper until your heard what you dreaded more than your own death.

“Finnick Odair!” you looked at your best friend with fear in your eyes. Most would be happy to go into the arena with an ally, but this was Finn. This was your Finn. Well, you couldn’t exactly call him yours, you two were just friends. But you have always loved him. Despite his many lovers, you always stood by him, hoping he would see you. He never did.

“May the odds be ever in your favour.”

‘And let the hunger games begin’ you thought, looking over at Finnick. He was looking back at you with a plain face, but you could see the pure terror in his eyes. ‘The arena messes with all of us, no matter how tough or brave you are. What happens when you go in twice?’

“And those two are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark from District 12, they won last year’s game.” depicted your escort. You and Finnick were staying at the tributes building. Fourth floor for district 4, as per usual. Over the past days you had come to terms with the fact that you were going back into the arena. That didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

“What else do you know about them?” asked the man. You had watched the games last year. For the first time, you actually liked the victors. So you exposed what you knew.

“Katniss is a hunter, excellent with a bow and arrow, great survival instincts. Peeta is very strong and good at camouflage. The two of them are getting married. Well... at least they were before all this.” you frowned and Finnick scoffed.

“Do you seriously believe that they are in love? They must be jumping with joy that they get to call it off.” he shook his head.

“What do you mean? You saw the games last year, they are obviously in love. They were going to die together.” you refuted, turning to face him.

“Please! The two tributes that are chosen are actually secretly love each other to the point that they would die for one another, they both win the game and live happily ever after? This is the real world, (y/n). These things don’t happen.”

Your heart tightened, but he was right. The couple had given you hope that maybe Finnick would love you too, that even the worst situations could bring some sort of happiness. You now realised it wouldn’t happen. Your love was unrequited, the two of you were going to the arena, but only one of you would come out. If both of you weren’t killed, that is.

“You’re right, they don’t.” you frowned. Your escort continued to talk about the games and how to look good in the eyes of the public, but you didn’t care. It’s not like you’d make it out alive a second time. You barely did the first, in the 66th hunger games.

You went in a year after Finnick, you were so young and so was he. Maybe that's why the two of you bonded in the first place, having to be strong so early in life isn't something easy. Having to carry the weight of killing that young isn't either.

"Excuse me." you muttered before going to your room, Finnick following suit.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"What's wrong? Are you seriously asking me that? What's wrong?!" you exclaimed. "What's wrong is that we already went through this. What's wrong is that this happens every fucking year and no one does anything to stop it. What's wrong is that I am terrified that I'll die, or even worse, that you'll die. Because I don't think I can live without you." tears were streaming down your face as you continued, voice getting lower with each sentence "What's wrong is that I am head over heels in love with you, have been for years now by the way, and you never even noticed me."

You gasped and covered your mouth. What have I done? you thought as Finnick looked at you in shock.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Nothing, just please forget I ever said anything." you begged, going into the bathroom. Yet again, Finnick followed you.

"You love me?" he gawked.

"No?" you tried answering, but it came out sounding like a question. You wanted to dig a hole where you could hide, you were mortified. But when you looked at Finn, he was grinning.

"You love me!"

"Oh God." you hid your face in your hands "Please don't tease me about this."

You felt a pair of hands on yours, removing them from your face.

"Look at me." he whispered. You hesitated for a second, but did what he said. He was smiling softly at you.

"How would you feel if I told you I loved you?" he asked and it was your turn to be shocked.

"What?"

"It's just something that I want to do. Well, I've been wanting to do it for a while now. I just didn't know you felt the same." he confided and you grinned, but it quickly turned into a frown.

"What do we do? The games- We..." tears were forming in your eyes again. He put his arms around you in a tight hug.

"I'll get us both out, I swear I will." he vowed.

"You can't promise me that, Finn. There can only be one victor."

"There was an exception last year, why can't we do it again? But that's no what I'm planning. There's- " he stopped for a second "I can't tell you right now what I know, but I promise we will get out. And after that," he smiled at you, caressing your face "I'll be taking my time, spending my life, falling deeper in love with you. So tell me that you love me too."

You wanted to argue with him, make him tell you, but you didn't want to ruin the moment. So, you put your head on his chest and let him hold you.

“I love you, Finnick.” you mumbled into his chest, wishing it could last forever. Wishing you didn't have to go back to the arena or at least that the odds would truly be in your favour.

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makoodlesarchive · 4 years

Text

(oh my god they were roommates!)

so this is late and i’m sorry, but happy birthday bakubabe!

ok so i was totally unprepared for people to like dragon dick kiri so i am feeling blessed 🙏🏻 knowing that other people now have to suffer in dragon dick kiri hell with me!

still not 100% sure if i’m happy with how this came out, but either way this is thanks to @lady-bakuhoe !

pairing: kirishima eijirou x reader x bakugou katsuki

word count: 6.3k

warnings: threesome, oral sex (receiving), vaginal sex, voyeurism, dragon dick kiri

this is part 2 to bad dragon! || dragon dick kiri masterlist

Tip Jar!

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dating Kirishima was never boring, in day-to-day life or in the bedroom, but there was an incredibly distinct difference to his overall demeanour and behaviour once you started being intimate with him. The privilege of watching him grow more confident in his own skin feels like a gift, and knowing that you’re able to help with that growth always causes a warmth to settle in your chest. He stops shying away from innocent touches like hugs and cuddles, he starts getting comfortable touching you first; He’s steadily adjusting to the idea that you’re not going to push him away or reject him. Things are good. Better than good. Kirishima is an absolute sweetheart as always, and the sex is amazing.

He’s starting to get so much better with initiating things with you, and that includes PDA. You guess that’s how it starts. It begins with the little things; he’ll pull you in for a kiss, with you pressed tight between his legs, and you’ll feel the back of your neck prickle. When you’re making out on the couch with you straddling his lap, you’ll hear a creak from down the hall. When things start to get hot and heavy when you’re in the shared space of the living room (as they inevitably do, because the both of you have a hard time keeping your hands to yourselves), sometimes you catch a flash of movement over Kirishima’s shoulder.

They’re little things, but they culminate in one undeniable realisation: Bakugou likes to watch.

The first time you bring it up to Kirishima, you’re not sure he believes you. That’s fine; he’s only just starting to come to terms with accepting his own body, and you don’t want to totally blow his mind with the revelation that other people just might be interested in his unusual but very sexy cock, much less his best friend and roommate. Baby steps.

Soon enough though, he seems to notice for himself. Whenever you come over and the two of you are hanging out on the couch, Bakugou’s door will be cracked open just a little. Sometimes when the two of you are getting busy in Kirishima’s bedroom, you can hear footsteps right outside the door. It’s nothing overt or invasive, but once you know he’s out there listening to his best friend ploughing you into the mattress, it’s pretty damn hard to ignore.

And honestly? It’s kind of hot. It’s not like you can blame Bakugou for being curious, after all. Knowing that his best friend is packing what Kirishima describes himself as “a weird dick” is enough to make anyone really fucking curious about what exactly “weird” entails. You imagine that any natural curiosity would only be further exacerbated by the fact that his bedroom neighbours Kirishima’s, and he can definitely hear the very enthusiastic sex that you’re having.

Bakugou’s burgeoning peeking habits combined with the fact that Kirishima is horny a lot and is starting to get real comfortable letting you know that means that it’s pretty inevitable that Bakugou is eventually going to walk in on the two of you in a compromising position. The position in question ends up being pretty tame, in the end; you’re on your knees in front of the couch, Kirishima’s dick stretching your mouth wide as spit and precum dribbles down your chin and neck, when the front door opens and Bakugou storms in.

Between the three of you, you honestly don’t know who is more surprised by Bakugou’s sudden interruption. Bakugou totally freezes, eyes wide in shock. You can feel Kirishima tense up beneath your hands. You stare up at the two of them, your mouth still full of Kirishima’s cock.

There’s a brief silence, then- “Why are you fucking on the couch!” Bakugou yells, a vein prominent on his forehead.

“We’re not!” Kirishima yells back, colour high in his cheeks as his cock slips from your mouth. “We were just- I mean, okay, I know what it looks like, but we weren’t going to- fuck, man, I’m sorry-” Kirishima has reached one hand down to cover himself as the other hand reaches out to you to help you to your feet, but one hand just isn’t enough to hide his dick from sight.

Bakugou still looks furious and embarrassed at having walked in on the two of you like this, but it’s impossible to miss the way his eyes track downwards. Kirishima doesn’t seem to notice where his best friend’s gaze has wandered to, too busy babbling out mortified apologies, but you notice. You see the exact moment that the look in Bakugou’s eyes switches from annoyance to curiosity.

“Do you want to see?” you ask quietly, watching Bakugou closely for a reaction.

Kirishima’s head swings around to stare at you, mouth open, but your attention is on Bakugou. He’s looking at you with just as much disbelief as Kirishima is, but there’s heat simmering in his eyes too. “See what?” he says, feigning ignorance as if you can’t see the way his gaze seems magnetically drawn to look at Kirishima’s crotch and your precome-stained face.

“Kiri doesn’t mind.” you say softly, mindful that any wrong word or shift in tone could set him off. What you’re saying is true, anyway; the two of you have talked about this, though you’re not sure that either of you actually expected to be in this position.

Bakugou looks to Kirishima, who settles slowly back into the couch and gives an exaggerated shrug. He’s trying to come off as casual, but he misses the mark by a longshot. He’s biting at the inside of his cheek and his jaw is tense. “I don’t mind, bro,” he says, then gives a self-deprecating chuckle, “Can’t promise you’ll like what you see, though.”

You pinch his thigh and scowl at him. “Stop that.” You look back to Bakugou and beckon him over. “Come on. You want to see, right?”

Honestly, you’re not sure if Bakugou is going to go for it. Listening in while the two of you fuck is very different from being personally invited into the action, and you can see him warring with himself over how to approach the situation. After what feels like forever but can’t be more than a moment or two, Bakugou steps forward. Kirishima exhales heavily through his nose, as though he’d been holding his breath with anticipation. He’s still tense, but this is Bakugou, his best friend. You don’t think there’s anyone in the world that Kirishima trusts more, but that also means that it’s going to hurt all that much more if Bakugou reacts badly.

Judging by the impressive bulge in the front of Bakugou’s pants, there’s no need to worry about that. Bakugou steps up beside you and pauses, unsure of himself. Kirishima just stares up at him, equally unsure. The moment stretches out, broken by you getting impatient and reaching out to gently pull Kirishima’s hand away from his very weak attempt at covering himself up.

“Holy fuck.” is Bakugou’s initial reaction to seeing Kirishima’s entire cock for the first time. Kirishima’s arms twitch to cover himself up again, but Bakugou continues with, “How the fuck do you move with that thing in between your legs?”

You snort a laugh, unable to help yourself, and with that the tension is broken. Kirishima chuckles a bit too and relaxes into the couch. “I wear a very supportive jockstrap.”

Bakugou is still staring, the high points of his cheeks flushed red. Kirishima’s hard on, which had been wilting a little, is starting to very visibly fill out again. It’s straining against Kirishima’s belly, precome trailing down the ridges and dripping onto the muscles of his abdomen. It makes for a very fetching sight, and Bakugou can’t seem to take his eyes off it. When he finally speaks, he says “Can I touch it?”, and his voice sounds raw, like he’s been swallowing something sharp.

“Oh shit,” Kirishima breathes, surprise slackening his jaw, “Uh. Yeah. Please.”

Bakugou’s knees hit the floor right next to you, and then he’s reaching out and tentatively taking hold of Kirishima’s length. The moment his fingertips close around it, a spurt of precome dribbles out of Kirishima’s slit, and Bakugou watches with wide eyes as it slips down his knuckles, sticky and wet. His gaze slides from his own hand to your face, and the mess all over your mouth and chin that you haven’t bothered to wipe away yet. “Is that-?”

“He makes a mess when he’s like this,” you murmur, grinning up at your boyfriend. “Wait till you see how much he comes.”

Bakugou’s throat bobs, “Shit.” he breathes, so quietly that you wonder if he meant to say it at all. He thumbs at the underside of Kirishima’s cock, where the flesh is ridged and swirled. That seems to prove too much for Kirishima, who had been holding patiently still up to that point -- he tips his head back and moans quietly as his hips jump, his cock thrusting in Bakugou’s fist. “You’re- it’s big.”

Kirishima laughs thickly, face tilted towards the ceiling. “Yeah. Not what you were expecting, huh? Even though I told you about it?”

The frown that crosses Bakugou’s face at that seems purely reflexive, as though it’s just instinct to be annoyed at the mere suggestion that he had been wrong about something. “Knowing and seeing are two different things, asshole.” he snaps, readjusting his grip on Kirishima’s cock and making him moan. His fingers trail down to where it thickens at the base, and over the swollen, squishy area right at the bottom. It’s still wet and shiny and sticky from the combination of precum and your spit, and Bakugou seems fascinated by the slickness.

You squirm where you’re kneeling, the heat between your legs becoming unbearable. Watching Bakugou explore Kirishima’s cock like this, his mouth hanging just a little bit open as he grazes his knuckles over all the sensitive bumps along the top, and Kirishima’s soft moaning has you squeezing your thighs together tight. Your panties are getting sticky and wet, but you don’t want to touch yourself in case you ruin the moment.

Almost as though Bakugou can sense your discomfort, his gaze cuts to you abruptly and he narrows his eyes. “He fucks you with this?”

Heat shudders through you, and you nod with your lip bitten between your teeth.

“How?” Bakugou’s gaze drops to your crotch, hidden by the hem of your sundress, as though it might offer him some answers.

“Practice,” you say, and find that you sound just as raw and affected as Bakugou does. “And he produces a lot of precum, which helps.” Kirishima makes a garbled noise of embarrassment when you say that and hides his face behind his hands, as though that could somehow block out his best friend and his girlfriend on their knees in front of them and having a discussion over his cock about how he fucks.

Bakugou looks at Kirishima’s covered face thoughtfully. “I want to see.” he says, and it sounds like an order.

Kirishima reaches for you immediately, but you hesitate. “I’m not ready.” you say. You’re horny as hell, and you’ve definitely soaked through your panties, but Kirishima is big and he just is not going to fit unless you’re stretched out and prepared for him.

The whine that escapes Kirishima at that is a little desperate and a little impatient, but it’s Bakugou that he looks to next. “Want to get her ready for me?” he asks. It’s his way of taking control of the situation, of ensuring that Bakugou isn’t just sat on the outside looking in, that all three of you are actively involved in the unfolding events.

“Fuck, yes.” Bakugou breathes, a feral little grin lighting up his face. “How?”

You’re a little surprised at how willing Bakugou is to defer to Kirishima in this, but you suppose that he’s way out of his comfort zone. There’s not much time to think too much about it, in any case, because Kirishima is tugging you up onto his lap and spreading your legs wide. Your back is pressed against his chest, ass sat just in front of his cock. Your dress is hitched up around your hips, leaving your damp, sticky panties on display. You want to be embarrassed, but Kirishima is rocking his thick cock into the small of your back and Bakugou is shuffling forward so that his head is between your legs.

“Shit,” Bakugou says, his breath hot on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, “You’re so wet.”

“Can’t blame her for being excited.” Kirishima rumbles a laugh, and you feel the vibrations of it run down your spine. “What do you want him to do to you, sweetheart?”

Bakugou’s face is inches from your clothed pussy, and his hands are playing with the elastic waistband of your panties without actively trying to remove them. The bastard is grinning at you, like he thinks it’s funny watching you struggle to articulate what you want him to do to you. It’s embarrassing, but you figure that if Kirishima was able to lay himself bare and vulnerable in front of the two of you, then the least you can do is make one measly request out loud. “I want you to- can you please, uh, use your mouth?”

Bakugou’s grin gets impossibly wider, “Oh, yeah, baby, I’ll eat you up whole. But only because you said please.”

His mouth descends on you, licking and sucking through your panties. Even with the fabric barrier, the wet heat of his mouth has your head tilting back onto Kirishima’s shoulder with a moan. Thankfully, Bakugou is too impatient to keep up the teasing for any significant amount of time. Your panties are dragged down your legs and then thrown somewhere over Bakugou’s shoulder -- he doesn’t even look where he’s throwing them, his gaze fixed between your legs. Your legs twitch closed, embarrassed at the attention. You have a sudden and intense sympathy for Kirishima as you realise how he must have felt with you and Bakugou examining his cock.

There’s no time to feel self-conscious though, because then Bakugou is pushing your legs open, diving down, latching onto your clit and sucking. You squeal and your hips buck, but Kirishima’s big hands land on your hips and pin you down, keeping you still as Bakugou suckles at your cunt.

“Fuck!” you gasp, trying to tilt your hips away from his mouth. It’s too much, too fast, but the two of them hold you still and force you to take it until you’re trembling in their hands.

Kirishima hooks his chin over your shoulder so that he can look down and watch Bakugou’s head between your legs. Even from the corner of your eyes, you can see the excited little smile that’s playing on his lips. “How does his mouth feel on you, baby?” he whispers into your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a little shiver down your spine.

“Feels -ah! - good,” you say, burying your face into Kirishima’s neck. Your thighs keep reflexively twitching closed, but each time Bakugou just bats them open again without pause. His tongue slides down the lips of your pussy until he reaches your slit, and then his tongue is wiggling inside of you and you’re whining into the skin of Kirishima’s throat.

Kirishima kisses your temple, but he doesn’t look away from the sight below -- he’s barely even blinking as he watches Bakugou eat you out. You feel like you’re about to catch fire, bucking your hips desperately into Bakugou’s face as he tongue-fucks you. He just grunts and shoots a quick look up at Kirishima, who promptly readjusts his grip across your stomach so that you can’t move. His cock is pressing into the dip at the small of your back, scalding hot and hard as a goddamn rock.

Bakugou pulls back for half a second to catch his breath, and then he leans in and gets right back to it. He mouths along the lips of your pussy, his teeth grazing and scratching at the sensitive skin just right. You make a noise that sounds embarrassingly close to a sob, and feel Bakugou grinning into the soft flesh of your pussy. Kirishima coos into your ear, telling you how good you are as his hands pull your dress up to your waist so he can run his hands along your skin.

“Do you like him licking at you?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to the vulnerable spot just behind your earlobe.

It shouldn’t be surprising that Bakugou is as aggressive with giving head as he is with just about everything else that he ever does, but having his entire attention focused on eating you out is just the right kind of overwhelming. You want desperately to wind your hands into the wild blonde hair bobbing between your legs, but also really want to come and you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing to snap at you, so you go for the safe option and reach back to wrap your fingers around Kirishima’s spiked hair instead.

Bakugou’s tongue traces your folds, pulling them into his mouth and suckling. You relax a little, humming your pleasure into Kirishima’s neck. But then Bakugou is digging his tongue into the top of your folds and locating the nub of your clit with absolute precision, and you arch your back with a little scream. Kirishima laughs quietly at your reaction, and you can feel his cock twitch against your back. “Oh, now you’re getting warmed up, huh?”

Bakugou is relentless, devoting everything he has to your clit. He laps at it, stiffens his tongue to a point and flicks at it, wraps his lips around it again and sucks. When he introduces his teeth and grazes it, you’re gone; your whole body seizes up and you keen as you come, but even then Bakugou doesn’t pull away. He laps and suckles at you until you’re gasping and writhing from the overstimulation.

You can’t catch your breath after your orgasm because his mouth is still busy with your clit. He lets go of one of your hips and then suddenly he’s slipping two fingers into you, the slide made easy by how slick you’ve gotten. You have to bite back the scream that wants to escape from between your teeth, tossing your head back desperately onto Kirishima’s chest and whining.

“Gorgeous.” Kirishima praises you, smoothing a few loose strands of hair back from your forehead. He leans over you a little for a better view, admiring the sight of Bakugou tonguing at your clit and pushing his fingers all the way inside of you. “Fuck.” Kirishima breathes, rutting his hips against your ass. “Enjoying yourself, bro?”

Bakugou finally detaches himself from your clit, but his fingers continue fucking in and out of you as he looks up to Kirishima. The entire lower half of his face is wet and shiny from your slick and his own spit, and he looks absolutely obscene as he grins. His tongue pokes out and licks the mess off of his lips. “Yeah,” he says, crooking his fingers into the spongey area at the front of your inner walls and snickering as you squeal, “Yeah, I sure fucking am.”

Kirishima hauls you further up his body so that you’re practically sitting on his lower belly, his cock jutting out in front of you. The move causes Bakugou’s fingers to slip out of you, and you make a dissatisfied little noise at the loss, pussy clenching up around nothing. “Don’t worry, baby, he’s going to put them back in.” Kirishima promises you, his hand slipping up your dress and thumbing at your hardening nipples.

“Fucking hell.” Bakugou says, shuffling forward so he can get to your pussy again. His fingers slip in with little to no resistance, your body so wet and ready that it sucks him in with ease. His eyes go half-lidded when he feels how easy you take his fingers. “Damn. You always this ready for it?”

“Fuck off.” you snap, but the words have virtually no edge to them thanks to the breathless, desperate quality of your voice. You’re actually kind of embarrassed that it came out of your mouth, but neither of them make any mention of it.

Bakugou is watching avidly as his fingers slide in and out, adding a third. You spread your legs wider and lift your knees, silently hoping he’ll take it as the invitation that it is and fuck you harder. He complies happily, and the wet, squelching sounds that come from his fingers in your cunt only seem to work Kirishima up. “Bakugou,” he grunts, “Touch me again, bro?”

“Fuck,” Bakugou groans a little, but then his other hand is gripping Kirishima and jerking him and Kirishima is moaning into your neck and squeezing your hips tight. One hand really isn’t enough to properly grip Kirishima’s cock, and Bakugou seems to realise this almost instantly. He makes up for it in the same way he seems to approach every challenge in life -- unmitigated, aggressive enthusiasm. Kirishima gasps into the back of your neck at the brutally fast pace Bakugou sets, and you look down in time to see precum dribbling in a steady stream down his cock, making a mess of Bakugou’s fingers.

Bakugou’s coordination is impressive -- it can’t be easy to finger-fuck you and jerk Kirishima off at the same time, but he manages to pull it off with zeal. You whimper into Kirishima’s ear as Bakugou adds a fourth finger. Kirishima kneads at your breasts with his hands and groans as Bakugou’s fingers rub rough circles around the raised bumps at the tip of his cock. “Fuck, bro,” he moans, his cock dribbling out precum in streams all over Bakugou’s fist, “Feels so good!”

“Stop calling me bro when I have your cock in my hand.” Bakugou snaps irritably, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s tenting the front of his pants so badly that it looks like he’s parodying a boner.

Kirishima just laughs, strangled and breathless, and says to you, “Baby, are you nearly ready? Because I’m all sorts of worked up, and I want to cum inside you.”

“Her pussy clenches around my fingers everytime I move a muscle or you say a goddamned word.” Bakugou says before you get the chance to answer, grinning as he rubs the pads of his fingers against your insides. His thumb lands on your sensitive, swollen clit and rubs hard, and you nearly cry out as your back bows and you push eagerly into his touch, “Fuck yes. Arch your back a little more, come on. Look at you going nice and tight around my fingers.”

“Holy fuck.” you choke, pulling at Kirishima’s hair as Bakugou plays with your pussy. It’s too much and not enough, and your hips keep undulating like they can’t decide whether to twitch away from the stimulation or to go back for more.

“Fuck, just look at you riding my fingers. You gonna do that around his massive fucking cock?”

You and Kirishima both moan, and that seems to be the last straw. Kirishima picks you up and Bakugou’s fingers slide out of you once more, but you barely have any time to register the emptiness before the tip of Kirishima’s cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in. Bakugou scrambles back a little to make sure he has a proper view -- his eyes are wide as he watches Kirishima begin to press into you, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch.

You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open. You’re used to the stretch at this stage, and you’re so worked up that the slow and steady pace that Kirishima’s going at is driving you crazy, like an itch that’s just out of reach. You press your hips back into him, trying to get him deeper inside of you faster, but his hands are clamped tight around your hips to restrict your movement.

“Easy, baby girl.” he rumbles into your ear, breath coming in short puffs, “I’m calling the shots, and right now, we’re going slow.”

The frustrated sound you make in response is nearly a growl, and it pulls an amused little snort from Bakugou. “I’m ready, I can take more-!”

“I know, baby, I know.” Kirishima bites at the junction between your neck and shoulder as he slides another inch deeper inside of you. “But we gotta give Bakugou time to enjoy the view.”

Bakugou seems to be doing exactly that; he’s shuffled a little closer so he can see better, and he watches avidly as Kirishima slowly rocks his cock into you. He reaches out and runs his fingers along the edge of your pussy, right where Kirishima’s dick is stretching you out. “Fuck,” he says, and his breath blows hot against your skin where you’re still damp from his mouth, “You��re taking him like a champ.”

That might be one of the nicest things that Bakugou’s ever said to you, but you don’t get a chance to properly appreciate it because with one sharp thrust Kirishima’s cock bottoms out inside of you. You whimper -- you’re so full you feel like you’re about to break in half, and Bakugou’s gaze on you feels like a physical weight. The feel of his fingertips rubbing at where you’re stretched taut around Kirishima is making you clench up around the thickness of the intrusion inside you, which in turn has Kirishima moaning into your shoulder.

Kirishima is holding maddeningly still inside of you, ignoring your desperate attempts at wriggling around in his lap trying to get him to move. Just when you think he’s never going to move, he leans forward so that his mouth is against your ear, and nips at your earlobe. “I'm gonna fuck you so hard you cum just from the shock of it, baby.”

“Please!” you moan helplessly, dropping your head down to your chest.

Kirishima laughs, a little breathlessly, and then pulls his hips back and fucks up into you in one smooth movement. You cry out, scrambling to grab a hold of something to stabilise yourself as you’re rocked hard by Kirishima’s thrusts. There’s nothing to hold, so you just have to ride with the motion of his body, grinding back into him every time his hips jerk against yours.

Movement catches your eye, and you look up to see that Bakugou has stuffed his hand down his pants and is now fisting his own cock with the hand that was covered with Kirishima’s precum. His face is contorted in the most intensely turned on look you’ve ever seen, and you can’t help arching back into Kirishima, pushing your hips forward a little more so he has a better view. Bakugou curses and leans forward so he can watch your pussy bouncing around Kirishima’s cock as it splits you open.

You’re so wet down there, from your own juices and Bakugou’s spit and Kirishima’s cock that’s dribbling precum like a leaky faucet. Precum is spilling out of you despite the way Kirishima is plugging you up, and you feel it smearing all over your pussy, thighs, and Kirishima’s stomach. Bakugou is watching the precum as it leaks out of you, his expression nearly awed. “Always wanted to really watch.” he says to no one in particular. His hand is gripping his balls, and you realise that he’s probably trying to stave off his orgasm, trying to last until you and Kirishima are done. “Hey, Y/N. How does his cock feel in you?”

You screw your eyes shut as Kirishima pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, “Ah! Big!”

“No shit,” Bakugou says, rubbing his thumb roughly over the head of his cock as he fucks his own fist. “It feel good?”

“Yeah, god, yes! So good!”

“Can you- fuck- can you feel those ridgey things when his dick is inside you?” Bakugou grunts, hunching over his cock as his hand moves faster.

“Mmhm! Can feel them rubbing against me.” you gasp.

Kirishima whimpers. Bakugou’s questions are only winding him up; you can tell by the way the base of his cock is engorging and pulsing against you. “‘M gonna come soon.” he babbles, humping into you so hard that your entire body is nearly flung off his lap, “You feel so good, so hot and tight on my cock, baby. God, your pussy is so perfect. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Bakugou’s breathing is getting heavier, and you can see his balls drawing tighter as he plays with his dick. Right when he’s about to cum all over the carpet he stops, letting go of himself altogether. Even with nothing touching it, his dick is twitching and straining against his stomach. “I wanna suck on your tits.”

Bakugou’s hoarse voice and rough confession has Kirishima groaning and reaching up to pull the straps of your sundress down, exposing your breasts. Your nipples are hard and sensitive already from Kirishima pawing at them, so when Bakugou’s hot mouth closes around your right breast as Kirishima kneads your left one you think you might actually explode.

The swollen base of Kirishima’s cock pulses slightly on every stroke, a sure sign that he’s close to spilling all over the place. Another sign is his fast, heavy breathing and the way that he babbles about how good you feel into your ear, “You’re so good to me, baby girl. You’re clamping down around me so nice, you’re - ah, fuck, you’re so good! So tight and hot. I’m gonna cum inside you. Wait, can I cum inside you? Is it okay- ah! Let Bakugou watch me cum inside you, baby.”

Bakugou lets your tit fall out of his mouth and sits back on his ankles. “You gonna cum now?”

“Ngh! Yeah.” says Kirishima, his voice gone thin and needy. His hip are pounding into you at such a rapid pace that you can’t catch your breath. You have to throw your arms over Bakugou’s shoulders for support, the force of his thrusts nearly sending you flying to the floor. “Sorry, baby, I know I’m being rough. Your pussy just feels so good wrapped around me, I can’t- fuck, I can’t-”

“It’s fine, just- ah!- do it!” you beg. The breath is being driven out of your lungs with every thrust, and it should be overwhelming but you can feel heat beginning to pool in your lower belly.

You can feel the base of his cock tensing, swollen with the cum he’s about to release. He ruts into you, biting at your shoulders just hard enough to leave behind impressions of his teeth. “I love you, I love your pussy and- oh fuck, fuck, I’m cumming!” With a cry, he jerks his hips into you and begins moaning desperately as he begins emptying his load inside of you. He keeps fucking into you even as he’s cumming, but his thrusts get sloppier and sloppier until he slips out of you entirely and ends up humping the air.

Bakugou watches open-mouthed as Kirishima’s cock flexes and sprays cum onto the floor and the couch. “What the fuck.” he breathes. He’s so surprised by the sheer force and quantity of Kirishima’s cum that he apparently forgets about his own cock, sitting red and leaking in his fist, in favour of watching.

You’re so aroused that you swear your pussy is twitching, and you’re so close to your own orgasm that you let your impatience get the better of you. Kirishima still isn’t entirely done cumming when you stuff his cock back up inside you and start riding him again, clutching at his knees and crying out as the tip hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck yourself back on Kirishima’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the space between your shoulder blades, but you can still see Bakugou fisting and tugging at his cock like a desperate man.

The pleasure sitting in your lower belly is starting to coil tight, and your movements get a little sloppy as you desperately chase your release on Kirishima’s dick. The pleasure is so close to cresting when suddenly the room seems to flip, and before you know it your face is pressed into the couch. The hot length of Kirishima’s cock slides home inside of you again, and you moan delightedly as you realise that he hasn’t gone soft yet. “Fuck me, Eiji, I need you to- now!”

“I got you, baby.” he croons in your ear, smoothing your sweat-soaked hair back as he hikes your ass up and begins fucking you again.

It only takes two more hard thrusts before you’re tossing your head back and shaking apart with a short little scream, your entire body drawing up tight and tensing so hard that you can hardly see. Kirishima is still rutting blindly into you, making the best little noises as his cock begins to swell again.

It feels like you’re cumming forever, the ecstasy drawn out by Kirishima’s frantic humping as the ridges on his cock drag along your insides and light up every nerve and sweet spot you have. Feeling you come undone around his dick is always Kirishima’s favourite part, and you can feel his excitement in the way his movements become choppy and desperate as he tries to shove himself as far inside you as he can get. With a full body shiver and a drawn-out whine he comes again, although it may just be a second wave of his first orgasm -- you’re not sure if he ever finished cumming in the first place. You whimper quietly at the feeling of him flooding your insides, relaxing into his hands as he grasps you close to his chest.

There’s a gasp, and when you turn your head to the side you’re greeted with the sight of Bakugou beginning to cum. He moans, his legs spread wide and his hips canting forward with every pulse of cum that drips from his dick. You can feel Kirishima shifting behind you, his hips still rocking softly into you, and you know that he’s watching too. You feel like you’re in heaven; not only do you have the privilege of getting fucked out by Kirishima, but you also get to watch Bakugou cum all over himself, and they’re both just so hot like this.

Bakugou sits back on his hands and focuses on his breathing as he tries to calm down, one shaky breath after another. “Fucking hell.”

Kirishima kisses your neck as he pulls out. “You were so good, sweetheart, you’re so amazing.” He murmurs, then looks to Bakugou. “Uh. So...”

“Let me see.” Bakugou interrupts, pushing forward so he can get a proper look at you. His thumb brushes over your over-sensitive sex, and he rumbles a quiet laugh at the shudder that rips through you at the touch. You know without looking that he’s running his thumb over the mess of cum that oozing out of you, marveling at the sheer amount of it. “Fuck. Shit. Do you always cum this much?”

“Yeah,” Kirishima says bashfully, shifting his weight and tucking his dick self-consciously back into his pants, uncaring of the cum staining his clothes. “Uh, pretty much.”

“She’s covered in it. Damn.” he glances up and meets your eyes, and gives you such a wicked grin that your breath hitches a little. “You able to walk after taking that?”

The mere idea of moving has your muscles twinging, and you laugh as you shake your head into the couch. “No way. Just leave me like this for a while, I’m happy.”

The boys laugh, and Kirishima smooths his hand over your back. “Don’t you want to shower?” he asks fondly.

You definitely want to shower, but you’re also really not ready to move. Your limbs are floppy and achey, and you’re tired enough that you can mostly ignore the feeling of sweat and cum drying on your skin. “Mmmm.” is all you manage to say.

“How ‘bout I get you a towel and we cuddle in bed, hm?” he offers as a compromise, leaning down to scoop your boneless body into his arms. You let your head drop against his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his muscles shifting beneath you as he shifts your weight around in his arms. The first time he had lifted you like this you had shrieked, certain that he was going to drop you, but that had only seemed to make him all the more determined to prove to you at every opportunity that he was strong enough to pick you up and carry you anywhere at any time.

“Hang on,” says Bakugou, halting Kirishima in his tracks. “What about this fucking mess?” he demands, gesturing at the cum-stained couch and floor.

“Huh? I’ll clean up later.” Kirishima says, edging out of the room.

“Clean up later? We’re gonna have to bleach the whole damn room. We definitely need a new fucking couch too, look at it!”

“Right, right.” Kirishima agrees, very obviously not listening. He set off down the hall, nuzzling a quick kiss onto your forehead before glancing over his shoulder. “Hey, come and cuddle with us.”

“Hah? You need to buy us a new couch, asshole!”

“You got it, man,” Kirishima agrees blithely, kicking open his bedroom door. “You coming?” You peer hopefully over Kirishima’s shoulder, and shoot him a beaming smile when Bakugou sends a doubtful little look towards you. The uncertainty in his expression is wiped clear, and then he gives a jerky little shrug and stomps down the hallway after the two of you.

“What the fuck ever. Don’t think you’re gonna get out of cleaning your mess up though, you bastard!”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader x bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kiri x reader x baku #bnha x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #dragon dick kiri

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

Text

sugar sugar - the planning 1.0

Summary: The planning for their wedding can start 🥰

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Daddy kink, cock warming, some smut

Wordcount: 4.3k

A/N: Did I go out of my way to make edits? Yes

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Sugar Sugar the wedding Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

October 1st 1 p.m.

‘Where the hell did you get that from?’ I ask Genevieve, who places a large and thick book on the table. On the front cover she wrote THE CAVILL WEDDING in beautiful pink letters (she most likely printed it out, but okay) and I see she went out of her way with some stickers as well. Design like that isn’t really her forte, but the slight amateurism in it, makes me chuckle.

It has overdoing it by Genevieve Donahue written all over it.

‘See this as a little preparation,’ Genevieve says. ‘I want to make getting married as easy for you as I possibly can.’

I look over to Viola, who takes a sip of her drink. ‘We knew about the proposal back in July,’ she explains. ‘Henry wanted our input on the engagement ring. Gen wouldn’t be Gen if she didn’t go out of her way, already looking for certain stuff.’

Henry fixes his tie, since he is going to work, but he still hears what my friends are saying to me. ‘It’s a cute book,’ he says.

‘You already saw it?’ I ask.

‘Of course. I wanted their input on the ring, they wanted my input on their ideas.’

‘Hm, I see. Gen, I’m not gonna lie. I’m very keen on on checking out that book.’

My friends squeal and are absolutely delighted that this is happening and I am thankful they are willing to help me. I have great ideas, but my planning skills are severely lacking. Besides, calling for appointments? Those are my worst nightmares.

‘Okay ladies, I’m going to work,’ Henry says, walking up to the table where we’re all seated. He sits next to me and places his hand in the back of my neck. ‘If you need anything, just call me, okay?’

‘Of course,’ I say.

He gives me a kiss and whispers: ‘Remember, no budget, okay?’

I roll my eyes, but simply nod. Ever since we got engaged, he continues to tell me we don’t have a budget for the wedding and while that is of course amazing, it’s not like I want to spend a million dollars (if not more) on a party. Sure, having the wedding of my dreams is amazing, but I’d rather invest in a great marriage. ‘I love you, honey.’

He smiles. ‘Love you too, darling.’ He gets up, grabs the keys and as he says his final goodbyes, he walks out of the penthouse.

‘Fuck, he is so hunky,’ Genevieve says. ‘Goodness me, that ass on that man.’

Normally I’d scold her, but now I simply can’t. I let out a giggle and say: ‘And he is my fiancé!’ I obnoxiously wave my hand in front of their eyes, showing off the ring like I have been doing that for quite some time now. ‘Oh, I still can’t believe that.’

‘He is so romantic,’ Viola says. ‘I mean, we all knew he was totally smitten with you in the first place, but going engagement ring shopping with him… Gosh, it was absolutely endearing.’

‘You have no idea how nervous he was,’ Genevieve says. ‘So sweet. He kept double checking with us, because he wanted to make sure you would like the ring.’

I look at it and say: ‘I love it. It’s so bizarre. Who would’ve guessed that I would ever get engaged?’

‘I do,’ Viola says. ‘Have you seen yourself? Of course you would get engaged to the most desirable man on this planet.’

I blush. ‘Still so crazy.’

‘And,’ Genevieve continues, ‘he said no budget, so this wedding is gonna be amazing.’

‘He maybe said no budget, but I’m saying we do have a budget. I swear, if you guys cross a line—’

‘We won’t,’ the voice of reason named Viola says. ‘Promise.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Genevieve, Viola and I went through the book and thankfully my friends already did a lot of work together with some input of Henry. Genevieve told me she is gonna make an appointment for a wedding dress and bridesmaids dress fitting.

She circled in the book full of magic the venue that Henry really liked and thankfully, that was my personal favorite as well. When the two of us finally make a decision about the date, we can arrange it.

Thankfully, she (and Henry as well) is willing to make the calls. Calling makes me nervous, because I can’t see the other person’s face. Henry does most of the calls, if not all of them and while he doesn’t mind, I sometimes hate myself for not being able to put on my big girl shoes and call myself.

By the time my two friends left, I am in the penthouse by myself. Henry told me he’d be home soon and soon really is soon, because the door opens not long after I made myself comfortable on the couch, looking through the wedding book again.

‘There she is,’ Henry says as he enters the living room, ‘my gorgeous fiancée.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘Are you gonna keep doing that?’

‘Until you and I get married, yes. After that, I’m gonna replace fiancée with wife and you’ll probably be sick of me very soon.’

‘Never,’ I chuckle. ‘Never ever.’

He sits next to me on the couch and presses a kiss on my lips. ’So, did you ladies make some progress?’

I nod and tell him that Genevieve is gonna call for some appointments, for some fitting sessions.

‘Genevieve is gonna call?’ he chuckles.

‘Don’t make fun of me,’ I say, squeezing his side. ‘Tell me, you have a date in mind?’

He simply shrugs. ‘What kind of wedding would you like, baby girl?’

‘Probably a spring wedding,’ I say with a smile. ‘Spring is gorgeous. I love spring.’

He smiles. ‘How about we get married somewhere in April?’ he suggests. ‘It’s usually nice spring weather.’

‘Yeah?’ I ask him. ‘You sure you want a spring wedding?’

‘Honey, you know what I think. I could literally get married to you any second of whatever day. Name a date and we’ll get married then.’

‘April twenty second,’ I say. ‘That sounds like a cute date, doesn’t it?’

‘April twenty second it is. Something happened on that date or…?’

I shake my head. ‘No, it’s just a cute date. Oh, wait a minute. We could do April twenty fifth, if you want the date to be significant.’

His brows knit together in confusion. ‘What happened on April twenty fifth?’

I gasp out loud. ‘You don’t remember?’

He makes a face. ‘I really don’t, I’m sorry, baby. Please enlighten me.’

‘It’s the first time I accidentally called you daddy. During the one and only driving lesson I had.’

‘Oh,’ Henry says with a smile. ‘That’s right, you did call me daddy for the first time then. That’s a great date, the two of us should get married then.’

‘Why?’

‘Because that’ll be our little secret then.’ He presses a kiss on my nose and says: ‘I remember your color drenched face. You were the human embodiment of mortified.’

‘Shut up.’ I hide my face in my hands and say: ‘The shame I felt was uncanny.’

‘I know,’ he chuckles. ‘Well, if it made you feel better, it did turn me on quite a lot.’

‘Oh dear, did you masturbate because of it?’ I joke.

His eyes dart from one point in the room to the other. ‘I might’ve.’

I certainly wasn’t expecting that. ‘No way!’ I exclaim. ‘Oh my goodness, you did? This is such a compliment.’

His cheeks turn red and says: ‘I couldn’t help it, okay. You looked so cute that day and I kept hearing the word leaving your lips. Of course I had to. But then you said it again on my birthday,’ he continues.

‘Remember what happened on your birthday?’ I chuckle.

‘How could I ever forget?’ Henry runs his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘My naughty lady wearing a thong to the club. Still can’t believe you did that.’

I giggle. ‘You always had this dominant edge to you, but that night it was totally obvious what a dom you are.’

Henry starts to laugh, but that is mostly to mask his slight embarrassment. ‘Do you have to say it like that.’

‘Of course I’m gonna say it like that.’ I straddle his thick thighs, as it’s my favorite spot to sit on. ‘You know, I actually don’t mind it at all.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It maybe sounds a bit dependent of me on you, but I like that I can follow you through life. That you show me how to do certain stuff, how you kinda lead me through it all. Believe it or not, I need that guidance. I need you calling for me, I need you to drive me from place to place and I need your encouragement before those book events or other events that make me nervous. What I most need are your praises.’

He smiles. ‘You’re sweet.’

‘It is? You’re sure it’s not submissive in a negative sense?’

He shakes his head. ‘Absolutely not. I get it, baby, with the life you had, it can feel nicer to be guided. I will happily be that person for you.’

I give him a kiss, a sign as a thank you. ‘It’s funny how faith works sometimes, isn’t it? You and I sign up on a sugar daddy/baby site and eventually, when we finally admitted our feelings towards one another, we’re here. As an engaged couple.’

‘It sure is amazing,’ he says, pushing up my shirt to place his rough hands on my sides. ‘Did you, Gen and Viola find some inspiration?’

‘We did some Pinteresting,’ I admit. ‘To find the perfect wedding dress. And some bridesmaids dresses. It’s just that planning with Genevieve, means probably a million dollar wedding.’

‘Okay,’ he says, but I glare at him. ‘What?’

‘We’re not having a million dollar wedding. Really, I don’t want that.’

He nods. ‘Then we’ll have a less expensive wedding,’ he chuckles. ‘Just don’t worry about the money, just whatever feels good for you.’

I smile and give him a kiss. For a few seconds, something is brewing inside my brain and it rolls out before I can even overthink it. ‘Do we need to talk about a prenup?’ I ask him. For Henry this comes totally out of the blue, because his eyes enlarge. ‘Or not?’ I quickly add. ‘We don’t need to discuss it now.’

‘You and I are not gonna get a divorce.’

‘No, no, no, I know that,’ I say, ‘it’s just that I kinda thought about it already. I think that we should have it. You worked hard for your money and I don’t want to take that away from you. Besides—despite me telling you to stop—you continue to transfer money to mine, yet refuse to let me pay for myself, so you constantly hide my credit card to give me yours.’ I send him a look, causing him to grin. ‘I have enough money to start a life for myself.’

‘But baby,’ he says, ‘even if we get a divorce in the future, before that I am planning on making you the mother of our children.’

Hearing him say that, makes me involuntarily smile. A family with Henry, I cannot believe that. ‘And?’

‘You think I’m not gonna provide for my family? I would be an absolute asshole if I did that. You can count on alimony, both for the kids and you. I’ll make sure you and I can continue to live civil with each other. Really.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Henry,’ I say with a smile, ‘you are so fucking romantic.’

‘I know. So no prenup for us and don’t you dare ever saying that again.’

‘Sure?’

‘I’m absolutely sure, baby girl.’

October 20th 10 a.m.

After Henry and I agreed on the date (April 25th, a little dirty secret of ours), he called the venue we’ve been thinking about for some time. Genevieve, Viola and I are now sitting in the Range Rover, as Henry is going to drop us off at the boutique.

‘This is so exciting, wedding dress shopping,’ Gen says. ‘Just humor me and put on a princess ball gown, please.’

‘And why would I do that?’

‘I want to have a laugh and maybe, if it actually looks decent, I’ll hire you as a birthday princess for when I have daughters.’

I roll my eyes. ‘I hate you.’

‘You love me.’

Viola laughs. ‘Well, I can’t wait for you to find the dress.’

‘Me neither,’ Henry says, holding my hand in his, before pressing a kiss on my fingers. ‘You sure you don’t want me to see it?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I am one hundred percent sure. I want you to be surprised.’

‘And you better cry at the altar,’ Genevieve says, ‘otherwise I’ll force her to walk down the aisle again and again and again, until you cry. I could even help you out, you know, by punching you in the nose, that’ll make you cry.’

Henry can’t hide his amusement. ‘I’ll probably be teary eyed,’ he says. ‘That’s enough for you?’

‘No,’ Genevieve says. ‘I want the real deal. Ugly cry, snot, red blotches on your skin.’

‘I don’t,’ I say. ‘We have to take pictures later on.’

‘Okay, let’s not jump the gun,’ Viola says. ‘We’ll make sure she looks stunning in the dress, Henry. We promise.’

✤ ✤ ✤

I don’t know how many dresses I’ve tried on, but I think this might be the one. The fit is simple, but that seems like something that would be totally me. It’s on the tighter side, but with the straps loosely on my shoulders and the deeper neckline than I wanted, but not overly too much, I realize this is actually could be the one.

I show my two friends, who both have tears in their eyes. ‘This is the one, right?’ I ask them.

Always overly dramatic, Genevieve grabs some tissues and blows her nose. ‘It’s beautiful, Beck,’ she says. ‘You look like such a bride. It’s so real now.’

‘Right?’ I ask with a chuckle, mostly to cover up the fact that I want to cry. ‘It’s… It’s perfect.’

Viola stands up and gives me a hug. ‘I love you, Becky,’ she says. ‘Is it April 25th already?’

‘No, time passes by too damn slowly,’ Genevieve says, before forcing herself into the hug as well. ‘You’re gonna look like an absolute vision. If Henry doesn’t cry, I’ll skin him alive in front of the altar.’

November 3rd 4 p.m.

It’s been a long day. I spend around four hours with Genevieve and Viola looking for bridesmaids dresses and there have been a few changes made. A very significant one and it is still a shock to me.

I walk into the living room, to see Henry sitting on the couch with some papers in his hands and oh dear, he is wearing his glasses. Sometimes I feel like he is doing it on purpose, looking so perfect like that.

‘I have a confession,’ I tell him.

Henry looks up. ‘And what is that?’

‘The bridesmaids dresses are not gonna be pink.’

‘What?’ Henry asks, as he is standing up from the couch. He places his hand on my forehead when he stands in front of me. ‘Are you okay? Do I need to call a doctor?’

I swat his hand away. ‘Very funny, ha-ha. Every pink dress was not in the right shade of pink, however, I found a better color.’

‘Can I see?’

‘Of course.’ I grab my phone and show him the picture I made of Viola and Genevieve. ‘It’s sage green.’

‘Oh, I love this,’ Henry says. ‘I’ll tell the tailor, to make sure that Peter and Gino wear a tie in that color.’

‘It’s so beautiful and it feels a bit more real now,’ I whisper. ‘First a wedding dress, then these dresses.’ I blink my eyes and say: ‘I’ve been a mess this entire afternoon.’

‘Not a mess, just my emotional baby girl,’ he chuckles, giving me a kiss. ‘It’s getting more and more official now. Oh, by the way, darling. Something came for you in the mail.’

I gasp. ‘Is it what I think it is?’ I ask him, following him to the table. He hands me the envelope and I start to squeal. ‘Daddy, this is the interview for Books4U.’

‘I figured. Open up, open up,’ he says, sitting on a chair, pulling me on his lap. I rip open the envelope, careful not to ruin the magazine. I go through the pages quickly, to find the my interview.

‘How is it possible for someone to look so effortlessly gorgeous in a random cafe?’ he asks. His hands traveled from my legs to underneath my shirt. He places them on my stomach and I don’t feel like I need to have suck in my stomach. It took me quite some time to get used to it, but with his sweet words, I realized I can be myself around him. No more sucking in, needing to be perfect (which I knew for a while), but simply be comfortable as much as I needed to be.

‘It’s so crazy to think that this interview was truly happening,’ I say with a smile.

‘I’m proud of you,’ Henry says, burying his face in my neck. ‘So, so proud of you.’

December 16th 3 p.m.

I joined Henry to his tailor for the right suit, but something has been bothering him for quite some time now. He hasn’t been himself this entire morning and when the tailor walks away for just a second, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I get up from the chair to walk towards my fiancé. ‘Honey, what’s wrong?’ I ask him. ‘You don’t like it?’

‘I love it, baby, I really do,’ he says blankly, staring ahead.

‘What’s with the long face then?’

‘Just realization,’ he says, as he runs his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m going to marry the most beautiful woman on the planet and I just want to look good.’

‘But you do,’ I say, placing my hands on his hips. ‘You are the most handsome man I have ever seen in my life. Don’t you worry a thing, you’re gonna look amazing.’

‘It’s silly, just forget about it.’

‘It’s not silly.’ I stand on my toes and give him a kiss. I quickly check if there is no one within hearing distance and I say: ‘I love you and only you, daddy.’

‘Always knowing exactly how to make me feel better,’ he chuckles.

‘Of course. I’m gonna be your wife. It’s my job to make you feel better.’ I wrap my arms around his waist and he presses his lips on my forehead. ‘I love the suit. Makes your toosh look cute.’

He smiles. ‘Let me change, then we’re going home, okay?’

I nod. ‘Of course. I’ll be right here.’

Henry talks to his tailor for a few more moments after he got changed and when he walks over to me, I get up from the chair, holding his hand tightly in mine. His hand is warm and protective. As we’re going towards the car, he tugs me closer, a lot closer.

Like he needs me.

Henry can’t seem to be able to forget about it, not even when we’re in the car. His hand’s on my leg, but mostly since it’s a force of habit. I hate that he is feeling like this. I wonder what made him this insecure and unsure of himself.

‘Daddy,’ I say, since we’re in the privacy of our car, ‘are you still worrying?’

‘A little,’ he says. ‘It’s ridiculous, I’m sorry.’ Henry parks the car on his assigned parking spot underneath our building and he clenches his jaw. ‘Wait here.’ He gets out of the car and opens the door, but there is something missing.

Love.

When we’re inside of our apartment, he walks towards his liquor cabinet and grabs himself a whiskey. ‘I’m gonna be in my office.’

In other words: I want to be alone.

‘Okay, let me know if you need anything,’ I say to him. He simply nods and disappears into his office.

✤ ✤ ✤

It’s been a few hours and I still haven’t spoken to him. He has left his office, to go to the bathroom and I hear he is in the shower. I don’t even knock on the door and simply march in. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No,’ he grunts. ‘Get in here.’

He is mad and clearly frustrated. Oh dear. I shred myself from my clothing and get in the shower cabin with him. He is sitting on the tile bench, his jaw clenched. I try not to notice his hardened cock, but I do. How could one not notice?

‘Come here,’ he says, not even looking at me, patting his thigh.

I turn the shower head a little, so I can feel the hot water against my skin. I straddle his lap, like he wants me to. He places his forehead against mine and sighs deeply. My arms snake around his neck, as I press my chest against his. ‘Let me in, daddy,’ I whisper. ‘Please tell me what is bothering you.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You can. You can always tell me everything.’

He groans, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of my butt. My hand reaches in between us and I wrap my fingers around his member.

‘Want me to comfort you?’ I ask him, when he isn’t quite responsive to me pleads. ‘I can do that.’

He simply nods and I rub his fiery red tip against my clit. Henry closes his eyes as he leans his head back against the tiles. When I know I can take it, I bring him near my throbbing entrance, before he slides deep inside of me. His jaw is clenches and he grunts, both from pleasure and relief from the frustration.

I take a deep breath, getting used to his length and girth. ‘Now, tell me about it,’ I say. ‘Please, daddy. Let me help you.’

He sighs. ‘I remembered something. A picture of my parents when they got married.’ It’s obvious that Henry doesn’t want to look at me, so I pull him closer. I feel him placing his chin on my shoulder and not having to look at me, is better for him. Now he can talk to me.

‘When I saw myself in that tux, specifically for our wedding, I saw that picture again.’

‘Oh,’ I whisper. ‘Did that trigger something?’

‘It did.’

‘I’m sorry, honey. But remember, you’re not your dad. We’re not your parents. You and I are totally different.’

‘He visited me again the other day,’ he says. ‘My dad. It was right after your interview came out.’

‘Oh,’ I say, a bit taken aback from the sudden bomb he dropped. ‘Did you file a restraining order against him?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, he wanted to congratulate me on our engagement,’ Henry says. ‘It’s… It was different seeing him now. He gave me that picture I just told you about. Said to me that I had to do better than he ever did, which would be easy. When he left, I got so mad, but I had to pick you up, so I pushed it aside.’

Isn’t that typical? ‘How long ago was this?’

‘Three weeks.’

‘Henry!’

‘I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you, but I… I couldn’t. I hated feeling like this and I didn’t want to burden you.’

I sit up straighter so I can look at him again. ‘You can never burden me,’ I tell him, in a harsher tone than I intended. ‘I need you to tell me about your feelings.’

‘I’m sorry, baby,’ he whispers. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry.’

I run my fingers through his hair and he gives me a kiss. It’s a desperate one, one that deepens. He forces me to grind on his lap, his cock already twitching. ‘What do you need?’ I ask him, knowing that scolding him won’t do him any good. ‘Please, tell me what you need.’

‘You, baby girl,’ he says. ‘I need you.’

‘Then have me.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Henry is barely showing any mercy to me. His eyes are a few tints darker, his jaw is clenched and he has a tight grip on my body. His thrusts are growing even more rough as he would bend me in a position, exactly to his own liking.

I notice the tears running over his face and place my hands on his cheeks, wiping them away. ‘It’s okay,’ I say to him, when our eyes meet. ‘It’s okay.’

His hips stutter against mine and he gives me a kiss on my lips as he rides out his high. He nearly collapses on me, without any intention of him pulling out. With no intention. I love his weight on me, I love how no matter how tired he is, he always makes sure I won’t be crushed underneath him.

‘Daddy, are you okay? Tell me you feel better.’

‘I do,’ he says. ‘I love you. I love you so much and I should’ve told you sooner. Never keeping this quiet from you. You are my girl, my lady, my wife and I should tell you these types of things. I know that.’

‘Next time something like this happens,’ I say, ‘know that you can tell me. You can tell me anything.’

‘I know that,’ he says. He turns us around, so he is on his back and I’m on top of him. He pulls the covers over our body and holds me close to him. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘You needed this, I know that.’

‘It won’t happen again,’ he promises me. ‘Like the real adult I am, I’m gonna talk about my feelings.’

‘I’m proud of you, daddy. So proud of you.’

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