#I do for you Hallow Points

[shhh-secret-time]

We're back with another Soulmate AU request AND another request from AO3, they're so rare these days! I wanted to do something special for Craig, I kind of feel like he'd be a fuck destiny kinda guy. Anyway y'all know the drill.

Warning: Hot Pokemon takes, Strong-Language, Clyde being a dork again

Pairing: Craig x GN!Reader

Crack

"Hm.."

Snap

"Dude. Stop."

Pop

"Dude! Stop!"

Clyde's voice pulls Craig's gaze over, the bored expression on his face would normally make anyone flinch back but Clyde's used to the look. Years of friendship with the stoic man will desensitize anyone to that kind of look. Craig swears it's just because Clyde's an idiot, no one else in South Park takes that kind of tone with him.

"You sound like a glow-stick over there! I swear you've already popped all those fingers a minute ago, are you on your knuckles now or something?" Clyde puts his DS down on his lap with a grumble.

He's slouched so far down on Craig's couch it looks like he's melting into it, the lower half of his body is barely on the couch at all. He's all but holding himself up with his legs while his back rests on the firm cushions beneath him. He looked like a slinky being tossed down the stairs, but if it got stuck going down a step.

"You're in my house." Craig responded so matter of fact.

Then he finished cracking the hand he was in the middle of working on. He presses his thumb against each finger on his hand. Once each little finger makes that satisfying sound, he wraps his hand around the other and squeezes. His thumb and index finger settle just below the knuckles, feeling the muscles and bone shift under his grip a shiver runs down his spine.

"Gaaaaaah! That doesn't hurt you? You're gonna fuck up your hands man." Clyde physically squirms at the sound, twisting and rolling back and forth as if he's trying to escape the sound.

"No. I like it." Craig picks his DS up from his lap and continues playing on the little handheld device.

"Alright but when you have old grandpa hands at the age of twenty-five don't come crying to me. Spongebob broken finger head-ass." Clyde smirks, returning to the game with his friend.

Craig side eyes him, shooting a small glare his direction but it goes unnoticed. Once again, Clyde is lucky he's one of his best friends. Being stupid makes you brave apparently.

The two fall into a comfortable silence, the music from Clyde's DS playing loudly while Craig's is shut off. The sound of both games going on at once drove Craig mad. If the music didn't line up it felt like someone jabbing him in the head. So, he settled for listening to Clyde's, he knew the brown-haired man liked the Pokemon sound track anyway. A small tradition they started in middle school that's held up. Playing Pokemon next to each other on the weekends, if one got Green the other got Red. If one got Sapphire, the other got Ruby. Right now, Craig has Diamond, and he has Pearl.

Craig was no means a perfectionist, but something about the incomplete Pokedex drove him mad. He hated looking at the black silhouette of a Pokemon uncaught, the taunting ??? made him want to spike the thing into the ground. They would spend hours next to one another talking about their teams, racing to see who could beat the Elite Four before the other, making fun of each other's favorite Pokemon. Craig long since beat the game and was just waiting on Clyde to catch up, he was still waiting on Clyde to catch his Slowpoke like he promised him forever ago.

Clyde was a Slowpoke.

He chuckles at the thought making Clyde look up at him with his brow raised but he chooses not to say anything. After a while Craig closes his DS and chooses to watch Clyde walk around the tall grass.

"You're using the Scyther I traded you?" he asks, resting his cheek on top of Clyde's head. Holding himself up right now sounded exhausting, Clyde made the perfect head rest. Even if he wasn't slumped down on the couch, their height difference allowed for it. To be fair Craig's height difference allowed him to do this to just about anyone. The only person he couldn't comfortably do this too would be Broflovski.

"Yeah! He’s my favorite! He's a handsome devil, reminds me of myself!" Clyde tucks his chin in between his index finger and his thumb, the smug smirk on his lips makes his face look stupid.

"Do you wanna evolve him? You can trade him over and we can turn him into a Scizor."

"Nah, then I'll lose all the affection I've been building him with! Look I've got two little hearts by his head! He loves me man!"

"You can build it back."

"Maybe you can toss away your Pokemon’s affection, but not me Tucker! He doesn't need to change! He's perfect the way he is!" Clyde exclaims as he throws his hand in the air.

Craig's about to respond but stops when Clyde encounters another Pokemon, a Pachirisu nothing out of the normal. But what was out of the normal was the stripe on its tail wasn't the typical baby blue, it was a bright pink. Craig's eyes widen as the sparkles swirl around the little animated creature.

And typical Clyde just button mashes through the whole thing, he's not paying attention to the DS, going on about his love for his Scyther. His thumb moves over the attack button and Craig wants to grab his hand to stop him. But once again he's not fast enough, and the low leveled thing is easily defeated by his level sixty something Pokemon.

"Um dude...you know I love hugs and all, but I thought you hated them?" Clyde's voice is muffled under Craig. Craig has him pinned under him against the couch, chest pressed into his side, arm outstretched to grab the DS.

"Dude! That was a shiny! You could have caught that!" Craig's exclaims shaking the man under him.

"What?! Oh man! I didn't know!"

"How the fuck didn't you know?! It sparkled! It's fucking pink!"

"Uh...was it?"

"What?" Craig stops shaking him at that, tightened fists around his collar loosen only slightly.

"I didn't know, you know I'm color-blind right?" Clyde takes the opportunity to sit up, he chuckles at Craig's expression.

Although rare, it's not unheard of. Craig isn't a robot, or a man born without emotions, he just has a hard time expressing them sometimes. Clyde knows that, but it's still funny every time he sees that crack in Craig's usual stoic nature. Even more so that it was over a stupid video game and Clyde's inability to see color.

So instead of responding to him Craig shakes his head and furrows his brows, confusion written clear on his face.

"Yeah man," Clyde takes a breath in between cackling. "I'm completely color blind, lost it when we were in high school. It's my soulmate thing. I see in black and white now." He waves his hand over his face with a dorky grin.

He doesn't respond at first, taking a moment to take in what his best friend was saying. "I just thought you dressed like that on purpose."

"Come on dude! Would it kill you to say something nice to me?! Just oNCE!?" Clyde smacks him with the cushion tucked behind him which Craig uses to beat him back.

After a brutal beat down using a couch cushion, Craig pulls back the weapon and looks down at the defeated pile of Donovan further pressed into his couch. He sits back with his leg pulled up towards his chest, arm thrown lazily across his knee.

"So, you can't see color because you haven't met your soulmate? That sounds rough."

"Yeah, it kinda sucks, it's gonna sound gay but I miss seeing things like the sunset and movies are kinda lame now. I still wear this jacket because at least I know it's red." Clyde collects himself and tries to fix his hair that's been flattened down.

"Hm." A low grunt and Craigs on his feet.

To anyone else it would be the end of the conversation, it would be their que to move on and talk about something else. But Clyde isn't just anyone. He's the guy who's been with Craig since they were kids, he knows that grunt. That shift in body language. Craig's uncomfortable but wants to say something.

"Come on Tucker Bear don't be like that, tell me what's going on." The nickname earns him a glare, but it stops the black haired man from going to the kitchen. He grins at him in return, telling Craig that he's getting what he wants.

"What have I told you about calling me that?"

"That you love it so much and you're so grateful that your best friend would give you the best nickname ever." The sentence is almost cut short from the way he scrambles back away from Craig, holding his hands up defensively. His voice is cracking from the way he tries to keep the giggle out of it.

Craig stops and sighs, his hands come up to the strings on the side of his hat. The frayed yellow rope splitting at the ends from how often he twists it between his fingertips. He does it when he needs to collect his thoughts, figure out a way to put them into words.

".... you didn't tell me you got your Soulmate thing." It finally comes out in a soft tone.

"Are you upset because I didn't tell you? I'm sorry man." Clyde's silly demeanor drops, quickly shifting to one that matches his friend’s tone. He stands up and follows him into the kitchen.

"No. I just..." A pause and he opens the fridge door. Scanning the inside for something to drink, his mouth is incredibly dry right now. "...didn't know. I thought you were like me."

"Like you?"

"Like...born without a mark or whatever."

"Oh."

That's all he can say, all that comes out of his mouth. Craig snaps the can of soda open and takes a sip and it feels like a rock settling in his stomach. His lips press together tasting the sugary drink on his lips. The rock in his stomach lurches up when he sees Clyde's eyes well up with tears, little beads of water spilling from his lids. For the second time that day, he makes Craig's eyes widen.

"Are you crying?"

He quickly goes to wipe the tears away from his brown eyes, the little orbs always looked like a baby cow's. Using the sleeves on his jacket, he sniffles and looks up at him. "It's just- you don't have a soulmate!"

"Yeah, I know."

"That's so sad dude!"

"I guess."

He sobs again, the tears spill faster and harder down his face. Craig sighs and gives into the over dramatic man an awkward pat on the back. The rest of the day was spent calming Clyde down and reassuring him that he wasn't actually angry at him for killing the shiny. They watch a few episodes of Red Racer where Craig describes the colors for him until he got tired of it.

All through the day the conversation gnawed at the back of his head. It followed him to bed and kept him from sleeping. Clyde refused to go home so he spent the night on the floor next to him. Didn't want to sleep on the couch but didn't want to sleep in the bed with him. Wanted to be near but not close enough to make Craig want to peel his skin off. He appreciated the idiot.

But it was that idiots fault he was thinking so hard on this. Why was he born without a soul-mate tic, or thing or whatever the fuck it was called. Were there others like him or was Craig Tucker really that just unlucky? Why did he care so much, he made it this far in life by himself. So why was it just now starting to eat at him?

With a huff he turned and rolled over towards the window next to his bed, staring up at the night sky. The moon was half full today, and it was cloudy out so he could barely see the stars. He was a grown man majoring in Astronomy, he didn't need a stupid mark to tell him where to go and who to be with. He could still see color fine. No flowers were blooming out of his face making his allergies act up.

No, it was just him. Just him and whatever was out there waiting for him. Right now, he really wanted it to be sleep.

Eventually he gave in to the tired behind his eyes, lids so heavy he couldn’t keep them open anymore but burned when he finally closed them. Clyde was gone the next morning when he finally woke up, he left him a text saying he was going to pick his sister up and do something with her.

It didn't matter he had class to get to anyway, the semester was in full swing, and he didn't have time to fall behind. As he gets ready, pulling his blue hat over his head and the matching NASA jacket over his shoulders, he peers down at his DS left on the side table. He picks it up and tucks it into the pockets of the jacket, in between classes he could wait in the lounge and play on it a little more. There wasn't much left to do but he could always grind his team to a hundred.

Once he feels ready, he steps out of his house and starts the walk to the bus stop. Ever since he moved out of his parents the walk to the college campus took a little longer than normal, so it was easier to just ride the bus there. He sticks his headphones in and settles in the worn-out seats of the dirty looking white bus. Somehow cleaner than the yellow ones from when he was still a teenager, but not by much. The music from his DS playing in his ears drowns out the sounds of people mumbling to themselves and whatever other weird thing South Park could throw at him.

It also drowns out your footsteps. Drowns out your question if the seat next to him was taken. So, it isn't until he feels you sitting next to him that he notices you're there. He side-eyes you for a moment, which you return with a little nod. A part of him is relieved when you don't immediately try to make small talk with him. Instead, you offer him a little smile and go back to the book in your hand. His amber eyes travel down to peek at what it is you're reading, and he's surprised when instead of a textbook he sees a comic.

Guardians of the Galaxy

From the angle you were holding it, he couldn't tell exactly what issue you were on, but the cover looked good. He cocks his head to the side a little to get a better look. Feeling his eyes on you, you look up at him and raise a brow. It takes a second, but you piece together what he's trying to do so you close the comic and show it off to him.

You're on an issue he's already read through. He removes the headphones from his ear.

"I didn't think anyone else read the Guardians series." Craig says, it's out of pocket for him to be the first to initiate but the thought of meeting someone who's a fan like him is actually exciting. It's enough to pull him out of his little mental funk.

"Yeah! I just started collecting these issues last week! Have you read this series?" You say with a smile that’s a little too bright for him.

He nods again at you, and that's where the conversation should have ended. You go back to your reading, and he goes back to his game. But it doesn't, you lean over and catch a glimpse at what he's playing. He watches the recognition sparkle up in your eyes.

"Oh, which one is that? Gen four, right?"

"Yeah. It's Diamond."

"Oh! Cool! I've got Platinum! I gotta default to the third one because I don't have friends who play the game!" You laugh at your own joke, eyes going from the DS to his.

Craig stares down at you for a while. He sets the DS in his lap and pushes the palm of his hand against his fingers. Hands popping and snapping again, the little tic making him relax. You don't comment like Clyde does, but you are still talking.

"Gen four has to be my favorite in the series! I just couldn't get into Black and White!" That makes him stop and look at you like you're crazy.

"That's the best one in the series though."

"That's what everyone tells me, but I hated the starters!"

Time slips past him, the way you pull him into the conversation so naturally. It isn't until the bus pulls up to the campus that he realizes he's been talking to you the entire time. You perk up when the bus lets out a sigh and a hiss, telling its passengers that they've reached their destination.

"Oh, this is my stop! Hey, it was awesome talking with you!" You grin and stand up, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

You give him a little finger salute and take off, you're so quick to scurry away he doesn't have time to tell you that this is his stop too. Of course he's never noticed you around campus before, Craig was never one to waste his energy on things that didn't require it. He had his select group of friends and was happy with that, but now here you were wedging your way into his mind. As he stands up to get off the bus, lazily throwing the headphones over his neck, it dawns on him that he didn't even catch your name.

Oh well, so much for that. Maybe he'd see you around.

The universe must have answered that for him because the next morning he sees you on the bus again. He watches as you push past the isle of seats and plop down next to him with another book in your hand. A different issue, a different conversation. There are days where you sit in silence doing your own thing. Then there are days where you talk his ear off and he just sits and listens, occasionally throwing in his thoughts on whatever you're talking about.

But he listens. That was new, normally he just tends to zone out if he doesn't care. Somehow you find a way to make him care, a way to make him invested in the conversation. He even goes out of his way to learn your name and what you're studying.

"Ah it's just general studies right now, a little bit of everything until I figure out what I wanna do. I wasn't even planning on going to college, it just kinda happened." You tell him leaning back in your seat.

"What, so you just woke up one day and decided that was it?" Craig scoffs a bit at the idea but the amused glint in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"Heh. Well Mr. Space-boy not all of us know what we wanna do with life from the womb." You snicker at his reaction, tallying another eyeroll in your head.

"It's Space-Man. I'm Space-Man Craig." He corrects you before moving on, so you don't comment on the little pink hue on his face. "I get that but how do you go from I'm not going to college, to just doing it?"

You smile, it's different than the dorky one you usually shoot at him or the one when you tell a bad joke. It almost seems sad. He can't put his finger on it, but he doesn't need to wait long for you to roll up your sleeve. On your wrist is a font that looks almost like an alarm clock, the block black ink reads "0:00".

"Had this guy I was with. Was with him for six years, we were high-school sweethearts, prom date, whole nine yards. They were my soulmate, the little counter on my wrist told me that much." You take a deep breath, and he watches the way your fingers move across the skin.

He pops his fingers again, pushing them against each other.

"Well, about a year ago I realized...I kinda hated it? Hated the fact this stupid mark on my body got to dictate who I fell in love with? I mean we didn't even have anything in common, and while we never really argued we just had a different outlook on life. I think a part of me still loves him, but...I can't really love him in the way this thing wants me to." You emphasize that you're talking about the marking on your skin by holding it up.

Little rays of sunlight brush across your skin and Craig can't help but follow it. You had a soulmate, of course you did. He feels that rock in his stomach again, weighing heavier than it did last time. The week he got where he wasn't thinking about this whole thing was nice, but now that he's reminded his body tenses back up.

He cracks his fingers again, squeezing the side of the palm.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trauma dump on you." He raises a brow at you silently asking you what you mean by that. "Call it a sixth sense, or the fact that you pop your fingers and do that little Hm when you're thinking about something. So, I figured you were annoyed by the random dump."

You were more attentive than he would have given you credit for. He hasn't known you that long and you're already picking up on things that took Clyde years to. Then again, Clyde and attentive don't really go hand in hand.

"No, it's not you. It's the..." He rolls his wrist a few times trying to find the words, fingers eventually find purchase on the strings of his hat dangling by his face. "Soul-mate thing. I don't have one."

"Ah yeah, I can see how that's a weird topic for you then! But hey that's kind of cool!" You beam up at him, the sunlight slips off your wrists and onto your lips.

Wait, what?

"You get to pick who you wanna love, that's awesome. That means the connection goes deeper! You gotta build something with someone, nothing telling you to just jump straight into a relationship! No pressure, just you and the other person!" Your eyes are like little stars as you speak. A tiny galaxy that he can't seem to pull himself out of.

Wait, what?

Like clockwork, the bus stops and you go to get up. Except this time Craig is fast enough, he takes your hand. His fingers slip into your palm and stop you from moving. Your finger salute falls back to your side. He just looks at you for a while, the only thing he can hear right now is the collection of people getting off the bus and his own heartbeat drumming in his chest.

"If you're not getting off, I need you to sit down please!" The bus driver makes you flinch and sit back down next to Craig.

"Sorry sir!" You call back.

When you look back at him with a confused look, he freezes again. His mouth hangs open for a second, only to close. He almost looks like a fish out of water from the way he's trying to collect his thoughts. Craig expects you to get back up and tell him goodbye. To run off the bus and never speak to him again.

Instead, you sit there, patiently waiting for him to collect himself. You wait there even when the door to the bus shuts and the engine kicks back on. You look at him with wonder and he has to avert his gaze from you. Pulling his hat over his eyes for a moment because he realizes he's still holding your hand and the heat coming up to his face is too much.

"I... I’m sorry. I just wanted to-" What did he want? His mind was drawing a blank, he was floating and the only teather was your hand in his.

He knew he wanted to keep holding your hand. He knows your touch doesn't bother him like it should. He wants to steal a few more moments with you because these bus rides aren't enough time. Something he's never felt before.

"You're good. Take your time." You can't know what that means to him to hear you say that. To not pull your hand away and call him a freak for just grabbing you like that. Instead, you turn your palm over and give his hand a squeeze back.

"I want to...do that." He says it. With his eyes covered so he's not blinded by that smile on your face. He can hear it in your voice, the way you chuckle.

"Do what?"

"You know what I'm trying to say."

"Maybe. You better say it just so I can be sure." You're teasing him now, leaning forward so you can get a peek at his blushing face.

Craig huffs again, frustration building up in his chest. He moves the hat from his face and stares you down like a showdown. His brows knitted together with newfound determination.

"I want to build a connection past this." There. It's out. Out in the open, out in the space between the both of you. Confession falls from his mouth in that monotone voice he's so famous for.

"Hell yeah. I'd like that Space-Man Craig." You laugh and it sounds so sweet.

He smiles down at you, and it feels like a gift. It's the first time you've seen him look at you like that. You make a silent promise to yourself that it will not be the last time you see it.

"So, any idea where the bus is going now?"

"No idea. Wanna get off at the next stop and walk to campus?"

"Nope! You stopped me from going to class so now you're taking me out. I want food!"

Craig scoffs at you and takes the headphones off his neck, he offers you the other bud. He sticks the one in his ear and pulls out his phone. His fingers slide across the screen going for the music app. He hands you the phone and gestures for you to pick something.

You excitedly take him up on the offer, sticking the bud in your ear. You begin going on about whatever album you’ve been listening to, and the whole ride he sits and listens to you. Nodding along so you know he’s listening, not that he really has to. You can tell from the way he looks at you that you have his undivided attention.

So wrapped up in the music and your voice he doesn’t even notice the font on your wrist change. It’s not that boring clock anymore, it shifts and swirls around. A moving tattoo that eventually turns into a painting melting down your arm. The deep darkness of space with a little astronaut sitting on the moon, just watching the sun.

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent calendar 7: Light

(thank you @edennill for your headcanons, here's a small hc of mine)

Varda smiled, looking at the young Noldo bowing nervously before her. Despite being named “the spirit of fire”, he wore pale blue and yellow, both clean narrow hues, but not too narrow, matching the outer colors of the Treelight surprisingly well for something made by an incarnate.

“I want to show you something, my lady.” There was a tone of anxiety in Feanáro's voice. Why? 

He pulled out an ornate box which shone richly from the inside and opened it—

They were beautiful. A harmony of two lights, resulting in a wide and balanced white, almost like a reflection of the light in her face. This brilliance was the fairest thing ever made on Arda, surpassing the glorious lights made by the Valar, even though it was born from two of them. Three gems in perfect harmony with each other. Almost too beautiful for this marred world, like a pure sound of a violin, narrow, and impossible for the imperfect beings to harmonize with.

She reached for them but stopped, waiting for permission. 

“I love them dearly,” said Feanaro apologetically. “But of course, if you wish to take a look at them, I would be honored… Forgive me, o queen, but I feel— I feel they are so vulnerable, so — they are near impossible to destroy and yet — I do fear for them.” The last part he was almost a whisper.

Varda nodded. Light could only shine where it could be touched, of course. And what could be touched could now also be hurt. Did the Elves not know it? It was difficult to distinguish what was new to them and what they would consider too obvious to even mention.

She studied the scared prince. The best she could do for him was to put some thin glass to protect the light a little and hope for the best. Half-measures, always half-measures. But that was the way with incarnates, wasn't it?

She took the gems and kissed them gently. They were warm and alive, even though unmoving, and they rejoiced seeing her.

No wonder Feanáro loved them.

“Neither evil nor hand unclean shall touch you and stay unharmed,” she said. “Nor a mortal man—” she paused, seeing the Elf’s expression. What was he surprised about? 

Anyway, the blessing was done, for good or for ill.

She kissed the gems farewell and gave them back to the prince. “Thank you.” 

She rarely spoke, indeed, but some occasions were worth it.

[moe-broey]

Okay now for something Different. Or the same. Who knows. But entirely for my own enrichment purposes.

For Moe, a transmasculine character who, despite its flamboyancy and androgyny, is solidly exclusively Some Guy in identity just with a lot of extra steps (and can get really dysphoric if interpreted Incorrectly). For Moe, all of this considered/factored in, to have a fairy Resplendent, which seems to be an all-girls club.

The goodness in your heart aside that may wish well for Moe and its fate. Is it giving Women and Thems, conflating nonbinary/genderqueer identities with being afab and therefore "woman-lite", which inherently alienates anyone who falls outside of that whether it be due to identity (Moe's case, it WILL fucking kill you), presentation or sex assigned at birth. Or can Moe just serve cunt in peace with its complicated relationship with femininity (both what was enforced and coerced upon it and how it currently defies and defiles it). Thematically, can Moe serve cunt in peace?

[keeps-ache]

i have a new hobby! i enter a random word into youtube music's searchbar and scroll until i find songs with 0 listens and then vibe :3

[cherry-chaos-cola]

I love the song O Children by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds and yes I know it from Deathly Hallows part one but outside of that it's such a good song. It's about bittersweet death and Orpheus and Eurydice and the song just. Songs so good

And I WILL fight any self righteous ex Harry Potter fan that tries to pull some SHIT that it's about the Holocaust (and therefore should not have been used in the movie which I don't care about the artisy agreed to it so. Whatever. He got paid) IT'S FUCKING NOT you DUMB PIECE OF SHIT WITH NO MEDIA LITERACY show me a source that says this that's not some Harry Potter fan's Tumblr post from 2011. Show me it. Show me an interview with the artist. Show me exactly why you think it's about the Holocaust. Oh, trains leading to death? Because Harry Potter is a thinly veiled and pathetic attempt at WWII parallels? (and if we're going by that do you have a deathly hallows tattoo because if you're so 1:1 about this. you do know the deathly hallows is her fucking. symbolic equivalent to you-know-what. Oh that's offensive? YOU DON'T THINK???)

Because HAVE YOU WVER HEARD OF POETIC IMAGERY IN YOUR DAMN LIFE how could you have ever called yourself a Harry Potter fan without the basic ability to understand sometimes things are not LITERAL. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

[venomgender]

ok guys i will admit it: aero is a good spell

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

hi congrats on 1000 followers!!!! i seriously love your work sm the bill weasley magic lessons series altered my brain chemistry. idk if you write for aged up harry potter but if you do can you please write “1000 tears” with harry i love him in deathly hollows era when he’s all angsty and it’s soooo good when people write him to have a crazy reunion with the reader when he gets to shell cottage after saving them from malfoy manor it’s always giving peak hormones lol

hi love!!! tysm for the request, and I'm so glad you enjoyed Magic Lessons! angsty Harry is also my favorite, so I had a lot of fun with this one. Hope you enjoy! 🤍

1000 tears | H.P.

feat. Harry Potter x reader

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, love confessions, war stuff, mentions of blood/injury, angsty Deathly Hallows-era Harry, friends to lovers, reader has an implied close relationship with Remus and Tonks (parental), Dobby lives bc this is my fic and I can do whatever I want

1000 things prompt list (closed!) | masterlist

You sat curled up in your bed, knees to your chest, and stared at the crack in the bedroom door. Lupin had sent you to your assigned room with a piece of chocolate an hour prior, insisting you try and get some rest. But you couldn't even get yourself to lay down, the chocolate lying untouched on the bedside table.

You'd lost track of how many tears you'd shed.

Harry was out there, having disappeared while searching for a Horcrux with Ron and Hermione hours and hours ago without communication. He refused to let you go with them, having all but begged you to stay behind at Shell Cottage.

Where it's safe, love.

And now, you had a bone-deep feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. It wasn't like Harry to not send any kind of communication, and if he couldn't, Hermione always did.

Things between you and Harry were…complicated. You weren't together. Who would be reckless enough to start a new relationship in the middle of a war? But the connection between you was strong, having grown from a schoolyard crush to an all-consuming devotion over the past few years, and you knew Harry felt it too. But there were more important things to worry about at the moment—romance could wait until after the war. If there was an after.

The clock ticked audibly on the wall above your head.

This was ridiculous. You couldn't just sit here. If Harry thought something happened to you, nothing would stop him. Not Lupin, not Molly, not Moody—

A crash and a wail echoed through the silent house. You immediately recognized the cry as Dobby’s, and jumped out of bed, grabbing your wand from the night stand.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you approached the closed door, turning the ancient knob as quietly as you could. Wand raised, you pulled open the door, stupify on the tip of your tongue.

“What on earth happened! And where have you been?!” Molly bellowed, and you paused in the hallway.

“Malfoy Manor,” you heard Ron reply just before Dobby loosed another shriek of pain.

“Harry Potter saved Dobby! Harry Potter is Dobby's hero!”

“It’s alright, Dobby—let go—Dobby, they have to—”

You flew down the stairs and around the corner, finding Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Molly, and the wounded House Elf crowded into the foyer. Harry was trying to gently pry the bleeding Dobby from his pants leg, his handsome face smeared with dirt and blood, expression tight with frustration and exhaustion.

But he was alive.

“You're supposed to be asleep,” Lupin scolded, noticing you hovering in the hall, and Harry’s head snapped up, green eyes melting with relief.

“Dobby and Hermione need a Healer,” Harry said, his gaze locked on you. You could tell he was white knuckling his self-control, trying to stay calm and prevent the terror from whatever just happened to them spread to the rest of you.

“Good thing I was awake then,” you replied, giving Lupin a pointed look as you moved into the crowded foyer. You stooped to survey the House Elf's injuries. A blade had grazed his side, blood blooming beneath his tunic, but it was shallow. “Episkey,” you murmured, and the wound knitted itself most of the way closed, ceasing the bleeding.

“Oh, thank you Miss Harry Potters friend! Thank you!”

“My pleasure, Dobby,” you sighed, pushing to your feet.

You hadn't realized how close you were to Harry, too focused on healing Dobby, and now we're standing nearly chest to chest, nose to nose.

The look on his face knocked the air from your lungs. His usually serene eyes were burning, heavy-lidded and bruised with exhaustion. He smelled of smoke and the sting of dark magic, his black hair tosseled and knuckles bloody.

His index finger brushed the edge of your hand, so light you almost thought you'd imagined it, and you swallowed a shudder, your body reacting as if he’d done something cataclysmic.

Everything in you wanted to throw your arms around him and kiss the pain away, steal it all for yourself so he'd never have to suffer under the burden of responsibility again—but you resisted.

“Boys, can you get Hermoine into the kitchen?” you asked, shifting to step away before you completely lost focus.

For a split second, Harry’s index finger hooked your pinky, wanting to keep you close, but he quickly dropped his hand and turned to his friends.

“C’mon then, hold onto me,” Harry said, crouching down to their level. Hermione looped an arm around Harry's neck, the other already around Ron’s waist, and together they lifted her up.

She groaned, her head lolling onto Ron's shoulder, but protested no further as they carried her into the kitchen and set her gently onto a chair.

“Don't overtax yourself,” Lupin warned, catching you before you left the foyer. “Be smart.”

“I'm fine, Remus,” you bit, pulling away from him.

You followed them into the kitchen, pretending not to be jealous at the easy contact between Harry and Hermione. You knew there was nothing romantic between them, and you loved their friendship. His depth of love for his friends was one of the things you admired most about him. But her ability to touch him so freely, a luxury you could only imagine, made your stomach twist.

To distract yourself, you set to work making some tea and preparing your supplies. Usually, the three of them would chat amongst themselves, strategizing, reminiscing, poking fun, but they were strangely quiet. The house sat heavily around the four of you, the silence almost tangible, broken only by the cottages occasional creak and groan.

When you set Hermione’s tea in front of her, made just the way she likes it, plus a pinch of goldenrod for the pain, she barely managed a whispered ��thank you’. Her face was buried in the crook of Ron's neck while he held her close.

Oh, how lucky they were to be loved out loud, even if they hadn't admitted it to themselves yet.

Harry was leaning against the counter, eyes flitting anxiously between his friends and you, so you poured him a cuppa as well.

When you brought it to him, intending to set it on the counter beside him, he instead reached out to take it from you. His cool fingertips brushed yours over the heated ceramic. “Thanks,” he murmured, voice gravelly.

“’Course,” you said through the tightness in your throat. His touch lingered a moment longer before he brought the warm cup to his chest.

You set up your supplies and sat beside Hermione, gesturing for her to set her injured arm on the towel you laid out. She obliged, grimacing when the drying blood pulled at her skin.

As gently as you could, you used a rag soaked in warm water and antiseptic to clear away the blood. You nearly recoiled when the injury revealed itself.

Mudblood.

“Hermione, what—” you gasped.

“Bellatrix,” Ron hissed. “Tortured her while we were locked up.”

You were speechless, shocked to your core, and instinctively turned to Harry, but he was looking at Hermione's arm, eyes swimming with pain.

“I'm so sorry,” you whispered, turning back to Hermione.

She shook her head, dismissing your sympathy. “Just do what you can,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please,” she added.

So you did. Bellatrix had used an enchanted blade, so the word would scar, but with some time and attention, you were able to get the wound partially healed, and most importantly, the pain under control.

At one point you had urged the boys to go get cleaned up, their brooding energy weighing on your heart, but neither budged an inch. Ron stayed glued to Hermione’s side, catching every one of her tears, while Harry hovered over your shoulder, only moving away when you needed something, like fresh gauze or a refill of your tea. A strong herbal blend you developed to keep you focused during long nights spent studying in the common room.

It had come in handy more times than you cared to admit since the war began.

You secured the last bandage around her forearm, and looked up to find her asleep on Ron's shoulder, his head leaned against hers, eyes closed.

The roll of gauze was lifted from your hand, and you felt Harry's heat at your back. Even blindfolded and deaf, you'd be able to sense him anywhere.

“What are you—”

“Cleaning up,” he replied. “You've done enough.” His tone was gentle but firm, and you rolled your eyes.

“Me? I've been sitting here for days while you—”

“And I'm sure you worried yourself half-to-death,” he cut you off, and you clamped your mouth shut. “I can put away some bottles while you rest for a second,” he said, grabbing the vials from in front of you.

“Can't help but worry about you,” you muttered petulantly.

Harry's footsteps paused just behind you, and your breath caught in your throat. Then, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, warm and solid and home, and he buried his face into the curve of your shoulder.

“Please don't,” he whispered, exhaling a shaky breath. “Because if you ever asked me to stay—”

“I would never ask you to stay.” Tears burned behind your eyes, heart aching with relief and something too similar to grief to bear another name. You twined one of your hands with his, the other coming up to tangle in his dark waves. “That’s why I asked to go with you.”

His grip tightened. “I would never ask you to go.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I know.”

Ron stirred, and Harry slid his arms from around you, leaving you cold. You wiped the tears from your face before he could see them, though you had no doubt he knew they were there.

“Ron, you gotta take Hermione to bed,” Harry said, shaking his friends shoulder, and Ron came fully awake.

Ron gave a grunt in acknowledgment, then lifted Hermione into his arms, cradling her against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world. “Thanks, mate,” Ron said to you, nodding his head.

“No need to thank me. Just glad you're all alright,” you replied, waving him off.

“Me too.” He glanced at Harry, something unspoken passing between them, before turning and carrying Hermione down the hall to her room.

The silenced stretched between you until it became unbearable. “I guess I'll head to bed before Lupin bites my head off,” you joked, though it landed flat.

Harry, sweet, always supportive Harry, gave you a weak smile anyways. You knew he wouldn't ask you to stay up, even though he'd likely be up until sunrise, but it still hurt when he answered with a single nod and turned away, walking into the living room without another word.

You had just climbed into bed when there was a knock on your closed door. Wiping away the tears that had collected once again, you pulled open the door, fairly certain you would find Lupin or Tonks standing there, ready to scold you for not going to sleep when your were told.

Harry stood in the dark hall, his glasses reflecting the silver moonlight like coins. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

“Sorry? For wha—” Harry pushed through the door, directly towards you. You barely had time to gasp before he was grabbing your face and hauling you in for a messy, breath-taking kiss. He kicked the door shut with his foot, the bang a little too loud for the quiet house, but Harry didn't falter for a second. You barely heard it though, your ears ringing as your blood rushed under your skin, your mouth moving instinctively against his, matching every desperate push and ravenous pull.

His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips and tangling in your hair and pressing at your back, like he wanted to fold you under his skin, fuse your bodies together in every way imaginable.

“Harry,” you whimpered when he broke the kiss to breathe, your lungs burning along with the rest of you. It took you a moment to register that he was crying. “Harry, what—”

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I couldn't—” a strangled sound cut off his words and he sank to his knees, his grip on your hips going slack. “I tried, I—”

“I-I don't know what you mean,” you said, fighting back your own confused tears as you stroked his hair, his face buried into your abdomen.

“I thought I could wait, could keep you from getting too close, but I—I can't.” Harry looked up at you, pain-stricken face streaked with tears and glasses crooked, his mouth pulled down in a sorrowful curve. “I need you, but I can't risk losing you.”

You lowered yourself to his level, taking his face in your hands and drying his tears with you shirt sleeve. “You aren't going to lose me,” you tried to soothe, but your own emotion made your voice tremble. You both knew that it was entirely possible one or both of you would die in this war. Countless others had, and if love could overpower mortality…so many lost would still be living.

He shook his head. “If they know about you, what you mean to me—they'll—” another sob ripped from his chest, and it felt like it ripped out your heart with it, the sound so agonizing you wanted to cover your ears. “What they did to Hermione—I can't hear you scream like that, I can't—”

You were left speechless, crushed under the weight of what your friends, your Harry, must have experienced. Had one thing been different, he wouldn't here right now, in your arms where he belonged. You never would have kissed him, never would have held him, never would have known—

“Just tonight, then,” you whispered, watery and half-pleading. “Just one night, Harry, please.”

“I don't want just one night,” he snapped, though you know his sudden anger wasn't directed at you. “I don't want to wait. I don't want to fight. I don't want to be Harry fucking Potter. I just—” his breathing was labored, his jaw flexing under your palms. “I just want to be yours.”

“Harry—” your voice caught on the words, so used to swallowing them that speaking them felt as foreign as it did exhilarating. “Harry, I love you.” His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching. “In my heart, you're mine. You're my Harry.”

He opened his eyes, their green brighter than you'd ever seen it, stark against the red of his lids and black of his damp lashes. “I love you too. So fucking much,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your inner wrist, up your forearm until he reached your lips, molding them together in a timid, salt-licked kiss.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him closer, and he quickly reciprocated, deepening the kiss until it reached the same fervor as before. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, racing alongside yours as he reached behind you and yanked your quilts and duvet onto the floor.

You were about to ask why when he kissed his way down your neck, leaning you back onto the pile of blankets. His body weight was warm and delicious pressed against you, filling a space long empty in your chest, and you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“So soft,” he murmured, nursing a spot under your ear that made you gasp, the sound twisting into a breathless moan. His hips canted forward in response, an involuntarily flex of muscles, and he whined. “Sorry, lovely. I'm so sorry—”

You silenced him by dragging his mouth back to yours and kissing him as fiercely as you could. Testing the waters, you rolled your hips against his, fiending for even a little friction, and it was his turn to gasp. You seized your opportunity and licked into his mouth, chasing his tongue with yours, and he completely melted into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands sliding under your shirt to paw at your bare skin. He kissed back down your neck, teasing the sensitive spot he found and making you squirm. You felt him hardening rapidly against your hip, losing his breath every time your hips bucked into his.

“Harry,” you pleaded, not entirely sure what you were asking for, only that you needed more of him. All of him.

He grunted when you shifted to roll your hips directly against the bulge of his cock, the thin fabric of your shorts doing little to mask the rough texture of his jeans. One of his hands slipped from your body to undo his pants, his weeping, flushed cock springing free and slapping against your lower belly.

“Baby, I need to—Merlin, I'm so sorry,” he panted against your neck as he pulled your shorts and panties to the side. He spread his fingers through your slit, exposing your drooling pussy to the cold air of the room. He plunged one finger in, then another, stretching you with quick, deliberate strokes that had you keening.

“Please fuck me, please, please, please,” you babbled, digging your nails into his back when he withdrew his fingers to fist his cock, dragging the head through your slick and coating himself in your honey.

“Baby, fuck, you're so wet. My good girl, yeah?” He peppered your throat and chest with kisses, like he was atoning for some great sin while he pushed that first few inches into your tight heat. You cried out, and he clamped a hand over your mouth, startling you both. “Sh, sh, have to be quiet f'me. I’ll be gentle, but I just need to—” His hips stuttered forward another inch when your gooey walls clamped around him. “Fuck, lovely, I'm sorry, you just feel so—”

You lifted your hips and he slid a bit deeper, sinking nearly half-way into the wet grip of your cunt, and he made a pained sound in his throat, your own mewl muffled by his rough palm. Your whole body was humming with pleasure, like he was ripping through the dark curtains of your soul and letting the light finally spill out.

“Fuck, I'm sorry.” He rested his forehead against yours, biting the back of his hand covering your mouth to keep from crying out as he pushed deeper, almost there. “I love you, and I'm trying to go easy but saints. You make it so hard to be good.”

You nodded desperately, locking your eyes onto his and trying to convey what you wanted. I know you love me, but fuck me like you hate me.

His eyes searched your face. “Tell me what you want, love,” he said, removing his hand from your mouth to grip your jaw.

“I don't want to hold back anymore,” you replied, voice breathy and high.

Something in him snapped. His hips thrust forward, his pelvis smacking against yours as he finally bottomed out. His cock kissed your cervix, the stretch bright and delicious.

“Fucking hell, you're so goddamn tight,” Harry growled against your neck, grinding his hips against yours. You'd be shocked to hear him speak so roughly, but you were on another planet, nails carving lines down his back as you clung to him.

His fingers dug into to meat of your thigh, lifting your legs up to wrap around his waist, helping him drive even deeper as he started pounding into you. Long, deep strokes that had your mind-melting, toes curling, and a too-loud cry slipped free.

“Baby,” he scolded, covering your mouth again and slowing down his thrusts.

“M’sorry,” you mumbled against his palm. “Please don't stop.”

“Have to be quiet, okay?” He removed his hand, pressing a soft kiss to you lips. “Lupin will kill me.”

“Lupin can bite me,” you giggled, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Harry smiled against your mouth, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging gently. He snapped his hips forward, knocking the air out of your lungs as pleasure bolted through you. “He'll have to go through me first,” he purred.

Seeing this more assertive side of Harry was doing funny things to your brain and your heart, your pussy fluttering around his iron length.

Was this what it was like to be his?

You pushed at his shoulder, throwing your leg to roll him over, landing in a straddle over his waist. His eyes widened in surprise, but quickly rolled back when you circled your hips, his length hitting an entirely new angle inside of you.

He tugged his shirt off, then yours, pulling you flush down against him as he fucked up into you, too impatient to hold still.

He was hitting it just right, abusing that soft spot inside of you that made your eyes cross, and you could feel your release rapidly approaching.

Sweat collected between you as your furiously ground your hips together, fucking each other with everything you had. Completely lost in the feeling of one another, desperate to push the other over the edge. The lewd slap of your sopping pussy was driving you both crazy, heightening the risk of being caught substantially, but you were too far gone to care anymore.

“Need you to come for me, baby. Please. Need to feel you, before—fuck, that's it, I’m so close—” Harry managed to get a hand between you, his middle finger making quick circles over your clit. His hips snapped up a final time, and you both were done for.

Your orgasm exploded through you, whiting out your vision with searing pleasure, and you buried your face in his neck to keep from screaming his name.

He bit down on his fist, a grunt of pleasure escaping as he continued fucking you, his thrusts growing languid and sloppy as your cunt milked him dry.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” you whined in his balmy skin, twitching and shaking in his arms as he finally sagged against the ground.

He removed his hand from his mouth, pinpricks of blood emerging from the wounds he'd sustained earlier reopening. “Saints, I love you so much. You're so beautiful,” he panted, kissing along your sweaty hairline. “Did so good for me, my lovely girl.”

“I love you too,” you sighed happily, nuzzling into the space under his jaw and brushing your lips against his light layer of stubble, letting your body relax into his.

He ran his fingers through your hair, holding you close as he caught his breath, the two of you basking in the afterglow.

“I meant what I said—anyone that wants to hurt you will have to go through me first,” he murmured after a few moments of quiet, his voice turning serious. “I'll do everything I can to protect you.”

You pushed yourself onto your elbow, meeting his eyes. They were shadowed with uncertainty, a bit glassy with collecting tears. His hand came up to hold your cheek, his thumb smoothing a long your kiss-stung lips.

“Whatever happens, this will be worth it,” you said, trying to inject as much conviction into your voice as you could, though seeing his tears brought your own back to the surface. “Even if this is the only night we get, it's worth the risk.”

He nodded, bringing your lips together in an airy, tearful kiss. “You're worth fighting a war for,” he whispered, catching your tears with his thumb. “And I'll get you to the other side of it if it's the last thing I do.”

You shook your head, burying it into his neck as a sob forced it's way up your throat. “I’d rather you take me with you.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, his grip tightening as he forced your head up again. “You have to promise me that no matter what happens, you'll live to help build what comes next.” You started to shake your head again, but he didn't let you. “Promise me.”

“I can't—”

“You can. And you will. This world is better with you in it, my love.” He rested his forehead against yours. “And I'll promise to do everything I can to stay with you.”

You drew in a shaky breath, your heart so full you could hardly breathe. “I promise, Harry.”

He flipped you beneath him, molding your lips together like it would set your promises in stone. “No more tears,” he murmured. “Tonight, we’re celebrating.”

© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[am-i-interrupting]

Hello, could you make a viktor x reader fanfic (where reader is someone very affectionate, and is very close to heimerdinger) please and thank you very much (⁠^⁠^⁠)

Soft Seams

Viktor was new to Piltover. New to all these things. Walking down the cobblestone streets even felt like something he shouldn’t be doing, something he would be yelled at for. However, with the head of the council walking with him, chatting along with a speedy, chipper voice no one dared to say a word. No matter how obvious it was that Viktor was not from Piltover.

His makeshift cane hit the ground with a soft, hallowed clack. His bag, well worn and covered in patchwork, was soft beneath his thumb which kept running over it.

“I believe you will like the owner,” Heimerdinger said. “There’s not a person they’ve yet to win over! Ah, here we are.”

For the first time since meeting this odd man, Viktor was not the one to open the door. At least, not for Heimerdinger. The door was split into two sections, a section with a door knob that was at an average person’s height and a section carved in that was more suited for someone of the yordle decent.

“Hello,” Heimerdinger said as he walked through the door.

It swung closed behind him. Viktor waited a moment, as the door swung inward, before opening it.

“Heimerdinger,” a voice from further inside rang out, “is that you?”

Viktor looked around the shop. There were fabrics draped over the walls. Mannequins sporting different types of attire ranging from more casual to extraordinarily expensive. A couple racks were on the floor sporting similar clothing. Several table displays were flittered in as well.

“Yes, indeed, my dear!”

A head poked out from behind one of the displays. You had bright eyes and a warm smile.

“It’s been too long!” you said as you raced forward.

You knelt onto the ground to give the yordle a hug. You swayed him back and forth as he wrapped his arms around you.

“And who is this with you?” you asked.

“This is Viktor,” Heimerdinger introduced. “A young man with a brilliant mind who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting recently.”

“Hello,” Viktor said.

He took your hand as Heimerdinger gave him your name. You surprised him by covering his hand with both of yours. They were soft and warm in comparison to his own.

“I’m honored to meet you,” you said.

You have his hand a light squeeze. He was convinced you may actually mean it.

“The honor is mine. The Professor speaks highly of you,” he replied.

You smiled, looking down. A small flush came to your face. Your eyes went to the yordle who met your eyes head on with a smile of his own. He was rocking back on his heels as he did so.

“We’re here to inquire about procuring some new attire for Viktor,” Heimerdinger said. “With such a brilliant mind, I’ve request his assistance with some of my projects.”

You nodded. Something in your demeanor told Viktor that you were excited, ready.

“Alright, why don’t you come to the back with me and we’ll get started,” you told him with a gesture to follow.

Viktor’s eyes went to the Professor. However, the man was already following beside you. He wasted no time to being chatting away.

You laughed at something the man had said. “You would mind standing here so I may take your measurements?” you asked with laughter still on your tongue.

Viktor stood on the platform that was indicated. Looking at himself in the multiple mirrors, he couldn’t help but feel more like he did not belong.

His clothes were worn and stitched together with hopes, not talent. In direct comparison to Heimerdinger (who sat perched on a chair perfectly tailored to his height) and you (who wore a perfectly fitted, unstained white sleeveless shirt with black, high waisted pants), he was noticeably less well off.

Although, the point of this visit was so when he began to accompany Heimerdinger everyday, no one would notice.

You took a measuring tape and began to wrap it around various parts of his body. Every time, you took note of the measurements. When you were done, you dragged a chair to the platform.

You patted it twice. He took the indication to sit.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, pulling it back and away from his face.

Instinctively he found himself sitting up straighter. His eyes went a bit wider. He could feel his lip begin to pull down in confusion.

Your face went beside his own as you looked at him in the mirror. He could feel your breath against his left cheek.

You nodded to yourself as you grabbed several patches of differently colored squares. His hair fell back into place.

You placed the patches onto his shoulder. “Alright, that’s about what I thought,” you said. “You have a warm undertone in your skin but it’s a bit muted instead of very bright. So, the colors that will look best on you will follow that pattern. Instead of the bright red of the academy, I’d suggest a more maroon tone of red, something deeper and richer.

“I think you would look beautiful in greens especially,” you continued on. “With the golden hues in your eyes and the warmth in your skin, something like a sage or olive green would really make those features pop.”

You thumbed through the color patches. You found two greens. A bright, saturated green was on his right side. A more muted, grey toned green was on his left.

“See how the brighter green makes you look more washed out, verses the muted which really brings attention to all the golden in your eyes and skin?” you asked.

He didn’t expect you to actually look at him for an answer. When your eyes met his in the mirror, he found himself nodding.

“So, when we’re looking at any clothing, general rule of thumb would be to go with something more muted,” you told him. “Muted doesn’t necessarily mean dull. Soft blues, purples, pinks, and greens are all beautiful colors with varying degrees of intensity. But dusted colors will generally look better on you than something that’s pure pigment. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Now, fabrics. All I need for you to do on this next part is tell me which ones fell the most comfortable.”

The rest of the visit went smoothly and fairly fast. You all said your farewells and you told Viktor to come back sometime within the next three to five days.

He did. This time alone.

You greeted Viktor with the same kindness that you had before. You rushed him to the back so he could try on the clothing you’d picked out or made for him.

First was the uniform. A pair of black dress shoes. Grey pants that were looser at the thighs and tapered in at his calves. A fitted, maroon button up covered by a cream and dusty blue vest with a matching cream tie tucked in.

You pulled at the vest to make sure it fitted nicely. “And if there’s anything which needs to be changed, don’t hesitate to ask. The point of clothing is for you to be comfortable.”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you,” Viktor said.

You smiled at him in the mirror. “Of course.”

There were several other variations of the same uniform. Outside of that were different colored vests, button ups, and trousers. Some for function and others for comfort. Viktor had never worn such soft and comfortable fabrics in his life.

There was one outfit in particular that you seemed to be excited about. When he put it on, he actually understood why.

It was extremely comfortable. Soft and warm. A cream colored turtleneck. It was tucked into a pair of sage green pants that felt almost like velvet but warmer and more gentle to the touch. The brown vest was made of a similar fabric. All of it came together with a sage green jacket, the same fabric as the turtleneck on the outside but the interior was lined with cream fur.

“You look very handsome,” you told him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were brought to attention and his skin seemed to almost glow. He was inclined to agree.

[starsinthesky5]

trick or treat* || joe burrow x reader

description: he was always Mr. Anti Halloween, but for you? for you, he'd do anything. even if that meant overcoming his childhood hatred for the holiday :)

a/n: a little post halloween fic for you all! sorry this took me so long :) it wasn't planned at all so I hope it's good and not all over the place!!

thank you @joeyb1989 for some inspo ;)

warnings:, language, smut, fluff

word count: 11.7 k

tag list (comment to be added!): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeys-babe @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid

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

"Baby, pleaseeeee," Joe whined as he hid his face in your neck, pulling the hood of his onesie even lower to hide his face simultaneously. "Please don't make me go out there," he murmured, his words soft and pleading while his warm breath caressed your skin.

"Joey, it's gonna be okay," you giggled, rubbing gentle circles along his back, your hand sinking into the soft, fluffy fabric of the blue stitch onesie he was sporting tonight.

He pouted, snaking his arms around your waist in a playful attempt to anchor himself, preventing you from dragging him out the door. “I don’t wanna go,” he mumbled into the soft fabric of your matching pink stitch onesie. “I really don’t wanna go, baby. I’ll do anything if you let us stay inside tonight. I’ll make you a three-course meal, give you a full body massage, paint your nails--anything you want. I’ll even let you be on top more ‘cause I know how much you love it. That all sounds nice, right? Right?”. His voice was a mix of begging and teasing, you couldn’t help but giggle at the lengths he was willing to go to avoid the Halloween festivities. 

"Joey, I love you and appreciate your will to negotiate, but I’m not changing my mind,” you chuckled, swaying his body back and forth.

“B- But whyyy?” he mumbled against your neck, his incredibly delicate voice making you melt in his arms. Every word he whispered tugged at your heartstrings, and all you wanted was to go back to bed and snuggle his adorable self till he couldn't breathe. “Do you hate me or something?”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you dramatically gasped, stopping your soothing movements to add to the theatrical effect. "I'm app-", giggle, "appalled that you even considered such horrid thoughts," you said, trying to stifle your laughter and remain serious but failing miserably.

“...Am I accusing you or is it just the truth?” he moped, twisting his head in your neck so that he could look into your eyes with his wide baby blues.  

A pang of guilt pulled at you for pushing him into it, but you knew without it, he'd never agree. “I love you, and that’s why I’m making us go trick-or-treating tonight. You deserve to experience Halloween the right way, and I’m gonna make it happen this year,”. 

Tonight was your favorite night of the year and Joe’s least favorite night of the year, All Hallow’s Eve. To you, Halloween was a night filled with magic and mischief, a time to dive into the world of costumes, mysterious identities, and bags upon bags of candy. In years past, you'd normally find yourself getting absolutely trashed at some Halloweekend party with your friends, but in recent years you opted for more tamer celebrations. Part of the reason was that you didn't really enjoy getting blackout drunk anymore and left that behind in your college days, but another reason was because of your lovely boyfriend who preferred to spend every October 31st acting like it wasn't October 31st. To Joe, Halloween was a “stupid holiday”, an excuse for people to put on facades they’d never wear any other day. He didn’t see the point in what you were celebrating, and the whole thing seemed meaningless to him. That hurt your soul a little, knowing how much you loved Halloween and everything that came along with it. But when you found out the real reason behind his hesitation--the things he kept tucked away, the bits that made him see the holiday differently--your perspective shifted.

Even growing up, Joe wasn’t the biggest fan of the holiday. He loved the idea of dressing up in his little costumes, always excited to transform into a superhero or a silly cartoon character. But when it was time to step out onto the chilly, leaf-strewn streets, baby joey would hide. He couldn’t get himself to walk up to the door and mumble, “Trick or Treat”. He would hide, burying himself in his parents’ legs or peeking nervously from the porch to see if the bowl of candy was left out. The idea of knocking on doors and making small talk with strangers was all so overwhelming for him and that stuck with him a little even in adulthood. The spooky masks, the dark skies, and the anxiety of talking to strangers soured his feelings towards the holiday and Halloween quickly became something he’d rather skip. You understood that it wasn't just about the costumes and candy for him and that understanding made you want to help him create new, happier memories in place of the old.

But you really didn't have to push all that hard because every year, he still indulged in parts of the spooky holiday for you--at least the parts that he approved. Each year, he’d help you hang up the orange and purple lights, the flying witch decorations, and even the faux cobwebs across the shrubs outside. He’d grumble a little at the mess and the spooky faces staring back at him from the yard, but when he’d see the happiness in your eyes, every bit of effort felt worth it. Seeing you happy made Halloween just a little more bearable--and maybe, just maybe, even enjoyable.

You somehow made it more comforting for him, and even though he gave you the same speech every year about how pointless it all was, you’d eventually find him nose-deep in a bag of candy, a tell-tale smudge of chocolate on his lip betraying his facade.

Sometimes, he’d even cave and watch a Halloween movie with you, despite his irrational fear of anything remotely horror-related. But getting him there was never easy. He was, without a doubt, the most stubborn person you knew so it always took endless pleading, a little bribery, and maybe a few strategically placed kisses to get him to soften up. Soon after, he’d sink in next to you, arms crossed and pretending not to flinch at every jump scare. Or, he'd end up pulling the blanket high enough to cover his face if he wasn't already hiding it in the crook of your neck.

Flashback to a few weeks ago

“Babe, I’m not watching that,” he huffed, crossing his arms and clenching his jaw in opposition as you scrolled through the list of movies on the TV. 

“Baby, Scream isn’t even scary! It’s just a slasher film,” you said while turning to look at him, your bottom lip stuck out as you tried to use your usual irresistible pout to convince him to watch your all-time favorite scary movie with you. 

That pout did wonders for you when it came to Joe. It was your way of getting him to do all the things he'd normally resist--watching a scary movie, going out when he'd rather stay in, trying that new cafe you'd been raving about. Every time, he'd try to hold out, but one look at your face and his front would crumble. It would be replaced with a soft smile that he reserved just for you, just for his girl.

You watched as he sighed, his eyes flicking to your pout and back. His lips curled into a sweet smile and his eyes softened; he was getting lost in your charm and it was working.

Oh yes.

But the pout that usually always works in your favor, failed you this time and he quickly went back to his resolve without even flinching. “Put the pout away, babe. I’m not watching that,” he shook his head. “You look adorable, but it’s not going to work this time,” he added as his thumb traced slowly along your plump bottom lip. His hand lingered near your face and even in his most stubborn moments, he couldn't hide how much he adored you.

You blinked at him for a few silent moments before fully losing it, “But whyyyyy,” you whined, throwing your head back against the couch headrest, then shifting your head to look at him. “I promise it’s not scary! And I’m right here if you do get scared. You can squeeze my hand, bury your face in my neck, use me as a stress ball,”. 

"Thanks, Y/N, but it’s still a hard no," he chuckled at your attempt to persuade him. "I refuse to watch people get gutted by some psycho in a ghost mask. The whole concept of the movie is just dumb, anyway. I mean, why not just move towns or states? Why not just buy a gun? Or wait, even better. Just don’t pick up the fucking phone and talk to a stranger,” he giggled as you glared at him.

He leaned in, deepening his voice, and asked, "What's your favorite scary movie?" in his best Ghostface voice. “Like, come on! Just hang up, block the number, call 911, and get the hell outta dodge,”

You shifted away from him, your jaw falling open, truly offended by his disregard for the masterpiece that the original Scream was. After seeing your demeanor, he only laughed harder. “Oh, stop. You know I’m right. It’s probably the same with every horror movie. They just love to make the main characters dumber than a rock and then make them act surprised that a psycho with a knife is knocking at their door,”. 

“You know,” you interjected, giving him a playful side-eye. “You seem to know an awful lot about scary movie plots for a guy who refuses to watch a single one with his lovely girlfriend--the same girlfriend he adores, is utterly obsessed with, and would do annnnnnything to make happy,” you lean into the sarcasm, but laced it with enough sweetness to test his stubbornness, hoping it would make him cave. "You do like to make her happy, right? I bet that you watching Scream with her would make her soooo happy," you added, placing a hand on his thigh and giving him a gentle squeeze.

Joe smirked to himself before he leaned in, his lips grazing against the corner of your ear. “You gotta do better than that, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot and voice raspy. He was enjoying your attempt to sway him. The playful challenge in his eyes told you he wasn’t giving in that easily, but he loved every second of it. 

"Oh, come ON," you thought to yourself, realizing this would be much harder than you thought.

"What if I make you Pumpkin Pie after?" you asked him while flashing him a bright smile. Pleading wasn't working, so it was time for you to call in the big guns: bribery. God bless your ability to pivot without breaking a sweat, you could practically already see his determination crumbling as a hint of temptation flickered in his eyes. You were close to winning him over.

Yes. YES.

Joe pursed his lips, pretending to be deeply thinking about your offer before he opened his mouth after his dramatic pause, "Mmmm, nope," he shook his head, trying to keep a straight face.

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch headrest again, then dropping your head to his shoulder where he moved his hand to cradle your face. He dropped a quick kiss to your forehead, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he enjoyed every second of your struggle. "Damn, you suck at this," he teased, his voice full of affection.

"What if I bake it naked. Only in an apron?" you offered, glancing up at him and knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist such a tempting offer.

Whenever you stepped into that kitchen to bake him something, it was like a switch flipped inside Joe. He became impossibly handsy, his self-control being thrown out the window the second he saw you in that baby pink apron, hair tied in a messy bun, and arms coated in flour. What takes 2 hours to bake, takes 4 when he's in there with you. You get so distracted by his slow neck kisses, his hands sliding over the curves of your hips, and the alluring words he whispered in your ear. By the end, flour would be everywhere. On the counter, on your clothes, even in his hair. He was always so proud of the mess you'd both made, and you didn't mind it one bit.

So, being naked--basically bare--while making him his second favorite sweet treat? Well, that was basically an open invitation for Joe to indulge in his first favorite sweet treat. You.

He definitely wouldn't be able to resist this.

"It'll be just you and me," you mumble, leaning your head forward so that your lips are sliding across his tan neck, his hand moving to grip your thigh as he instinctively pulls you closer. "In that big kitchen," you say as you drop a wet kiss on his sweet spot. "Allll alone," another kiss to his skin, this time along his jawline. "For as long as you want...".

His eyes widened for a split second before he let out a low, conquered groan, trying to fight back a grin at the same time. "You...are impossible," he muttered, shaking his head as he pulled you in even closer, your legs now curled up in his lap and his hand rubbing your calf.

"And you are always DTF," you giggled, taking note of his handsy-ness already beginning hours in advance due to the mere mention of baking a pie for him with no clothes on.

"...Mmph, alright, you win," he sighed, giving in to your wishes at last. "But that pie better be worth it or else I'm taking all this Halloween shit down," he warned while motioning to the few decorations around the living room.

"If the pie isn't worth it, I'll be sure to make something else worth it," you winked, your implied suggestion causing his cheeks to turn pink as you reached for the remote and clicked on Scream.

End of Flashback

Over the years, you'd managed to get your boyfriend to warm up to Halloween bit by bit. He'd sit through a few "scary" movies and even helped you decorate the house despite his complaining and groaning. But there was still one Halloween tradition you hadn't been able to get him to embrace: trick-or-treating.

That part of Halloween still brought back his old discomfort. Every year you'd try to get him to hand out candy with you, but he always refused and said he had to watch game tape in his office. You'd ask if he wanted to walk around the neighborhood and watch the kids trick-or-treat, but instead, he'd suggest you two go out to eat. Then you'd get a little bold and ask him if he wanted to go trick-or-treating together, and Joe would look at you like you had three heads.

Nothing ever worked--not the pout, the pleading, the bribery, or even your sweetest kisses. Trick-or-treating was the one Halloween tradition Joe just couldn’t get behind, no matter how much you tried. But this year, you decided to approach it differently.

You didn’t ask him to go. You simply told him you were going trick-or-treating together and made it nearly impossible for him to refuse.

You’d spent weeks planning, finding the perfect couple’s costumes, and dropping hints about how fun it would be. Every time he tried to fight it, you’d meet his eyes with that knowing smile, as if you could already picture the two of you walking hand in hand down the leaf-strewn streets. You weren’t giving him a way out this time. And deep down, a part of him knew he was going to give in--not because you’d worn him down, but because he loved seeing you happy.

Flashback to two nights ago

"Okay. I have three costume options," you smiled, holding up three shopping bags in front of him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed, looking a little frazzled, his expression already showing his hesitation.

"Wait...three?" he asked, eyeing the bags like they were bombs that were seconds away from exploding

"Mhm!" you grinned, pulling the bags closer. "You're going to pick the perfect couple's costume, I just know it,".

"Me? I told you, Y/N. I'm not going," he shook his head. "We do this dance every year and I don't know why you keep trying,".

Your shoulders dropped a little at his usual negative mindset towards Halloween, and you softened as you met his eyes again, "I keep trying because..." you hesitated, giving him a warm smile, "I want to make you have happy memories about this holiday, Joey,".

He blinked, surprised by the sincerity in your voice. Normally you'd be playful and silly when you talked about this, but this time you weren't and that set off the alarm in Joe's head.

“I want you to experience it the way you were meant to as a kid,” you continued, dropping the bags and walking over to sit beside him. “I want you to have the same silly experiences I did, so that one day,” you took his hand in yours, squeezing gently, “We can let our kids experience it the way we did. You deserve to feel the excitement of getting dressed up, the thrill you get once you count up the amount of candy you get at the end of the night, and the warm feeling the day after when you get to stuff your face with candy for breakfast. I know Halloween wasn’t your favorite back then, but I’m here now. We can make it ours. We can make better memories,".

"I know it's silly, I mean it is just a holiday. But I want you to experience it all, you know? And it'll be fun because I'm doing it with you," you added, your voice laced with sincerity.

Joe looked down at your hands, your words sinking in, and when he looked up, there was a warmth in his eye that hadn't been there before. Halloween might not have been his favorite holiday. But for you? He'd make it one he loved. He saw how much it meant to you, and he noticed how over the years you'd been changing his experiences with the holiday step by step despite his stubbornness. You never gave up on him, and that's why he loved you. That's why he was willing to do whatever it took to make you smile.

With a small grin, he eventually sighed, “Alright. Show me those costumes,”.

Your face lit up instantly, "Really?" you gasped, gripping his bicep in response.

"Don't make me change my mind," he said after dropping his head, although he couldn't help a smile from appearing on his face at the sound of your newfound excitement.

"I love you, Joseph Lee Burrow," you grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his soft cheek before jumping off the bed and grabbing the bags.

"I love you too, Y/N Y/LN," he chuckled.

He did, he really really loved you. He was willing to do anything to make you happy, to make his girl, his lady, happy. And who knows, maybe you were right? Maybe he would have a happy memory of Halloween after doing this with you tonight.

You picked up the first bag, quickly taking out the first set of matching costumes. "Okay, okay, hear me out--matching blue and pink stitch onesies. They're comfy and simple, and I think you'll look very adorable walking around in this,".

Joe raised an eyebrow, a smile creeping onto his face. "Comfy, huh? That's a plus, for sure".

You grinned, pulling out the next costume. "Option Two, Joker and Harley Quinn,".

"Oh?" he said, his tone laced with surprise as he saw your Harley Quinn costume or the lack thereof. "I don't know how I feel about you walking around in those shorts, babe,".

"I knew you were going to say that," you sighed. "But I still bought it anyway because you'd look so sexy with this Joker outfit and makeup on,".

Joe felt a blush creeping up on his face as he chuckled, "We can do that...but only for our eyes only. Your birthdays coming up, right? Consider me dressing up as The Joker one of your gifts," he winked.

"Noted," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as heat pooled in your stomach at his innuendo. You then pulled out the final option, trying to calm yourself as you showed him. "Last one, which is a classic. Pirates!" you grinned.

Joe looked carefully for a moment, peeking at each costume before finally meeting your gaze. It didn't take long for him to decide which one he liked best, “You know,” he said, a grin breaking through, “I think I’m gonna go with the stitch onesie,".

You raised an eyebrow in surprise at how fast he picked a costume, especially because he picked the one you didn't think he would pick. “Really? Why’s that?”

“Because,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “It’s super comfy, and you know how much I love aliens. Plus,” he added, leaning in closer, “It’ll be easy to take off of you later when we get into bed,”

Your cheeks flushed at the playful implication, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, stitch it is! But you have to promise we’ll take cute photos," you said, you were really just happy that he agreed to go and pick a costume without getting into a pillow fight with you.

“Deal,” Joe said, reaching out and gripping your waist firmly, pulling you close, and planting a quick kiss on your belly before resting his cheek against it while you raked your fingers through his soft hair. Halloween might not have been his favorite holiday, but with you by his side, he was ready to make it a night to remember--one cozy moment at a time.

"I love you," he mumbled against you before pressing another kiss to your belly.

"I love you too, my anti-halloween cuddle baby," you giggled, pressing a kiss to his hair.

End of flashback

You thought you had gotten him to fully embrace tonight, especially since he willingly put on his blue stitch onesie, but with the way he was clinging to you right now...he was definitely still struggling to let himself open up to it.

"What if they start laughing at me? I'm Joe Burrow, 27-year-old QB of the Cincinnati Bengals. I shouldn't be out trick-or-treating," he whined, hiding his face in your neck again.

"They won't laugh, Joey," you softly laughed.

"How do you know?".

"Because. You're Joe Burrow, 27-year-old QB of the Cincinnati Bengals," you grinned, gently shuffling both of you over to the foyer table where your candy bags were placed. "Man, you're big," you mumbled, slightly struggling to move because you had your 215-pound teddy bear attached to you.

He chuckled lightly, his breath warm against your skin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I thought you liked big boys,”.

"I do. Only you though. The rest are scaryyyy," you smiled, finally reaching the table.

"And I'm not?" he questioned, his voice laced with playfulness and flirtatious energy.

"Nope," you said while grabbing the bags. "You're my big, gigantic, muscular, adorable cuddle baby whom I never want to let go of" you softened.

"Hm, I think I prefer that over a scary football player," he chuckled.

Joe lost that tough, hard-headed QB persona when it was just the two of you. He was a total softie with you, revealing a side that few got to see. He would lean in closer during the quiet moments, dropping his guard as he shared little secrets and dreams with you, his deep voice softening to a whisper just for you. It was in these moments that you could see the real Joe. A man who cherished the little things, from the warmth of your hands to the laughter you shared over inside jokes. Each cuddle, each tender kiss that lingered a second longer, each time he pulled you into his tight embrace, he was just Joey. The boy who adored you more than life itself. Under the star athlete was someone who thrived on love, warmth, and connection.

"Good," you giggled, "Because me too. Anyway, it's just our neighborhood. Everyone knows we live here so I'm sure you'll just get a few 'hey joe!' screams and an occasional request for a photo,".

Joe lifted his head out of your neck, still looking a bit unsure for a few moments which prompted you to speak up. "I promise it'll be fun, Joey. I'm right there with you," you smiled, your hand sliding up and down the sides of his torso and your nails lightly scratching him through the fabric of his onesie. "Do it for me? Please?".

You saw a little shift in his baby blue eyes, relaxation and love flooded them. "Anything for her," he told himself. "Come on, Joe. Grow up,".

He took another deep breath before speaking up, "...Okay, but if someone asks me to do the Heisman pose in a Stitch onesie, I’m not doing it,".

You broke out in a fit of laughter at the mental image of him doing so and dropped your head onto his chest as your body shook from emotion. "D- Deal," you laughed, your heart swelling at how willing he was to step out of his comfort zone for you.

You felt him press a warm kiss to your forehead, his hand then moving to cup the nape of your neck and angle your face up. He leaned down, gently pressing his lips against yours, the feeling of your lips connecting sending shivers down your spine.

His hands slid down to your waist, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles as he pulled you closer. His cold nose brushed against yours as he met your lips in a deep, sluggish, sloppy kiss. Each gentle nip and pull sent warmth throughout your body, and his soft rhythm made you melt into him. Just as you began to lose yourself in the kiss, he pulled back slightly, "Alright, let's do this," he said against your lips. "But you better keep me entertained, or I'm pulling the 'famous quarterback' card,".

"Interesting words coming from the same guy who hates unnecessary attention," you said while raising an eyebrow, stepping back from Joe's embrace to straighten out your outfit.

"Hey, it's my get-out-of-jail-free card," he retorted. "If they start laughing or I get bored, I'll remind everyone that I'm a professional athlete. That'll get them to one, stop laughing because I'll say 'excuse me, ma'am, but do you really want to laugh at Joe Burrow, the Cincinnati Bengals' golden boy?' and two, entertain my football star side for a few short seconds before I get irritated by the camera flashes," he said while striking a mock pose, puffing out his chest and flexing his arms dramatically.

"Ohhh yeah," you giggled, "Because nothing screams 'intimidating' like a guy in a stitch onesie flexing his muscles,".

“Exactly, babe,” he replied, laughing along with you. “I mean, who wouldn’t want a picture with the cuddly, buff quarterback? Just look at me, who could say no?” He glanced down at his plush costume, pretending to look serious.

"Careful, Joey B. You might even start a trend," you said while raising your hands. "The soft, cuddly, buff quarterback. It could be your new brand,".

"I can get behind that," he cutely nodded. "Maybe I'll wear this at the press conference next week," he chucked, throwing his arm around your shoulder and leading you both to the front door.

"Ohhh, I would love to see the reactions from the guys and the media if you pulled up like this," you smiled as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"I would never hear the end of it. The guys still give me shit for the hickey I walked in with the day after my birthday last year," he sighed.

"I'm still not sorry for that," you shrugged. "Gotta let everyone know that you're mine," you nodded as he opened the front door for you.

"No need to be sorry, babe. You made your mark on me, a golden tattoo. I can't hate on that," he smiled, helping you onto the front step while he followed and closed the door behind him.

A smirk rose on your face, "Good. Because if you do good tonight, maybe you'll get a few more golden tattoos," you quickly mumbled, hopping down the steps of your house.

"Wait, what?" Joe asked, raising his eyebrows at what he thinks he heard you say.

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade of maroon before you glanced back at him, "Ohhh, nothing," you smiled. "C'mon," you motioned for him to follow, "We have doors to knock on,".

-- -- --

"Okay, Joey. First house," you smiled, placing your hand around his bicep and giving it a reassuring squeeze. You both were standing at the doorstep of a house that was a few streets down from yours, the decorations in the front yard caught your eye and you just knew this was the first place to start. There was an elaborate setup of skeletons cobwebs, and glowing pumpkins that lit up the yard with a spooky charm.

Joe's eyes darted from the decorations to the door, and you could feel the tension in his muscles under your hand. "Had to pick the spookiest house first, didn't you?" he murmured, glancing down at you with a hint of hesitation.

"You got this, babe," you nudged playfully, leaning over to kiss his cheek as you doubled down on your confidence in him.

He took a deep breath, straightening his posture as his brows furrowed in determination. "Okay, here goes," he breathed out, lifting his hand, pausing for a second as he shot you one last look--almost making sure you were still with him--before he finally pressed the doorbell. There was nothing to be scared or shy of. You were right there with him, he had no reason to hide behind someone because he had his safety blanket right next to him. His sweetheart, his lovely girlfriend, his Y/N.

A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman, her face lighting up as her eyes fell on you both. But when her eyes landed on Joe, standing there in a stitch onesie, she let out a surprised laugh.

He nervously cleared his throat before saying, "Trick or treat!" his voice was steady but laced with a bit of shyness that only you could catch.

"Oh, my goodness!" she bounced with excitement. "I never thought I'd see the day! Joe Burrow? Trick or Treating on my porch! And in such an adorable costume?" she cooed.

You couldn’t help the proud grin that spread across your face as you squeezed his arm again, leaning in to whisper, "See? You’re already a hit,".

"She's not wrong! This costume is perfect for you," the lady nodded. "You two look so adorable!".

Joe laughed, scratching the back of his neck, "Yeah, well...I have my Halloween coach to thank for that," he said, nodding at you with an appreciative smile.

"You give me too much credit," you giggled. "Not everyone can pull off a stitch onesie at 27 years old,".

He looked down at you again, his lips curved into a soft smile. But then he noticed your gaze shift down to his bag, which was still closed tight in his hand. You gave him a playful look, raising an eyebrow as if you were saying, "C'mon, Joey. Open it up,".

He realized what you meant with your stare, "Oh," he mumbled, quickly tugging the bag open and holding it out just like a kid who finally got the Halloween memo.

He watched as the woman dug her hand deep into the bowl of candy and placed a generous handful inside his spooky, SpongeBob-themed candy bag. Joe looked down at it with a mix of amusement and disbelief on his face, clearly not used to this happening to him. You couldn't help but melt at how surreal it must have felt for him--27-year-old Joe Burrow, the star QB, standing on a stranger's doorstep with a trick-or-treat bag in hand, experiencing the magic of Halloween the right way for the first time.

"Happy Halloween!" she chirped, giving him a little wink before turning to you and adding, "And you two make the cutest couple! Who Dey!".

Joe's ears turned a light shade of pink as he mumbled a polite, "Thank You,", trying to hide his emotions as best he could. That wasn't as bad as he thought it was, that was actually...fun? There were no awkward words exchanged between him and the stranger, no intimidating vibes, just sweet candy and even sweeter words.

And he had gotten a huge, seemingly above-normal fistful of candy too? Talk about Quarterback perks...

"What is this?" he thought, confused by what just happened as his hand instinctively gripped yours while you waved goodbye and walked away from the house.

You couldn't help your smile from growing wider when you both were back on the sidewalk. "He did it. He really did it," you thought to yourself, your heart swelling in return. "He did it for me,".

You stopped him in his tracks and turned to face him. "What's wrong?" he asked, confused at why you suddenly stopped him and at your wide-eyed look.

A squeal left your lips as you looped your arms around his neck and jumped into him. "You did ittttt!" you cheered, pressing about a dozen kisses to his soft, rosy cheek. "I'm so proud of you, Joe!".

Joe's face softened, a smile creeping up as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close. "You're really that proud of me?" he asked, amused and bashful.

"Are you joking?" you beamed, pulling back just enough to look at him through both your stitch hoods. "You faced your Halloween fears for me. That's huge, Joe,".

"Yeah...I guess I did," he tilted his head and replied, sounding a little surprised himself.

"Ahhhh," you squealed again as you went back into the bear hug you were giving him. "This is so exciting for me, you have no clue,".

He laughed, "Oh, I think I have some idea. You've been on me for doing this for yeaaars. I'm glad you never gave up, though,".

"I'll never give up when it comes to you," you smiled before leaning up and capturing his lips in a warm kiss. "Ooo," you said as you quickly pulled away, "What candy did you get?" you asked as you felt the presence of his candy bag below you

Joe chuckled softly, still relishing in the warmth of your quick kiss. “Let’s see,” he said, searching through his candy bag with exaggerated seriousness as if it were a treasure chest. “Looks like I’ve got some Snickers, a few Reese’s, and--,” he paused for dramatic effect, pulling out a tiny packet, “Starburst!”.

Joe and his Starbursts. An inseparable duo.

"Ohh, here we go," you laughed, watching as he dropped his bag on the ground and quickly started ripping open the packet to see what flavors he got.

A gasp left his lips, "Orange! Y/N, I got double orange!" he smiled, his voice so light and playful because he had just got his favorite flavor. He was legit a kid right now in every way possible, from the costume to the smile, and to the air around him.

"Joe, it's just orange," you teased, smiling wide as you enjoyed this playful side to him.

He shot you a glare, "Just orange? This is the best damn flavor," he said, tossing a piece into his mouth with a proud grin. "I know you love pink, but that is not orange. You're missing out," he said while pointing at you as if he was giving you a lecture.

"Maybe we can do a flavor swap later?" you winked, your suggestive comment earning a grin from him.

"Deal," he chuckled as he picked up his bag again to see what else he got.

You watched as he searched through the candies, an adorable grin on his face, crinkles around his eyes, and a shimmer in his baby blues. Joe was so happy, so smiley, and this was just the first house out of many. You could only imagine how he would be by the end of the night. "Let's keep going," he smiled, a feeling of excitement starting to bubble underneath his skin.

You let him lead you, warmth filling your chest as he glanced back at you, his excitement spreading through his fingertips and straight into your body. Joe’s hand squeezed yours, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how he practically skipped down the sidewalk. His usual calm, collected self had completely melted away, replaced by a boyish joy that made your heart swell.

When you reached the next house, he gave you a playful look. "Alright, what do you think this one’s giving out? Full-size? Think we’ll get lucky?".

You shrugged, playing along, “Only one way to find out. Go on, brave QB. Knock and conquer,".

"You don't want to come up with me?" he asked with a playful pout.

You smiled, "You're a big boy, QB1. You've got this".

"Alright, alright. But if I get nervous, you'll be my backup, right?" he asked, glancing back at the house. He wasn't having a hard time talking to strangers this time around, which was different than when he was a kid. Normally, he wouldn't be able to put his finger on what made him break a childhood habit, but this time it was easy for him to know because of the feeling he had in his heart.

It was because of you.

Being with you calmed Joe in a way that nothing else could. Your calm presence was like the first, refreshing sip of ice water after a brutal run on a hot day. As you stood by his side tonight, he felt your cool confidence seep into him, melting away any of his nerves.

With you there, he found himself speaking more easily, making small talk without hesitation, and even standing on doorsteps without any fear. You had a remarkable effect on Joe, and he knew damn well without you, he wouldn't be able to do a lot of things, including this.

"Forever and Always," you promised, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

He straightened up, took a breath, and headed up the path on his own, a new confidence in his stride. Watching him, you couldn’t help but smile. He was loosening up, bit by bit, and you felt a thrill at the thought that he might actually be enjoying himself.

Joe knocked on the door, a bit of uncertainty clear via his body language. But when the door opened, he gave a smile so genuine that even the older couple answering couldn’t help but smile back, dropping another handful of treats into his bag as they made small talk with him.

You quickly pulled out your phone to record the sweet moment, wanting to capture Joe looking absolutely adorable and actively enjoying himself on Halloween in case someone doubted you when you told them. You had gotten him to soften up, and that was making this the best Halloween ever. You wanted to capture the memory and keep it forever.

As he headed down the steps, he looked at you with a glowing face. “You know what? I kinda get why you love this now. It’s just...fun,”.

You let out a dramatic gasp as he inched towards you, "Joe Burrow? Saying Halloween is fun? Oh my god? Have the aliens finally made landfall on Earth?".

"Very funny, Y/N," he playfully rolled his eyes.

"What'd you score this time?" you said while looping your arm with his.

"Full-sized, baby," he said in mock triumph. "Snickers, a big bag of Sour-Patch, and even another Starburst packet,". The glimmer in his eyes was undeniable, he was genuinely enjoying himself and the smile on his face was only growing wider. There were no complaints from him, no signs of anxiety, just pure enjoyment. "They even said I looked cute in this and said I've been playing like the MVP recently," he blushed.

"Aw, that's sweet," you replied, squeezing his hand as you continued walking down the street, seeing all the little kids in their adorable costumes wandering the roads. You even think you saw a kid dressed up as Joe, football jersey and all.

He let go of your hand so that he could put his arm around your waist, "They even said something about you," he winked.

"Oh? What'd they say?" you asked, snaking your arm around his waist.

"That I struck gold with youuuu," he teased, bumping his head with yours. "They go to a bunch of games and have seats by our sidelines and see you and me before every game doing our little handshake and watching you give me that pre-game pep talk. They said that the way I look at you, and only you, during that time is only something that comes around every few lifetimes,".

Your eyes widened in surprise, "Wait, seriously? People notice that?".

They weren't wrong there, though. The way Joe looked at you during his sideline time was something that was so special, so rare. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders at that time, but all that vanished once his eyes locked in on yours. You were his comfort, his calm within the storm. Whether that's on the field, or even right now as you two were partaking in Halloween festivities that he was normally against. You made it all better with your smile, with your reassuring words, with your gentle touch. He adored you.

Joe chuckled, nodding, "Yeah, apparently it's their favorite part of the game. They said, 'Man, if that's not love, I don't know what is',". He pulled you a little closer, "Guess I struck gold,".

Your heart exploded as you nestled closer to him, "Well, they're not wrong," you mumbled. "But, I think I'm the lucky one because I get to watch you light up the field like you do,".

Joe leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your head, his voice warm as he murmured, “Guess we're both pretty lucky. But I'm definitely the luckier one because I have the most dedicated, relentless--in the best way--adorable, thoughtful, beautiful, and insanely hot woman by my side,".

His words were tender, each one a gentle caress that wrapped around your heart. They held a deep meaning that made you feel adored in a way only he could make you feel. You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with love, a smile tugging at your lips. "You know, you make it really hard not to fall for you all over again," you whispered, your voice catching as you reached up to trace your fingers along his jawline.

"Baby, I fall for you all over again every single morning I wake up to your beautiful face," he said, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "And I love you a million times more. Thank you for taking me out tonight even though I was being a whiny ass. I'm realizing what I've been missing out on," he said, looking across the street to where a little boy was calling his name, giving him a wave and smile in return. "And I'm definitely realizing it's a lot more fun with you, by my side".

"Well, I'm having the best Halloween ever if that means anything," you smiled, watching as he waved to the little kids who were starting to notice that they were trick-or-treating with Joe Burrow.

Joe pulled you even closer before planting a quick kiss on your forehead again, "Me too, and it's all thanks to you,".

Joe saw that satisfied grin on your face and felt his heart swell. You were happy. Knowing that he had a part in that made him feel like he was on Cloud 9. "I think I like seeing you like this more than I like watching the other team go 3 and out during a game," he said with a silly grin.

"You're just saying that just to say it," you shook your head as you two strolled down the sidewalk.

"Nope. I'd wear this every Halloween if it meant I could see you smile like this. You look like you're about to explode from excitement," he laughed.

"Well, I think I might. My mission was accomplished. You're enjoying Halloween," you said while letting go of him, moving so that you two were face to face. You grabbed his hand and started to walk backward down the sidewalk, leading him along with you. "We're healing your inner child, one 'trick or treat' at a time,".

"You know, you might be right?" he shook his head in disbelief. "Just don't tell my mom because I think she'll actually freak if we tell her you got me to trick or treat since she tried soooo hard when I was little to get me out here,".

You let out a loud laugh, "It'll be our secret,".

"Good, because I wouldn't do this for anyone else. Just you," he said, giving you a heated look, his icy eyes sending shivers down your spine. The playfulness in his voice was replaced with heat, and you weren't sure what made him do such a 360 all of a sudden.

"Woahhh, slow down with those bedroom eyes. We still have a few more houses to hit up," you giggled.

"Sorry," he shook his head, snapping out of his daze. "I just remembered how easy it is to take a onesie off and got excited,".

"Like I said, you're always DTF," you smiled, turning back around and pulling him down the sidewalk with you.

"Only for you though," he smiled, innocently tapping your ass which caused a gasp to leave your lips.

"Joseph Lee! There are children around!" you shrieked, looking back at him with wide eyes as your cheeks flushed with surprise and embarrassment.

"What? It was just a little tap," he shrugged. "Besides, we're allowed to have some fun, right? It is Halloween,".

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" you said, trying to hide your laughter.

"But you love it," he said, leaning closer as he winked at you, his confidence shining through. "And I think the kids are too focused on their candy to notice what I'm doing,".

You looked around, watching as the kids ran past you both with their candy hauls in hand, realizing he was right. "Okay, but still. You better keep your hands to yourself unless you want the whole neighborhood to see your stitch onesie getting stripped off,".

"Relaaax, baby. It won't happen again, at least not until we're somewhere a little more...private," he said, tapping your ass again but before you could say something, he ran in front of you to escape your anger.

"Oh hell no," you shook your head, watching as he ran backward, his tongue sticking out at you in mockery as he sported a cocky grin.

"Catch me if you can!" he yelled, his laughter echoing as he picked up speed.

"He's such a kid," you whispered to yourself, "You're going to regret that!" you shouted back, your competitive spirit breaking free as you took off after him.

He really was a full-blown kid tonight, and it was all thanks to you. You got him to loosen up, to laugh a little harder, and to enjoy something he had grown to hate. Each doorbell you rang seemed to chip away at the walls he had built around Halloween, and the joy in his eyes was heartwarming.

You ran down the sidewalk, chasing after him as best as you could, but Joe being the sneaky athletic man he is, was just too fast for your pace. "He chooses the wrong time to show that he has wheels," you thought to yourself. Before you knew it, he had led you down a dark backroad and was nowhere in sight. You were far from your familiar neighborhood streets, the spooky decorations and orange lights now a blur in the background as you were now standing on an eerily quiet street. The shadowy road sent a shiver down your arm, "Joe?" you called out, your voice echoing in the quiet environment.

You got no response.

You bit your lip, gripping your bag a little tighter as you stay alert, turning your head to check if he was near you. "Joe? This isn't funny! I swear to God," you said, swallowing hard. The usual sounds of forest critters were oddly silent, providing no comfort to you at the moment.

"Did he even come down here? Maybe I wasn't paying too much attention to which way he went," you muttered to yourself, slowly beginning to walk up the road and back to where you came from. "But then where did he go?".

"Joe? I'm serious," you yelled out again, your voice laced with frustration and nervousness. This was the exact kind of thing he would do to spook you, so maybe that's what he was doing.

Before you could call out again, you heard a faint sound--like a crunch of leaves under a foot.

You didn't turn around to see what it was, instead, you stopped walking and froze, your bottom lip starting to tremble as fear crept into your mind.

There was nothing down here. And by nothing, you mean nothing. Not a single house, not a single car, and not a single soul. Just trees, a road, and a distant view of your neighborhood.

So who was behind you?

You didn't want to turn around to see who it was out of fear. It could be Joe, but it also could be some psycho in a ghost mask with a knife, waiting to stab you to death. "Oh shut up, Y/N. Scream is a movie. A MOVIE." you lectured yourself, mentally slapping yourself for sounding like Joe.

You shook your head to push away the uncomfortable feeling creeping up your spine. You quickened your pace as you walked towards the familiar shapes of the neighborhood. Each hasty step made your heart pound louder in your chest, drowning out your breath. Behind you, the sounds grew louder as you heard the rustling leaves and the faint crunch of footsteps on gravel--each noise sent a rush of anxiety through you.

"Absolutely not. I'm not dying before I witness a Bengals Super Bowl win," you mumbled to yourself before you reached up to pull your hood down, then kicked back and started bolting up the road.

"Come on, come on," you muttered, your breath hitching as you heard the distance between you and whatever was behind you shrink.

But then, your heart stopped as two strong hands gripped your waist and pulled you back, your back bumping into something solid and hard. "AHHHH!" you shrieked. "Please don't kill me! I swear, I didn't do any- anything," you screamed while feeling tears in your eyes.

And then you heard it, a laugh. Deep, unmistakable, and...familiar.

"Scared you, didn't I?" Joe rasped in your ear, his arms tightening around your waist.

Your heart was still pounding from the rush, "Joe!" you shouted, giving him a halfhearted shove and releasing yourself from his arms. "That wasn't funny! I thought you were some...masked psycho about to murder me,".

He reached out, placing his hands on your shoulders while stabling himself, "And this- And this is why you shouldn't watch Scream," he panted, catching his breath, the laughter still lingering in his eyes.

"Fuck you," you panted, coming from a place of playfulness and fun.

Joe's hands slid down to your waist, pulling you into him with one swift movement, "Aww, was my baby scared?" he pouted.

You stared into his eyes with irritation, "Yes." you muttered without hesitation.

"Aw, I'm sorry," he smiled, pushing your head into his chest as he swayed you back and forth, "But at least now we know how you'd last in a horror movie,".

You rolled your eyes before breaking out in a grin--you just couldn't help yourself, "Who knew Joey B was final girl material? I mean, look at those wheels," you teased.

"Damn right," he chuckled, then leaned down to place a kiss on your cheek. "I think you need to learn a few things from me. No way you should be that slow when your boyfriend is Joey Wheels,".

You let out an offended scoff before lightly slapping his chest, "I'm not that slow," you said.

"Mhmmm," he hummed, "Whatever helps you sleep at night,".

You shook your head before going back to his chest, "You're having one good Halloween and think you're the shit now, aren't you?".

"Precisely," he nodded, "But that's all you're doing, baby. You asked for this," he chuckled.

He did it to make you happy, which worked. And you did it to make him happy, which also worked. You two made amazing memories tonight, carefully uninstalling the bitter ones from his childhood and replacing them with happier ones. You loved to see him happy and carefree like this, you never wanted that smile to come off his face.

"Well, you scaring me is a good thing I guess. You're not the one scared anymore, I am," you smiled up at him. "Healing your inner child, one step at a time,".

-- -- --

A few hours later -- back at the house

"I didn't think that would be so fun," Joe said as he rummaged through his candy collection on the bed while you were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. "You seriously have me questioning why I ever dreaded Halloween,".

You laughed from inside the bathroom, "It's because you didn't have me around to show you the ropes. I told you I'd change your mind!" you shouted just loud enough for him to hear you.

"My miracle worker," he chuckled, opening up a Snickers bar and taking a bite of the chocolatey treat.

Back in the bathroom, you were currently standing in front of the mirror, looking at the red, lacy lingerie that you had slipped on under your onesie before you left earlier. You knew that even though he'd complain about it, Joe would come through and make your wish come true. And in return, he deserved a treat when you both got back and you wanted to show him how much you appreciated him loosening up for you on a night that had never been his favorite.

He thought you were just in here, doing your skincare and slipping into your PJs, but instead, you were getting ready to give him the real treat he deserved. "He's going to love this," you smirked, pulling one of his old LSU shirts over your body along with your sleep shorts.

You grabbed one of Joe's favorite perfumes of yours, giving it a few spritzes around your body, before fluffing your hair, turning out the lights, and leaving the bathroom.

"Babe, you gotta try these watermelon sour patch kids," Joe said as he dug through the tiny packet and popped a few into his mouth.

You smiled at the sight before you--Joe sprawled out on the bed in just his boxers, looking effortlessly irresistible. His disheveled hair and relaxed posture were a stark contrast to the playful, innocent stitch he’d been just a few hours ago. It was like seeing two sides of him in one night, each one captivating in its own way.

"Insane duality as usual," you murmured, barely containing a grin as you took him in.

Once he heard you close the bathroom door, Joe's gaze tracked your every step as you walked back into the room, his eyes sparking with curiosity. He picked up on a subtle shift in your energy, the way your confidence was shining brighter than usual, making his smirk grow. He threw his half-finished candy onto the nightstand, leaning back against the soft headboard with his hands behind his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Hi," he smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You gave him a slow once over, taking note of every vein, every curve of his muscles, and especially that happy trail that led to one of your favorite things in the world. ""Hi," you said, giving him a devilish grin, your tone laced with heat. "Enjoy your candy?" you teased.

"Yeaahhh...," he trailed off, "You alright?" he asked a few seconds later once you stopped at the foot of the bed.

"Oh, I'm more than alright," you thought to yourself, clearing your throat and standing up straight. "Trick or Treat?" you smirked at him.

Joe raised an eyebrow at your question, especially because he could tell it was coming from a place of mischief. "What?" he asked.

"You heard me," you bit your lip and said. "Trick or Treat?".

Joe raised an eyebrow at your tone--it was light, a little heated, and incredibly playful. Was this going where he thought it was? "I think I’m going with treat,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he slowly leaned forward. “But I’m curious…just what kind of treat am I in for?”

"Hmmm, you know," you said while gazing deeply into his starry eyes, "The hot kind. The messy kind. The sexy kind,".

And as if on cue, you reached for the bottom of your shirt, quickly pulling the fabric up and over your head before throwing it at Joe's face, his eyes widening once he got a glimpse at the lacy red bra that covered the part of your body that Joe was insanely obsessed with. "Y/N..." he murmured, his heart skipping a beat once he saw you turn around so your back was facing him, your hair moving to the front which gave him the perfect view of the thin lace straps.

You pulled your shorts down, bending over so you could reach down to get them out of your feet and to also give Joe a generous view of your lace-covered ass.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, the tent in his boxers growing at the sight of your toned, lace-covered body.

You flipped back around, watching as his hand absentmindedly inched closer to his erection, shifting it to feel momentary relief because of the way you were torturing him right now. You flashed him a playful grin before kneeling on the bed, your fingernails running up against his leg as you moved closer and closer to his torso.

"Baby, I-," he choked out as he felt your hand graze over his shaft.

"Shh, it's okay. Just lay back and relax. You earned this for doing good tonight. You did it for me, to see me happy, to see me smile. You had fun tonight and you did something out of your comfort zone, all for me. You deserve a treat for being so good to me, baby," you nodded, both your bodies now filled with heat and desire, the need to feel each other overpowering any other emotion.

You leaned down, your lips coming into contact with the fabric of his boxers as you pressed gentle kisses around his upper thighs. Joe tossed his head back at the sudden contact, and as your lips inched closer to his shaft, his body jerked while a string of sounds fell from his lips. "B- Baby, stop teasing," he mumbled, his hand stuffed into your hair as he lightly pulled on the strands. "I need y- you,".

You smirked at his faltering cockiness, then trailed your kisses up his body, following his happy trail. Your tongue glided along the curvature of each of his semi-visible abs, up to his pecs, and then to his neck.

You had shifted so that you were now comfortably seated in his lap, and Joe's hands were firmly placed on each side of your waist, slowly moving your hips back and forth against his shaft to feel relief.

You attached your lips to his neck, your goal was to leave as many golden tattoos as you could. "Mm, Y/N," he whimpered in your ear as he felt you suck harder on his favorite spot. "So good for me, baby," he sighed, his self-control being very close to being thrown out the window.

"I know," you smirked, moving to another spot on his neck to repeat the action. Your hand placed on his jaw as you moved his face to the side. Your tongue glided over the marks you left on his neck, a hiss coming from his lips at the slight burning sensation.

As the minutes passed by and you continued to tease him with your lips, he was getting more and more restless. And you could feel it. "Baby, please. I need to..I need to feel you around me," he whimpered again, pulling you out of his neck and meeting your firey eyes.

"Your wish is my command," you said, leaning in to capture his lips in a passionate kiss as you sat up on your knees, allowing him to pull down his boxers, his cock coming free and grazing against your thigh.

You leaned down to shift your lacy panties to the side, your wetness seeping through and dripping down onto Joe's lap, a throaty chuckle leaving his lips. "Even when you try to be in control, I still have you like this," he mumbled between the kiss as you grabbed his erection, using your thumb to spread the pre-cum along his slit before sliding it between your slick folds.

"We'll see," you smirked, sinking straight down onto his hard cock, a moan leaving his lips at the sudden contact.

"Y/N...," he moaned, his hands shifting down to grab your ass with a firm grip.

You placed your hands on his shoulders as you slid up and down his cock, your pace frantic and needy which matched the feeling you both shared in the moment. His head falls forward to rest on your shoulder, your hand inching into his hair as you pull him closer. His groans got louder, each one sending a jolt of pleasure throughout your body. "Yeah, you like that?" you whispered in his ear as you felt him buck into your core.

"Fuck, yeah," he moaned, his hands moving to grip your waist, the pads of his fingers digging deep into your skin. "Just like that, yeah,"

A shock of pleasure ripped through your veins, "You feel so good, Joey, sound so pretty for me," you moaned, feeling his tip hit your sweet spot as you leaned into him, his fully arms wrapping around your torso to steady you.

"My girl, you're doing so good, Y/N. I love...I love fucking you," he whimpered, his hips starting to snap up into yours in a way that drove you crazy. Each push of his cock into your wet heat felt like you were being brought into a new world; so intense and lively.

"Joey, ah," you moaned. "You're so...you make me feel so good," you moaned, feeling the way he gripped your hips and guided you back and forth on his cock.

You felt his hand inch up your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your lingerie top and undoing it in one easy motion. He quickly pulled the straps down, throwing the lacy piece across the room before attaching his lips to the skin of your breasts. "Oh," you whimpered, leaning back to give him enough room to work his magic on you.

"See?" he panted as he nipped at your skin. "This was for me, b- but, ah," he moaned once he felt you clench around him for a second, "I still have you like this,".

"You'll always have me like this, Joe," you whimpered, your legs starting to burn because of your movements. You threaded your fingers into his hair again, pulling him out of your chest and up to your lips, "Fuck, baby," you whined before he crashed his lips onto yours, his hips snapping up into yours even harder than before.

You picked up your movements as both your moans got louder and louder, the room now filled with sounds of skin hitting skin and your breathless whimpers. "Joe, I..I'm so close, mmph, fuck," you whined, dropping your head onto his chest as you slid up and down his shaft, your core starting to clench his cock more frequently.

"Shit, me too," he choked out, his breath hitting your ear as he melted into you with each rock of your hips and thrust of his thick cock. "I'm gonna cum, fuck...Y/N, I-," he said, getting quieter as he leaned into you more, his cock starting to twitch as he repeatedly slammed into your sweet spot.

You felt your eyes start to roll back, both your bodies moving at an uneven pace, "Cum for me, Joey. You did so good tonight, let it go," you whimpered in his ear.

"Oh, fuck," he hissed, "'Fuck, fuck. I f- forgot a condom, baby. W- where-,".

"In me," you moaned. "Cum in me, it's okay," you whined, your bundle of nerves begging for release as you felt Joe's cock thrust into your core with an intensity he could only display in front of you.

"Y/N," he whimpered, his cock stilling inside you after one final, rough thrust that caused your legs to shake. "Ahh, fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back against the headrest as his warm release filled your dripping core, the feeling of him filling you was something he could never get over. It made him feel so damn good, and you just loved to feel him inside you, any way shape, and form.

"Oh, fuck," you screamed, gripping his shoulders again as you guided yourself along his cock, "I- I'm-,".

"I've got you," he moaned, opening his eyes and briefly staring at the ceiling before looking back down at you and the way your lip was between your teeth, your eyes were screwed shut, and how your hair was sticking to your skin from the thin layer of sweat on your body.

He moved his hand down to your slick entrance, his thumb finding your clit, and all it took was a few seconds for you to come crashing down on his body. The expert movement of his skillful hands wasn't just useful on the football field. Hell, they might have been best used on you and not on the ball he throws every day. "Joe!" you screamed, falling into his chest as your core rhythmically clenched around his shaft, a wave of pleasure crashing over you while you felt your release drip onto his lap.

"God, I'm fucking obsessed with you," he mumbled as he peppered kisses around your neck, up your jaw, and to your mouth as you chanted his name over and over.

A few seconds later, you caught your breath, "Holy shit," you panted, your legs still shaking from your high as your body fell limp against his. "Fuck, that was...,".

He chuckled lowly, "Hot? Intense? Sweet?" his voice raspy in your ear as his hand slid up and down your back, tracing invisible shapes into your skin.

"Precisely," you giggled, pressing a kiss to his muscular chest. "Happy Halloween, babe. Hope you enjoyed your treat,".

He tilted your chin up, catching your gaze with that soft, unguarded look that always melted you. “Happy Halloween, baby. Thanks for tonight,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you close again. As you snuggled against him, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "You gave me the treat of a lifetime tonight. In more ways than just one," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I’ll never forget it,".

"I love you," you mumbled.

"I love you too," he smiled, dropping another kiss on your forehead before getting lost in your warmth.

"You know...since you're pretty comfortable with Halloween now...next year, we should throw our own Halloween Party at the house for everyone," you smiled against his chest.

Joe snapped his eyes open, "Woahh, baby steps," he laughed.

You couldn't help but smile, knowing just how far you'd come in the quest to make Mr. Anti-Halloween, Mr. Pro-Halloween. "Alright, alright," you teased, giving his chest a playful tap, "But we'll see what the future holds. Maybe you'll be the one planning it next year,".

His laughter vibrated through his chest, and he tightened his arms around you, his smile so soft and content. "You’ve already got me wrapped around your finger. I’ll do whatever you want, baby" he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"Good," you beamed. "I've already got your costume for next year in mind,".

"And what is it?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

You bit your lip and hid your face in his chest again before saying, "I know you said for our eyes only...but...I wanna see you in it as many times as I can,".

"Nope," he shook his head, already knowing what you were going to say. "No way in hell,".

"Yessss," you giggled while patting his chest. "You'd look so fucking sexy, I think every girl in Ohio would drop to their knees,".

Joe playfully rolled his eyes, "You know what? Fine. I'll wear the Joker costume, but only on one condition," he said.

"Okay, I'm listening," you nodded, your excitement bubbling beneath your skin already.

He smirked as he leaned down to level his mouth with your ear, "We repeat what we just did, right now," he rasped. "Right now, maybe again tomorrow night, and after we do the whole 'our eyes only' thing, and maybe make it a Halloween tradition and do this all over again next year,".

You gently leaned up, pressing your lips to his before saying, "Deal, Joker," then feeling his hands wrap around your hips and flip you over on the bed.

--the end--

[evieskiesss]

TOM GETTING HIGH (weed) WITH READER .

so like they are smoking at home and they get all clingy and kissy and they make out and it ends with them doing it 🤭🤭

HIGH LOVING- TOM KAULITZ

smut

A/N: i’m soooo rusty lollll. i tried :(

-

“pass me the lighter, liebe,” tom’s voice cracked through the low music in the room. i reached over to the side of our bed, lazily reaching for my purse on the ground, fetching my lighter before returning to my same spot on the bed.

the mattress was dipped in by tom’s weight, i watched closely as i watched his fingers push in the small bundles of weed, rolling it tightly to prevent anything from slipping out. his tongue peeked out his mouth, swiping across the ends of the backwood, letting it moisten up before sealing it shut. tom flicked the lighter open, passing the blunt through the fire a rapid 4 times before setting it between his lips.

“what strain did you buy again?” i asked softly, not exactly remembering what his dealer had slipped him. “indica,” he mumbled, holding the tall flame to the tip, letting it catch afire. i groaned, “i don’t like indica!”

the tip became an angry orange as his cheeks hallowed out, lips parting to draw a ghost before quickly disappearing into his lips. “this ones different, baby,” his voice was gruff as he held in the smoke, “come try it.”. i rolled my eyes a little, annoyed at how he bought a strain he knew i didn’t like. i crawled over to him, taking the blunt from his fingers & placing it between my lips.

my cheeks hallowed out, the taste of the burnt plant clouding my mouth before i inhaled. the sensation of my lungs being invaded was short lived, killed by my immediate coughing. “s-shit,” i coughed out, handing the blunt back to tom. he laughed, patting my back as i shook my head, “it’s strong!”

“very,” he mumbled taking another hit, “but you’ll love it.”

“i doubt it.”

-

“i love it..” i sighed softly, giggling as i laid back on the bed. by this point, the room was foggy, filled with the intoxicating smoke of our blunt which was now nearly finished. “i told you,” tom responded slowly, the high having taken a quick toll on us. i closed my eyes, sucking in a sharp breath of air, my head felt light. i felt my body begin to sway, the mattress suddenly becoming lighter, i felt like i was on an ocean, floating along the waves of the pacific.

tom turned to me, his lips curling up in a smirk at my dazed out state, the small smile on my lips being a dead giveaway on how much i was enjoying it. his eyes raked down my figure, taking in the sight of me. my thin panties clung onto my hips while my top had ridden up, exposing my tummy, allowing my belly piercing to glisten against the little light in the room. he caught his lower lip between his teeth, his hand coming to touch my exposed belly, rubbing it softly.

his body leaned down, his lips coming in contact with the skin on my belly, his mouth leaving soft kisses along it. “you’re beautiful,” tom whispered quietly, his tokens of love making their way up my body & neck before reaching my face. “komm,” he whispered, fingers taking a hold of my chin before pressing his lips against mine. i sighed softly into the kiss, reciprocating his affection.

his fingers sneaked their way up my leg, caressing my thigh softly as his lips moved against mine. my lips parted, giving his tongue an entrance to slip into, leading us to dive deeper into a passionate frenzy. tom sighed softly against my lips, his eyes fluttering shut in satisfaction. his hands kneaded at my thighs like dough, his grip becoming tighter as the seconds flew by.

we broke the kiss momentarily, catching our breaths as our chests heaved, our lips slowly swelling at our pressured kissing. tom’s kissed grew sloppy against my jawline, his leisurely pace growing on me as i savored the feeling of his tongue on my skin. it was by this time that i knew he was high. whenever the marijuana kicked in, there was tom, all over me. i never knew what it was about weed that made him so clingy, yet he never fails to make me feel so loved.

it was always the same thing. the kissing, the grabbing and fondling, the teasing licking and nipping, tugging and hugging, whining and crying about how he just needs to feel me, touch me, tease me, love me. i never complained though. i smiled, pushing at his chest when he began rubbing his lip piercing against my neck, teasing the sensitive skin. “stop!” i giggled softly, he let out a low whine, his hand gripping onto my waist, keeping me flush against him, preventing me from any way of escaping his loving embrace.

his lips began kissing again, his tongue parting from his lips every now and then to give my neck a teasing lick. i bit my lip, holding back my soft smirk as he grew closer to my sweet spot and he knew it. he pressure of his lips became firmer, eliciting small moans from me once he reached jackpot. i let out a small gasp as his teeth nipped me before quickly soothing it with his warm tongue. my fingers tugged on the waistband of his sweats, holding back small whimpers.

his face departed from my neck, pulling back just enough to catch my lips with his. “you want it?” he asked me lowly, rubbing my hip. i nodded breathlessly, wanting to put out the fire that burned so agonizingly between my legs. tom’s hand reached down to his sweatpants, his hand dipping in just enough to pull his cock out, pumping himself a couple times, eliciting small moans from himself.

tom rolled to be on top of me, settling himself between my legs. his finger looped around my damp panties, pushing them to the side as he aligned his mushroom tip to my wet cunt. my leg flung itself around his hip, holding him close as he began to push through, sliding into me with a slight pop. we groaned in unison. tom’s head hung low, buried into the crook of my neck as his cock pushed deeper into me, my gummy walls swallowing him whole. we both let out a small sigh once he was fully in, my head spun around in pleasure and dizziness, god i loved this.

there was something so lazy yet intimate about sex while being high because although we didn’t need to put that much energy or effort into it, it always turned out great. pulling his hips back, he snapped them back in, my mouth drew open as tom grinded his hips softly up into mine, his cock leaving a small burn on my hole as it adjusted to his thick base. he pulled back nearly all the way out before sliding back in lazily, groaning huskily into my ear as his sensitive cock grew accustomed to my tight walls. his lips attacked my neck as he thrusted slightly faster, “f-fuck,” he growled.

i gasped as his tip hit a soft spot inside of me, my nails digging into his back as a form of showing him how good it felt. tom chuckled softly, taking my gasp as a sign for more. his thrusts became harder, pulling back to ram his hips deeper into mine, surely leaving bruises against the bone. my legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in closer, needing to feel him deeper. the sounds of his balls slapping against my ass filled the room, slightly drowned out by the low music that never stopped playing.

tom grew more erratic, his panting became heavier and kisses sloppier. in a sudden movement, he pulled out. it was so quick, i didn’t have time to whine before he laid back against the bed frame, his fingers pulling at my waist to make me sit on top of him, “c’mere baby,” he panted, taking a hold of his cock to align it with my sopping entrance.

his fingers wrapped around my hip, keeping me still before i slammed my hips down, immediately throwing my head back as his cock filled me up much more in this position. my hands shakily found his shoulders, needing some form of stability as the pleasure mixed with my high, my head spun so much. i began moving myself up and down on his length, his cock causing a light pain in my walls at how much he stretched me out yet i ignored it, distracted by the bliss of his mushroom tip abusing my spot. toms head flew back, resting on the bedframe as his eyes rolled in pleasure. his neck was warm & sweaty, adam’s apple bobbing as he groaned.

i cried out in pleasure, tom’s chest caving in as he let out a gruff moan. “just like that, baby, oh fuckk..” his hand gripped my ass, giving it a quick slap, “faster,” he panted. i whined softly, i dug my nails into his shoulder, mustering up the little bit of energy i had left. finally, i set my pace again, this time faster. i slammed my hips down, thighs burning at the ache while tom threw his head back once more. his hand gripped my hip, one of them trailing to fondle my breast. his lips attached around the bud, suckling on it. he kept his grip tight as he used his strength to help me continue bouncing. i whimpered softly, the pleasure of his cock and his lips on my breast nearly sending me over the edge.

“f-fuck, feels so fucking g-good,” i moaned with my eyes screwed shut. “yea? you like it when you ride my cock?” tom taunted me, his fingers pinching at my nipple. i nodded feverishly, my mouth wide open as my head flew back. tom caught me by surprise by thrusting his hips up, meeting mine halfway to add to our pleasure. my hands flew to the top of the bed frame, fingers clenching onto it with a tight grip, keeping myself from giving into the unbelievable sensation of his cock abusing my walls. soon enough, my walls began clenching once more, my thighs shaking along with it. tom knew it all too well, it was a sign of my orgasm quickly approaching.

i cried out, “f-fuck!”. tears of pleasure pricked my eyes as he fucked me faster, “you wanna cum, baby? you wanna cum on my cock?” tom looked at me with satisfied eyes, seeing my fucked out face, tears rolling down my flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “yes! fuck!”

“do it, baby, do it,” were the last words i heard before my vision went white. my thighs trembled as i orgasmed hard, my voice raw as i let out a silent scream. i collapsed, legs giving out as the powerful shocks of my orgasm ran through my body.

tom gave me two last hard thrusts before holding my hips down. “oh gott!” he growled, fingernails digging into my skin as his hot cum spewed inside of me, his cock twitching. we moaned in unison,he pressed my hips down harder, rolling them in an attempt to milk himself even further, the feel of his cock inside of my sensitive cunt becoming too much to bear.

our breaths became shallow, panting heavily as our sticky bodies collapsed against each other. i winced softly as he never let go of my waist, his hips curling up into mine, nearly overstimulating himself as he rung his orgasm out dry.

“fuck..” i whispered, my face coming out the crook of his neck. a small weak smile appeared on my face at the silly sight of his disheveled state. his eyes were half-lidded, baby hairs stuck on his forehead with claw marks all on himself with his lips all bitten & swollen.

“i should buy that shit more often..” he muttered sleepily.

[anantaru]

ayato + a soul sucking blowjob

synopsis. ayato was tired, fatigued and frustrated. arriving home from work shortly after to get finally spoiled by you <3

cw. oral (male! receiving), flustered ayato, fem! reader

you can easily discern certain noises in your place, or specific emotions you feel when you hear them. serving as an illustration— look at when the quick chime of the door being unlocked sparks over your eardrums. what's more, you remember that it's like an unwinding lullaby to you, when ayato lastly arrives home after a long day at work.

the high-priced material of his shoes made a rhythmic click as he walked, which then echoed through the living room when the yashiro commissioner crossed the dinner table to walk towards the couch— nothing else in his mind other than the cloying anticipation to feel you in his arms.

each footfall was unevenly separated from the last and clearly indicating fatigue, no rhythm in them at all. you note that your boyfriend must be utterly tired from his long day, quite spent as he ultimately reaches over to greet you before adjusting his pants to sit down.

"how was your day?" you kindly ask, your smile rumbling with a welcoming affection as you place one hand on top of his muscular thigh, "everything ran smoothly... not to worry," the man assures you after a moment of hesitation.

if there was something entirely true about kamisato ayato— it's that his honesty towards his beloved would only include the details he deemed for you to be okay to know. you were aware of that and really didn't mind, although sometimes you wished you could smooth over the secrets he's forced to carry with himself and make it a little easier.

chewing briefly on his lower lip, ayato searches for your trace, his hands slowly slipping between your legs to rub over the inside of your thigh as he gently exhales through his parted mouth, the clouded sight on his face accentuating his immense attractiveness.

"you look tired, baby," you note, squeezing his thigh, a sensual chime melting on the tip of your tongue when you move as slowly as the petals of a flower opening, silently kissing his cheek before pointing towards the obvious tent in his trousers.

"or… do you want me to take care of this?"

"you— you mustn't trouble yourself with it, i—," ayato ponders out loud, glancing awkwardly to everywhere but your face.

he didn't even realize that he's gotten a little too excited to see you tonight. this hasn't happened in ages and only served as an additional indicator that there was more to the frustration inside of him than he originally let on.

swiftly, and with a touch of silk, you unravel every sharp edge of his strong bravado— and the tension rises beneath the layers of garments he wore, a slight hue of embarrassment catching onto his pale skin.

"i'm just so happy to finally see you, 'cannot control it, i apologize."

his pure admittance coupled with his flustered expressions burns into your heart like liquid gold as he laps over his lips softly when you smile back at him, ready to worship him as if you're born to savor this hallowed moment.

"don't apologize," you remind him, and in the split second that your hand feels over his bulge, every nerve in his body and brain was electrified— as the motion of your palm spoke of a movement coupled perfectly to itself, confident, focused and reverent, "i missed you too."

unhurriedly, you get yourself off the couch before settling in between his thighs, your hands coaxing out a shaky groan from him as you slid them over his legs before hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants, freeing him shortly after. at the feeling of his bulging erection being met with the cold air of the room, ayato whimpers, yet what actually made him lose his mind was when you took him in your hand, his glossed pre glazing over your knuckles and sending him into a heady trance. 

he feels how his balls were tightening when you slant your lips forward to spit on his cock, his body starting to ready itself for your warm, wet mouth before you're slowly dragging your tongue over the slit, the feeling of ecstasy coming through him in a controlled wave of pleasure.

in this moment, ayato feels like all the relief in his life settled in his stomach and his worries died down, all the times he had dreamt of you the entire day when he was supposed to be actually focusing on work— not the memories of last night where he had you draped over the mattress, stuffed entirely with his cum. the memories of the night still left him in a tremble, and how utterly beautiful you looked claimed in such lewd manner.

your hand wraps around the base tight enough to heighten the feeling of pressure and bliss on him, a choked rumble coming from above you as ayato covers his face with one arm while the other settles on your head. your hand firmly palms around the base of his erection as you began to gave his tip a tentative lick, never focusing less on how he was reacting to you.

the more inches you decided to swallow, the more you cam into contact with a rich, masculine musk permeating on your tongue at the first taste of him— ugh, ayato tasted so good, and he always took such good care of himself that you cannot help yourself but rub your thighs together, hoping it's enough to pleasure yourself on your own.

to make him further lose his mind, you know what you had to do and proceeded to sweep your tongue across the head several more times until his eyes would turn bloodshot from the little droplets of tears hovering on his pretty lashes.

oh well, he must be so tired, fatigued and frustrated. at the same time, suffusing into the loss of his mind and the hotness of your lips softly pressing into his shaft.

he cannot wait until you take him in your mouth.

which then, naturally you did, yet slow, encouraged by the addictive taste of him filling your senses as you take more of his length into your mouth. you bob your head up and down, the heavy tip of his erection nudging in the back of your throat as you let him guide you up and down with his hand, working the first couple inches of his dripping dick against your tongue until you hit your limit.

for what you couldn't gather inside your wetness, you let your hand make up for the rest, finding a comforting pace as ayato grew so absorbed in watching you please him, it's almost as tasteful as feeling it in the first place.

just how obediently you let him feel around your mouth as his fingers slide through your hair— he hopes he manages to turn you soaked by the end of it, so he mustn't prepare you any further and can sink himself inside of you much quicker.

you lift your eyes to meet his delirious half-gaze before you hollow your cheeks, pulling back with a soft popping sound and a faint rush of adrenaline.

"you enjoying yourself?" you coo devilishly, then cock an eyebrow that destroyed all its softness within your triumphant gaze, "very much so," he smirks back.

boldly, he hides between the beautiful implications of a clouded expression hovering all over his facial features, when in reality, ayato has already planned out the entire night for you two.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you think Harry could be scary at times? Like put actual fear into people? Because I think I remember some moments where Hermione was afraid of him or was a least kinda hesitant with him. Like this quote here from HP and the Deathly Hallows:

“You nev­er re­al­ly tried!” she said hot­ly. “I don’t get it, Har­ry – do you like hav­ing this spe­cial con­nec­tion or re­la­tion­ship or what – what­ev­er – “

She fal­tered un­der the look he gave her as he stood up.

“Like it?” he said qui­et­ly. “Would you like it?”

“I – no – I’m sor­ry, Har­ry. I just didn’t mean – “

He literally just looked at her, stood, and she was over there stuttering and backing down.

Yes! OMG, yes! Harry can and is scary when he wants to be and I love him for it!

A few more examples that popped into my head:

“I haven’t finished with you, boy!” “Get out of the way,” said Harry quietly. “You’re going to stay here and explain how my son —” “If you don’t get out of the way I’m going to jinx you,” said Harry, raising the wand. “You can’t pull that one on me!” snarled Uncle Vernon. “I know you’re not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!” “The madhouse has chucked me out,” said Harry. “So I can do whatever I like. You’ve got three seconds. One — two —”

(OotP, 45)

Uncle Vernon reacts to him with anger, which is his fear response. But Harry is talking quietly and deliberately, he isn't shouting and Vernon shuts up and listens, not cutting Harry off with his shouts. Harry actually cuts him off speaking quietly and Vernon lets him. And Vernon lashes out, as he always does when it comes to magic — because it scares him. Harry scares him.

“Well, it’s like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves,” said Hermione impatiently, “and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn’t usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren’t they? The way some people can see them and some can’t! I wish I could.” “Do you?” Harry asked her quietly. She looked horrorstruck. “Oh Harry — I’m sorry — no, of course I don’t — that was a really stupid thing to say —”

(OotP, 450)

Hermione stutters around Harry quite a bit. I think she is, like, concerned about him at all times at the back of her head a bit since it takes very little from him to rattle her. I'm not copying it here but you see it too when Harry shouts at her and Ron at the beginning of OotP, Ron argues back a bit, but Hermione gets incredibly rattled. Hermione doesn't deal with Harry's anger well. There are more scenes like the one you mentioned as well.

I'm re-reading Deathly Hallows right now and came upon this scene:

Somehow her [Hermione's] panic seemed to clear Harry’s head. “Lock the door,” he told her, “and Ron, turn out the lights.” He looked down at the paralyzed Dolohov, thinking fast as the lock clicked and Ron used the Deluminator to plunge the caf into darkness. Harry could hear the men who had jeered at Hermione earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance. “What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.” Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head. “We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry. “It’s better like that, it’ll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it’d be obvious we were here.” “You’re the boss,” said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. “But I’ve never done a Memory Charm.”

(DH, 146)

That needs to be talked about more.

Some people like to point at Remus telling Harry that "the time for Expeliarmos is over" as proof Harry isn't willing to kill, but this isn't true. Harry isn't willing to kill Stan Shunpike, whom he considers innocent, Harry was the calmest of the trio and very much considered killing the Death Eaters and chose not to for completely tactical and cold reasons, not ones of ethics or qualms about murder. And I love the dynamic this short scene portrays with the trio a lot. Like, Harry is calm under pressure and calls the shots, Ron offers a way to deal with things, and then Hermione actually executes the memory charms. And here too, when Hermione stepped back, she was scared of Harry (and Ron a little). She doesn't for a second think he wouldn't kill them if he thought it was the right thing to do. She stepped back because she was scared Harry would kill them.

“...Thank you!” said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron’s hand and stuffing it back into the case. “Well, I’ll see you all — OUCH!” Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand. “Harry!” squealed Hermione. “You took that from Sirius’s house,” said Harry, who was almost nose to nose with Mundungus and was breathing in an unpleasant smell of old tobacco and spirits. “That had the Black family crest on it.” “I — no — what — ?” spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple. “What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?” snarled Harry. “I — no —” “Give it to me!”

(HBP, 245-246)

Harry lifts Mundungus and strangles him... and both Mundungus and Hermione are scared of him... because he is scary.

said Voldemort coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand. “The boy . . . Is he dead?” There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze; it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch. “You,” said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.” Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time noting, small comfort though it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan. . . .

(DH, 612)

Voldemort is outright scared of Harry and isn't willing to come near him to check if he's dead...

Like, I am not a fan of the weaker, softer fanon version of Harry James Potter that I see on occasion (obviously everyone can do what they want, I just personally don't like it much when he's portrayed as small and submissive as if Harry has ever submitted in his life). He is not as tall as Ron, but he isn't short either (the same height as James, so likely around 6 feet), he is physically capable of lifting Mundungus even without magic with a single hand and he is so magically capable (more than almost every other character, bar exceptions like Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Snape). No wonder he can be scary, both physically and magically. And yes, Hermione is outright scared of Harry at times. So are other characters.

So, yeah, I strongly agree, Harry can definitely scare people if he wants to, and sometimes even when he doesn't. He seems to have an intimidation factor he isn't fully aware of and therefore doesn't notice all that much.

[satorusugurugurl]

Candy Inspection!

Summary: Suguru finds himself paying close attention to you on Halloween night. Watching how you so lovingly take care of his darling girls. And he wants to repay your kindness, with making you a mother.

Characters: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Warning: mentions of costumes, a little role-play, breeding, smut, unprotected sex, cream pies, coffee table sex, misuse of candy?

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Kinktober Day 15! Breeding/Batman-Catwoman! So I received the Batman and Catwoman request way after all the slots were filled. But I found a way to include it in Kinktober! We’re at the halfway point!

“Oh my, aren’t you too adorable?” the older woman smiled, dropping handfuls of candy into Nanako and Mimko’s bags. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Batgirl!” Mimiko chimed in, grinning at the older woman.

“And I’m Harley Quinn!” Nanako added, grabbing her twin sister's hand with a gentle squeeze.

The woman smiled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and finding you and Suguru standing in the driveway. It was easy for her to tell who the young girl's parents were. Suguru stood tall, wearing a tight-fitting Batman costume that left little to the imagination. The dark mask around his eyes enhances his irises' vibrant violet shade. Wore a distracting amount of tight leather in a costume. You twirl the fake whip around in your hand, waving at the older woman as a girl shouts a thank you to her.

“Alright!” you flung the whip out, looking into their bags with a smirk. “Ooh, the big candy! See,” you gently tapped Suguru’s leg with a whip. “I told you this neighborhood was a Goldmine!”

“That you did,” the girls bounced excitedly as they peeked inside their bags. “Let’s keep going, then!”

The girls skipped down the sidewalk, grabbing your hands as they did. That was the site that caught Suguru’s gaze, not just how great your ass looked in the costume, but there was something about seeing you interact with his girls that had his heart straining against his chest. You had always been good with the girls, accepting them as if they were. You treat them with kindness that they had been denied in their village.

You were the mother they never had, and they loved you. But Suguru loved you more. God loved everything about you—your heart, kindness, and beauty. Everything about you fueled his love.

Something about this All Hallows Eve had him falling even more in love with you. Watching you take care of the girls so carefully, holding their hands, making sure they stayed close and in tight-fitted costumes, had him fighting against the raging erection that was trying to free its way out of the waistband of his pants. You were always so good with kids. He knew without a doubt that you would be an amazing mother. Seeing you in such a state made him want to make that thought and dream into a reality.

He had to contain himself, though! Now was not the time nor the place to fuck you on a decorated lawn and breed you. This was the two of you could discuss at a later time.

Geto Suguru, however, underestimated just how much your motherly instincts would turn him on. He had just helped the girls to bed, tucking them in, when he trod down the stairs, still in his Batman costume, not finding you around. He took his mask off and cascaded down his back. He was about to call you when he walked into the living room.

“Hey Princess, the girls are fast asleep.” he went to unclip the cape that was still behind him. “What do you say we get out of these costumes and jump in the shower?”

“In a minute!” You called out, sounding close.

When Suguru round the corner, he saw you bent over the coffee table, leather insinuating the curve of your ass. “What are you do—?” He froze, watching as you examined a piece of candy from a massive pile you had compiled from the girls' trick-or-treat bags. You carefully examined the piece, folding it and pressing down on it. You played with the wrapper before dropping it into a large bowl half full of candy. “W-What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m checking the candy for any razors or to make sure it wasn’t tampered with.” Looking over your shoulder, you look up at Suguru, your eyes from behind the black mask you still wore. “I need to make sure our girls are safe.”

Our.

That singular word had Sugurus's control unraveling like a rope as he moved. He jumped over the couch quickly, and you barely had a chance to register what was happening before Suguru lifted you, placing you on the coffee table. He stared down at you, sprawled out on the table in leather that looked as though it had been painted on the curves of your body, surrounded by vibrant colors of wrapped candy. Suguru hadn’t even indulged in a single piece of the sugary substance, yet his heart hammered against his rib cage as if he was experiencing a sugar high.

“Sugu?” you out your costume boyfriend grab the zipper to the front of your costume. “Wha—oh my god!!” he yanked the zipper down, causing your breasts to bounce as they were freed from their tight confines.

“How? How have you enchanted me even more?” he grabbed the bottom of your strapless bra, pulling it down. Suguru watched in pleasure as your breasts bounced, nipples hardening in the cool air. “I didn’t think it was possible to fall more in love with you. Yet you continue to surprise me with every passing day.”

He could feel your gay on him as he bent his head down, taking one of the hardened buds into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it as your back arched off the table, the candy wrappers crinkling under the shifting of your weight. Suguru hummed with a shudder, his teeth scraping over the sensitive nipple.

“I-I d-di—nngh!” you brought the back of your hand to your mouth, crying against the skin as Suguru pushed you further onto the table.”I-I didn't even do anything!”

Suguru yanked your costume further down past your ass down your thighs, resting them just below your knees. “You are, you’re so fucking perfect, and you don’t even see it.” He scoffed and pulled away to pull down his pants, freeing his erect cock. “That is what makes you perfect.” he strokes himself, spreading the pre-cum over his shaft, lubing it up for you. “You’re everything I wanted as a partner—a wife. I have to make you mine in every sense of the word. I want to breed you.” His words had you swallowing at your suddenly too-dry throat to speak.

You had never seen him so worked up before; he got super horny when he was away on missions. This, however, was something completely different. There was an animalistic, pure need in his eyes. His need to breed you, to fuck you against the coffee table, didn’t frighten you at all. It made you wetter than you already were.

“Oh yeah? You wanna breed me Batman?” A of pure need rose in his throat as he cocked an eyebrow, glancing down at you as he pulled your panties down to rest with your costume.

“Yeah? Would you like that Catwoman? I'll be sure to take very good care of you.”

He rubbed the head of his swollen twitching cock against your entrance, taking in the way you gasped and rocked back against him. “I do; I want to be the mother of your children.” You swallowed, hissing as he began, pushing his massive head past the tight ring of your entrance. “Fuck.” You chirped as he began, pushing himself further inside of you.

“Yeah, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He leaned forward, grabbing the mask that was covering half your face. “You wanna know how I can tell?”

“Mhmm!”

He yanked the mask off, throwing it across the room without a care in the entire world. “Because your tight wet cunt is hugging me so tight. I don’t think it even would let me pull out.” he reached above you, grabbing the edge of the coffee table as he pushed himself entirely inside you. “Fucck.” You gasped, mouth falling open as he stayed like that, his entire length filling you up, twitching, and stretching you in a delicious way that left you longing for more.

“Oh god.” You cried out, placing a hand over your mouth as he began pulling out before slowly pushing inch after inch back inside of you. “Y-You feel bigger than you have before.”

“I’ve never been this worked up before.” He chuckled softly, using the coffee table as leverage to push further into you, stretching you out even more with each deep thrust. “I'm going to make you a mother tonight.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a promise, and you can tell that he meant every word as he used his other hand to hold your hip down flush against the table as he plunged his length into you. That deep thrust went all the way inside of you, and the head of his cock hit your cervix, leaking pre-cum against the opening as you choked on a moan. You’re doing your damnedest not to scream and moan too loud, and it might wake up the girls. But it was so damn hard to hold your composure together when your boyfriend was fucking you like this.

All you can do is press the palm of your hand harder against your mouth, silencing moans that were threatening to escape. Watching your attempts to keep yourself quiet, Suguru smirked above you. He loved your face with pleasure, your thigh underneath. You looked so cute taking his cock like a fucking whore. Well, you tried so hard to keep quiet. Knowing that pushed him to make him moan even louder.

“You’re such a good girl.” He praised in your ear, making you whimper into your hand. “Taking my cock so good, all while you’re trying to stay quiet.” He brought lips to your earlobe, nipping out, drawing out a soft gasp. “If you stay quiet, I’ll ask Satoru to pick the girls up tomorrow.” That slowly goes down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. “That way, you can be as loud as you want.”

“Mmmphm.” you cried out, nodding your head in approval.

He grunted, resting his forehead against yours, lilac eyes staring into your own. “You want that?” He growled, gripping the coffee table, abandoning its hold, and finding a new home on your hip. “You want me to fuck you so hard tomorrow. Your voice goes raw from screaming my name?” You nodded again, and Suguru grabbed your wrist with his left hand while the other dug into your hip. “Say it.” Maybe he would’ve let up on his thrusts, allowing you to answer his question. Instead, he bullied his cock further inside of you, hitting the deepest parts of you, that particular spot that made your body recoil in pleasure with every brush.

“Nngh,” you cried softly, trying to keep your moans down, “y-yes ahh fuck, I want to scream your name.”

“Tell me you want me to make you a mother.”

“I-I—ahnnn,” a scream crept up your throat, threatening to pass your lips, “I-I want you to breed me!” The harsh whisper was surprisingly only audible to the two of you as you kept your loud moans down. “I want you to make me a mother. I want to be the mother of your children. S-Sugu—”

Just before the scream could pass your lips, your boyfriend slammed his own against yours. He was swallowing your screams down like he was a man dying of thirst. His eyebrows knitted as he slammed in and out wet, squelching sound flooding the living room with each powerful thrust. Candy fell to the ground as you screamed into his mouth, grabbing the locks of his raven hair and tugging at it. The sting of the pain on his scalp had his eyes clamping shut as he moaned loudly into your mouth, the sounds of your shared pleasure drowned out by the other.

You couldn’t even warn him that you were cumming. He just felt your body seize up underneath him. Your muscles tighten as you wrap your arms tighter around his neck, holding him flush against your bare chest. He growled, fucking you as deep as he could before, pushing all the way inside of you as spurts of hot cum lashed against your cervix, filling you.

“Fuck.” he whispered, finally trusting himself to speak at a low volume. “I came so hard.” he chuckled as you hummed, bringing your lips up to his neck, kissing sensitive skin; therefore, you reached up with your fingers rubbing at his gauge piercing. “Oh my God, there’s so much cum inside of you.”

He pulled back, watching as his cum slowly began seeping out of your pretty pussy. “Yeah,” you sighed, reaching down to pull your panties back up, preventing the cum from dripping on the floor. “I feel so full.” you sighed slowly, sinking to the ground and looking back at the pile of candy you had been working on. “Before we go upstairs and continue this, we need to place an order on DoorDash. Because there’s no way I’m giving the girls this candy.” Suguru laughed, Pulling you into his arms as he turned the TV on to a horror movie. His fingers moved across the screen to order a giant bag of candy for his precious girls.

“See,” he whispered against your temple, grabbing the bowl of candy you had already checked. “You’re already the perfect mom.” he unwrapped a piece of your favorite candy, popping it into your mouth, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “And I love that about you.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[xoxochb]

Jason with hardcore smut?

hey siri play bed chem by sabrina carpenter

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you think he’s trying to kill you.

your legs tremble with the utter most pain, surely to leave you limp and unable to walk tomorrow morning and may the gods save you then— because you’ve got a schedule to maintain!

you hadn’t had even a second to process your life, let alone process your boyfriend shoving his cock inside of you, sure to permanently outstretch your walls. and your juices are practically pouring out of you from the lack of space within you, may the poor sheets be happy in elysium.

tears roll down your face, scorching hot, burning your skin over your red cheeks. with the rapid rate they fall, they pool in your mouth, nearly gagging you from the swift rate at which they fall, though you try your best to bite down on your lip and stop them before you vomit.

you’re practically being stretched out from the size of him, with each thrust, your poor insides disarranged entirely and far from return. you love jason, you do, but when he tries to kill you like this you’re not sure he loves you.

when you speak, it’s mostly cries, not much coherent sentences. yet you want your point to get across. “jase, I can’t- mphm- I’m gonna-”

you ultimately decide not to finish the sentence. he’ll get the memo eventually.

or not.

because the sound of your sweet voice only makes him thrust harder into you, into in inhumanly deep portion inside of you, forcing you into a state of utter dizziness you won’t return out of for the next twenty-four hours.

though that was always how it felt when he fucked you.

at this point you could only babble useless words between reverberating moans surely loud enough to puncture your voice box and have you mute for the next week (true event).

you feel yourself dripping, your brain repeating profanities over and over again. you are so fucked. you throw your head back against the pillow, shaking your head slowly, the friction surely having your hair all staticky by now.

with your head tilted at this angle, jason has easier access to kiss along the hallow of your throat, pecking it gently opposed to his southern region completely obliterating you both inside and out.

and you were right in thinking you’d be done for the next day. you had woken up with a sore throat and an aching cunt. you had to clear your schedule, you were so ‘very sick!’

[boykisser4]

My Sweet Baby

pairing: young naive Kageyama tobio x male reader, nsfw so minors begone

warnings: AGE GAP (18 - 23) male reader, smut, possessive, corruption, pervy m/n, violent thoughts/intrusive, exhibitionist, oral, overstimulation, praise

summary: m/n found Kageyama to be as cute as ever. but Kageyama aren’t exactly the smartest in the room according to him. luckily, m/n more than happy to help his sweet baby succeed, and he will not let Kageyama forget him.

The library was an eerie sanctuary in the heart of the academy, a bastion of silence where whispers of knowledge danced between the dusty bookshelves. There, in the quietude, sat a young man with a furrowed brow, wrestling with the complexities of a book that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. His name was Kageyama Tobio, a boy whose youthful innocence was as stark as the white pages he studied with feverish intensity.

Entering the library, the m/n couldn't help but notice the desperate look etched on Kageyama's face. With a knowing smile, he approached Kageyama, whose eyes flickered up with hope at the interruption. "Having trouble, Kageyama?" he asked, his voice a gentle caress that seemed to echo in the hallowed space.

Kageyama nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It's this assignment," he whispered, his eyes pleading for salvation. "I just don't get it." The m/n's smile grew, a hint of mischief playing at the corners of his lips. He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around Kageyama like a warm embrace. "Maybe you just need the right kind of... guidance," he murmured, his fingers brushing against the nape of Kageyama's neck. The younger boy shivered, his pupils dilating at the touch.

"What do you mean?" Kageyama stuttered, his curiosity piqued. The m/n leaned even closer, his breath hot against Kageyama's ear. "I mean, I could help you. But it's going to cost you something," he whispered, his voice a seductive promise. Kageyama swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest. He knew what the m/n was implying, but the thought of failing his assignment was too much to bear.

With a shaky nod, Kageyama agreed, his eyes never leaving the m/n's intense gaze. The m/n's smile grew into a grin, his teeth flashing white. He slid his hand down Kageyama's back, resting it possessively on his hip. "Come with me," he said, standing up and offering a hand. Kageyama took it, his palm sweaty, and allowed himself to be led to a secluded corner of the library, where a single desk stood, shrouded by tall bookshelves.

Once there, the m/n pushed Kageyama's chair closer, his thighs brushing against the other boy's. He leaned over, his breath warm against Kageyama's cheek as he pointed at the text. "Let's see what you're dealing with," he said, his tone low and intimate. As Kageyama tried to focus on the words in front of him, he could feel the m/n's eyes scanning his body, lingering on his neck and the soft swell of his chest beneath his shirt. The heat from the older man's body washed over him, making it hard to concentrate.

The m/n's hand began to trace lazy circles on Kageyama's thigh, his fingers inching closer and closer to the growing bulge in his pants. Kageyama's breath hitched, his eyes darting around the library, fearful that someone would see. But the m/n's grip was firm, his gaze unyielding. "Don't worry," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "I'll make sure you understand everything."

Kageyama felt his resolve waver, his body responding to the m/n's touch despite his mind screaming for him to stop. The m/n noticed his distraction and leaned in, his teeth grazing Kageyama's earlobe. "You're so cute when you're desperate," he murmured, his breath sending shivers down Kageyama's spine. His hand slid up, cupping Kageyama's growing erection through his pants. "But let's get to work, shall we?"

The lesson began with the m/n explaining the assignment, his voice a soft purr that seemed to coax understanding from the very pages of the book. But his touch remained constant, his hand moving in slow, maddening strokes that had Kageyama squirming in his seat. He tried to focus on the words, but his mind kept drifting to the sensation of the m/n's hand on him, the promise of more just out of reach.

The tension grew with each passing moment, the m/n's grip tightening, his strokes becoming more insistent. Kageyama's cheeks burned, his body betraying him as he grew harder under the older man's touch. His eyes darted to the m/n's, searching for any sign of mercy, but all he found was a glint of possessiveness, a hint of the predator claiming his prey.

The m/n leaned in closer, his nose brushing against Kageyama's neck as he whispered, "You're doing so well, baby. But I think you need a little... incentive." With that, he leaned down and placed a soft, wet kiss just below Kageyama's ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. Kageyama's eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

The m/n took the opportunity to slip his hand into Kageyama's pants, his warm fingers wrapping around the younger boy's erection. Kageyama's hips jerked, his eyes snapping back to the m/n's, wide with shock and arousal. "Is this what you want?" the m/n asked, his voice a low growl. "To be mine, to have me help you like this?"

Kageyama's voice was a strangled whisper. "Yes," he managed to croak out, his entire body trembling with need. The m/n smirked, his grip tightening, his strokes becoming faster. "Good boy," he murmured, his other hand coming up to pinch Kageyama's nipple through his shirt. "Keep going, you're almost there."

Kageyama's eyes squeezed shut, his teeth biting into his bottom lip to stifle his moans. The library's silence was a stark contrast to the storm raging within him, the m/n's touch setting him alight. He could feel himself getting closer, his orgasm building like a crescendo in his core.

And just as he was about to reach the peak, the m/n stopped, his hand withdrawing from Kageyama's pants. "Not yet," he said, his voice a command. "You still have work to do." Kageyama whimpered, his body protesting the sudden absence of the m/n's touch. But the m/n was unrelenting, his hand returning to the text. "Focus, baby. You can do it."

The next few minutes were a blur of words and sensations, the m/n's hand guiding Kageyama through the assignment while his other hand teased and tormented him. Each time Kageyama thought he couldn't take it anymore, the m/n would slow down, whispering sweet nothings that kept him on the edge. It was a delicate dance of power and submission, the m/n expertly playing Kageyama's body like an instrument.

Finally, with the assignment completed and Kageyama's mind hazy with lust, the m/n leaned back, his eyes gleaming with victory. "Good job," he said, his voice a purr. "Now, let's discuss your payment." Kageyama looked up at him, his eyes glazed with need. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The m/n's smile grew wolfish. "I want you," he said simply, his hand moving back to Kageyama's thigh. "And I want everyone to know it." Kageyama's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening in shock. "What do you mean?" he stammered.

The m/n leaned in, his mouth hovering over Kageyama's. "I want you to be mine, in every way. And I want to show you off." His hand moved to Kageyama's chin, tilting it up. "You'll be my little exhibitionist, baby. You'll do anything for me, won't you?"

Kageyama's breath hitched, his body responding to the m/n's dominance despite his racing thoughts. He nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yes," he breathed, his voice shaking.

The m/n's smile grew, his hand sliding back into Kageyama's pants. "That's what I thought," he murmured, his thumb brushing against the sensitive head of Kageyama's cock. "Now, let's seal the deal."

With a firm grip, the m/n began to stroke Kageyama again, his movements swift and sure. Kageyama's hips bucked, his body begging for release. The m/n leaned in, capturing his mouth in a brutal kiss, claiming him as his own. Kageyama moaned into the kiss, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as the m/n's other hand slipped beneath his shirt, pinching and tweaking his nipples.

The m/n broke the kiss, his teeth grazing Kageyama's bottom lip. "You're going to come for me," he said, his voice a demand. "And when you do, you're going to scream my name so everyone in this library knows who you belong to."

Kageyama's eyes went wide with a mix of fear and excitement. The m/n's hand moved faster, his thumb pressing down in a rhythmic pattern that had Kageyama's toes curling in his shoes. The older man's eyes never left his, a dark promise in their depths that made Kageyama's stomach flip. He tried to hold back the moan building in his chest, but it was a losing battle.

The m/n's other hand slid down to Kageyama's waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, leaving little bruises that made Kageyama's skin tingle. The pressure built, his muscles tightening, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. "Yeah," the m/n encouraged, his voice low and gravelly. "Let it go, baby. Show me how much you want this."

With a strangled cry, Kageyama came, his body arching off the chair. The m/n's hand never stopped moving, drawing out every last drop of pleasure, until Kageyama was boneless, panting heavily. The silence in the library was deafening, the only sound the rustle of pages and the occasional cough to cover the noise. Kageyama's cheeks burned, his eyes downcast, but the m/n didn't let him hide. He leaned in, his voice a gentle command. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Kageyama lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting the m/n's. The older man's eyes were dark with desire, his own arousal evident in the bulge in his pants. He leaned in, capturing Kageyama's mouth in another kiss, one that was far from gentle. It was a claiming, a branding of ownership that had Kageyama's heart racing even faster.

When they broke apart, the m/n's hand was still on Kageyama's hip, his thumb tracing circles through the sticky mess on his stomach. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Now, let's get you cleaned up before we move on to the next lesson."

Kageyama's eyes widened, realizing that this wasn't the end of their rendezvous. The m/n stood up, pulling Kageyama to his feet and leading him to the bathroom. He pushed him into a stall, locking the door behind them with a decisive click. "Take off your pants," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kageyama complied, his trembling hands fumbling with his belt. The m/n stepped closer, his own pants now open, his cock standing at attention. He watched Kageyama with a predatory gaze, his eyes hungry. Once Kageyama's pants were around his ankles, the m/n stepped in, his hand wrapping around his throbbing length. "You're so obedient," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "It's going to be so much fun breaking you in."

Kageyama's face was a mask of shock and arousal as the m/n bent him over the sink, his firm grip on his hip keeping him in place. The cold porcelain sent a shiver down Kageyama's spine, a stark contrast to the heat of the m/n's body pressing against him. He could feel the older man's cock against his ass, the tip teasing his entrance. "Please," he whimpered, his voice barely audible.

The m/n chuckled, the sound echoing off the tiles. "Please what?" he taunted, his breath hot against Kageyama's neck. "Please what, baby?"

"Please, just do it," Kageyama begged, his voice shaking. The m/n's grip tightened, his other hand coming down to slap Kageyama's ass with a resounding crack. The pain mixed with pleasure, making Kageyama's cock twitch. "You'll have to do better than that," the m/n said, his voice a dark challenge.

With a growl, the m/n pushed into him, the head of his cock stretching Kageyama open. Kageyama's cry was muffled by the m/n's hand over his mouth, his eyes watering with the sudden intrusion. The m/n didn't stop, pushing deeper, filling Kageyama completely. Kageyama's body tensed, his mind reeling from the sensation. It was too much, too overwhelming, but he couldn't deny the way his body was responding.

The m/n began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. Kageyama's moans grew louder, his body moving in time with the m/n's rhythm. He could feel the m/n's hand on his stomach, the pressure building, the promise of a bruise that would be a constant reminder of this moment. Each slap of flesh against flesh was a declaration of ownership, a promise of more to come.

The m/n's hand moved from Kageyama's mouth to his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Kageyama's eyes rolled back, his moans becoming more desperate. "That's it," the m/n murmured, his voice low and approving. "You're going to come for me again, aren't you?"

Kageyama nodded, unable to form words. The m/n's grip tightened, his strokes growing more insistent. Kageyama felt himself building to the edge, the pressure in his stomach unbearable. He could feel the m/n's cock pulsing inside him, the older man's breaths growing ragged. "Come for me," the m/n grunted, his voice thick with need. "Come on, baby."

And with that, Kageyama's body obeyed, his orgasm ripping through him like a bolt of lightning. The m/n's hand on his stomach tightened, the pain mixing with the pleasure until Kageyama was seeing stars. The m/n groaned, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into Kageyama, his cum filling the younger boy's ass.

"Now you're mine," he said, his voice a soft whisper. "And don't you ever forget it." Kageyama nodded, his legs shaking Kageyama trembling