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kiwriteswords · 24 hours ago

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It's a Match [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 7.6k|| AN: I rescheduled a hinge date to finish writing this (I wish I was joking)...that is the inspo for this. I really enjoyed this one, though!

Tags/Warnings: non-BAU!Reader, suggestive themes, canon-typical themes, implied sexual themes, dating apps, meet cute ? kinda?, Aaron Hotchner's POV, Garcia-the-ever-supportive-friend, The BAU giving Hotch shit, Garcia signing Hotch up for a dating app.

Summary: Aaron Hotchner rarely sought out the opinions of others, but when his co-workers' incessant nagging about getting back out in the dating world continues, he begins to think about it a little more clearly.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t fond of his personal life being up for debate. At this point in his life, he rarely found himself seeking the advice of others. He found that relying so heavily on other’s input, only made him feel less confident in his decisions.

That isn’t to say that his team...his team that means well--he must add, that they…they tend to still give advice without him needing to ask for it.

In the low hum of the bullpen, Hotch tood with a stern expression, his eyes scanning the case files in a folder he held. Despite the typical chaos of phone calls and keyboard clacks, an undercurrent of a different sort awaited Hotch--a well-meaning, albeit persistent, nudge from his team towards something resembling a personal life.

“Hotch, you seriously need to get out more,” Garcia quipped as she approached him, her fingers dancing across a colorful tablet, laden with what Hotch assumed were not just case notes but potential social engagements. “It’s been ages since Beth and...well, you know.”

Hotch merely nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. He appreciated her concern, a softness blooming in his chest, but the thought of venturing back into the world of dating seemed daunting, a distant terrain.

“You have to admit, Jack’s practically a grown-up now. He’s got his own social calendar,” Prentiss joined in, her voice light, trying to tread carefully around the subject.

Hotch sighed, setting down the file he was holding. “I’m not sure I’m ready,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. This admission felt heavy, laden with the unspoken grief of losing Haley and the subsequent dissolution of what little personal life he had managed to rebuild.

Morgan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. “Look, man, no one’s saying jump into anything serious. Just...meet people. Have coffee. Laugh a little.” His tone was earnest, edged with concern.

Hotch rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the weight of their stares. “I know you all mean well, but—”

“It’s healthy, Hotch!” Garcia interrupted, her voice vibrant, attempting to infuse some light into the somber mood. “And who knows? Maybe there’s someone out there who’s been waiting just for someone like you.”

Despite himself, Hotch’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. He admired Garcia’s relentless optimism. “Maybe,” he conceded.

The team seemed to collectively hold their breath, waiting for more, but Hotch was not ready to offer anything beyond that concession. He glanced around at each of them, their faces etched with a mix of hope and caution.

“I’ll think about it,” Hotch finally said, a compromise that seemed to satisfy them for the moment. He hoped this was the last of it.

As the team dispersed back to their tasks, Hotch returned to his office. His hand brushed over a photo of Haley and Jack, the texture of the frame familiar and bittersweet under his fingers. He wasn’t sure if he was truly ready to let someone else into his life, but the warmth from his team’s concern was hard to ignore. Maybe it was time to start thinking about the possibility, even if the thought alone made his heart race with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to know his team would bring this up…again. And again. And you know what? Probably again.

The evening found the team at a local bar, a rare collective moment of downtime that buzzed with laughter and casual banter. Hotch, though present and occasionally contributing to the conversation, often found his gaze wandering over the crowd, an observer more than a participant.

Garcia leaned in, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she nudged JJ, who was scanning the crowd with a mischievous grin. "Okay, so there's this woman at the bar," Garcia whispered loud enough for the team to hear, "and she looks perfect for Hotch."

Hotch, who had been sipping his scotch quietly, raised an eyebrow, his posture stiffening slightly. "I thought we agreed—"

"Oh, come on, Hotch, it’s just a bit of fun," JJ interjected, her gaze fixed on someone across the room. "No harm in looking, right?"

Morgan chuckled, clapping Hotch on the shoulder. "Let's see if Garcia's matchmaking skills are as good as her tech skills."

Reluctantly, Hotch turned his gaze towards the bar. The woman in question was laughing loudly, a little too boisterously, her movements slightly uncoordinated as she swayed to the music. As if sensing the attention, she looked over, her eyes locking with Hotch’s for a brief, unsettling moment before she raised her glass in a sloppy salute.

Hotch’s lips thinned, his discomfort clear. He turned back to his team, shaking his head. "I don't think—"

Before he could finish, the woman decided to make her way over, her steps uneven, a clear sign of her inebriation. Garcia and JJ exchanged a glance, their initial enthusiasm dimming as they watched the scene unfold.

"Hey there, handsome," the woman slurred as she approached Hotch, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of nearby patrons. "I saw you staring. Buy me a drink?"

Hotch stood, his FBI training kicking in to manage the situation with politeness mixed with firmness. "I believe you’ve had enough for tonight," he said, his voice low and calm.

The woman pouted, leaning closer, her sense of personal space clearly compromised by alcohol. "Oh, come on, don't be such a party pooper."

From the table, Rossi raised an eyebrow, his expression one of concern as he watched Hotch handle the delicate situation. Prentiss covered her mouth, trying to hide her cringe, while Morgan finally stood, ready to intervene.

"Ma'am, I think you need to go back to your friends," Morgan said, steering her gently but firmly by the elbow.

As the woman was guided away, muttering under her breath, Hotch sat back down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The team was silent for a moment, the previous mirth replaced by a shared awkwardness.

Garcia finally broke the silence, her voice soft. "I’m sorry, Hotch. That was not what we expected."

JJ nodded, adding, "Yeah, we just thought...I don’t know what we thought."

Hotch managed a small smile, appreciating their intentions despite the outcome. "It’s okay. I know you both mean well." His gaze shifted to his glass, his mind not on the failed attempt at matchmaking, but on the quiet realization that perhaps he wasn’t quite as ready as they hoped he’d be to jump back into the dating scene.

The team spent the rest of the evening avoiding any further matchmaking attempts, focusing instead on stories from past cases and plans for the weekend. Hotch listened, occasionally contributing, but mostly he appreciated the laughter and the familiar, comforting presence of his team.

As they left the bar later that evening, Hotch felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder--Rossi’s silent support. "You'll know when it’s time, Aaron," Rossi said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding.

Hotch nodded, the night’s air cool and refreshing as it cleared the remnants of the bar’s claustrophobia. "Thanks, Dave," he said, feeling a little lighter. Despite the evening’s missteps, the bond with his team had never felt stronger. He knew they had his back, in the field and beyond, and that was enough--for now.

But then it happened again and Hotch began to feel cornered by his own team. It was getting a bit ridiculous, if you asked him.

The dull roar of the jet’s engines served as a backdrop to the team's winding down conversations, each member settling into their seats, weary yet content after a successful case closure. As the aircraft hummed its way through the skies, Derek Morgan turned his attention towards his teammates, a grin spreading across his face as he hatched another of his well-intentioned plans.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Derek began, his voice filled with a conspiratorial warmth, “I say this weekend, we do a guys’ night out. Just us, some good food, maybe a few drinks, and see what kind of trouble we can find.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the balance as he met Derek’s gaze. He appreciated Derek’s efforts, always aimed at lightening the mood or bringing them together off the clock, but the idea of a night focused on meeting women wasn’t particularly appealing.

Rossi, who had been quietly reading a book, looked up with a smirk. “Speak for yourself, Morgan. I don’t need wingmen,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “And I doubt Aaron here needs one either. When he’s ready, he’s ready. No pressure needed.”

Derek laughed, turning to Reid, who was absently shuffling some papers. “What about you, pretty boy? You think you got game?”

Reid looked up, blinking behind his glasses. “I-I suppose I could… that is to say, I have read extensively on social dynamics and interpersonal—”

“Spencer, if you have to quote a study, it’s not game,” Hotch interjected, a rare, teasing tone in his voice as he shared a knowing look with Rossi.

Reid’s cheeks tinged pink, but his lips curved into a smile. “Well, I might surprise you,” he countered, the mock offense clear in his tone.

The banter lightened Hotch’s mood, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as the familiar and comforting dynamic of their team played out around him. It was these moments, simple and unadorned, that reminded him of what mattered most.

Derek clapped his hands together, his smile broadening. “Alright, it’s settled then. We’ll table the wingman idea for now, but we’re still doing guys’ night, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Rossi and Reid chimed in, their voices overlapping.

Hotch nodded, feeling a sense of relief at the postponement of the original plan. “Agreed,” he added, his voice firm yet grateful.

As the conversation drifted to other topics, Hotch leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the dark window, reflecting the soft interior lights of the jet. The thought of venturing back into the world of dating remained daunting, a distant shore he wasn’t quite ready to explore.

It seemed like not-subtle attempt, after not-subtle attempt, Hotch felt like he was getting further and further away from the idea of wanting to meet someone.

Hotch's reluctance to step back into the dating world was not born of fear, nor was it due to a lack of interest in companionship. Rather, it was the weight of his past--a tapestry woven with profound love and devastating loss--that anchored him. The memories of Haley, vibrant and alive, contrasted sharply with the harrowing night of her death. Then there was Beth, a chapter that had closed gently, but still a loss that added layers to his guarded heart.

As he sat there, his eyes occasionally flickering to the photos of Jack on his desk, Hotch considered the complexities of introducing someone new into their lives. Jack, now a teenager, was his priority, and any disruption that could unsettle the stable life he had fought so hard to provide was a risk Hotch was hesitant to take.

The responsibilities of his role at the BAU further complicated matters. His job was not just a career; it was a calling--one that demanded everything of him, including long hours and the mental toll of delving into the darkest corners of human behavior. How could he find or ask someone to understand that? Hotch's brow furrowed as he considered this. How could he bring someone into this world--his world--where danger was a constant companion and where the balance between life and death was often precariously thin?

Hotch was lost in the meticulous review of case files when the whirlwind known as Penelope Garcia burst into his office, her tablet clutched like a treasure chest of mischief. Her arrival was usually heralded by her exuberant chatter or the bright clash of her eclectic fashion, but today it was her wide grin that signaled she was up to something particularly Garcia-esque.

"Hotch, you are not going to believe what I've done!" she exclaimed, barely containing her excitement as she approached his desk.

Hotch looked up, his expression a blend of wariness and resignation. "Garcia, please tell me you haven't hacked into another government database." He thought this moment itself could take years off his life.

"No, silly!" She waved off the comment with a flick of her wrist. "Something much better. I've signed you up for a dating app!" She beamed, clearly proud of her handiwork.

Hotch’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Garcia, you know how dangerous those can be. I have no business being on a dating app."

"Oh, come on, Hotch! This is how people meet nowadays. It's all very safe, and you can be upfront about what you're looking for through DMs!" Garcia explained, her enthusiasm undimmed.

"DMs?" Hotch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Direct messages, Hotch. Keep up!" She tapped on her tablet, pulling up a profile that Hotch hoped against hope wasn’t his. His hope was in vain.

Garcia turned the tablet toward him, revealing a profile complete with photos of Hotch that looked suspiciously candid and slightly dated. "See? I even picked your best photos. This one's from that beach vacation you took ten years ago. You're shirtless! It's gold, Hotch, pure gold."

Hotch stared at the photo, his mind racing back to a much simpler time. "Garcia, I barely even look like that anymore. Where did you even find this?"

"In the deep recesses of the BAU annual trip photo archive thingy," she quipped, winking. "And everyone needs at least bathing suit photo, Hotch. It's like an unwritten rule of dating apps."

Garcia proceeded to scroll through the profile, pointing out the interests she had listed for him. "Look, I put down that you love long walks on the beach, are an aficionado of fine wines, and have a passion for rare book collecting."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Garcia, I’ve never collected a book in my life, unless case files count."

She shrugged, undeterred. "Details, Hotch, details. It's all about selling the dream."

Despite his frustration, a small smile tugged at the corners of Hotch's mouth. Only Garcia could get away with this level of audacity. She gleefully showed him how to use the app, swiping through various screens before downloading it onto his phone with practiced ease.

As Garcia finally left his office, still bubbling with excitement, Hotch looked down at the app icon on his phone. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, this could be a good thing. Shaking his head, he chuckled softly to himself. "Only Garcia," he muttered, his annoyance fading to a fond exasperation.

Left alone with his new digital dating life, Hotch tapped on the app, curiosity overcoming his initial reluctance. As he scrolled through the interface, the absurdity of the situation struck him, and he couldn't help but let out a genuine laugh. Maybe exploring this new world wouldn’t be so bad, especially if it gave him more stories to share with Garcia--just maybe not the ones she was hoping for.

One night soon after, Hotch made it home at a reasonable (well, still very late) time--reasonable for him. He settled into the unusual quiet of his apartment, the absence of Jack's lively presence making the space seem larger and more silent than usual. With a sigh, he resigned himself to a solitary evening--a rare slice of downtime that was both welcome and unnerving.

After a moment of hesitation, curiosity nudged him towards the dating app that Garcia had enthusiastically installed on his phone. He still harbored reservations about the entire concept, but with the night stretching empty before him, the app seemed like a harmless diversion..

Sitting comfortably on his couch, Hotch opened the app and began navigating through it with a tentative curiosity. The light from his phone cast a soft glow in the dim room as he scrolled through profiles, his face a mask of concentration.

Methodically, he started tweaking his profile, softening Garcia's more flamboyant embellishments to reflect his true nature. He made it clear he was a devoted father and that his--undisclosed to the app--job was demanding, requiring anyone interested to understand the stakes of his career. His description was straightforward--seeking a meaningful connection with someone who could appreciate the complexities of his life.

As he swiped through the profiles, Hotch's brow furrowed slightly. Many were immediately unsuitable--too young, too flashy, or just too far from what he felt comfortable with. One profile made him pause, the woman's intense stare and array of self-purchased tactical gear a bit too reminiscent of an unsub profile he'd studied just weeks before.

But then, he swiped to the next profile, and everything stopped. The woman's photos--your photos exuded warmth and sincerity, your smile genuine, reaching your eyes and lighting up your entire face.

Your description was simple yet profound, speaking of your love for literature, your passion for teaching, and your volunteer work with children. It wasn't just your physical appearance that caught his attention--it was the evident kindness and intelligence that shone through your words.

Hotch's finger hovered over the screen for a moment before he decided to swipe right, feeling a strange surge of hope. The screen flashed, and the word "Match!" appeared. A small, surprised smile touched his lips. It was the first profile he had responded to positively, and the immediate match was unexpected.

For a moment, Hotch stared at the screen, the implications of the match settling in. This was uncharted territory for him, stepping into a world of potential and possibilities. With a deep breath, he opened the messaging feature, contemplating his first words to you. He wanted to convey sincerity and interest, a reflection of the authenticity that had drawn him to your profile in the first place.

As he typed out a simple greeting, careful to be both respectful and engaging, Hotch felt a flicker of something like excitement—or perhaps it was just the thrill of new beginnings. Whatever it was, it felt right, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to feel cautiously optimistic about the path unfolding before him.

The digital conversation was new territory for him, each notification a pulse of unfamiliar excitement. When your reply came, it was both thoughtful and warm, sparking a connection that seemed to transcend the mere pixels of his screen.

As the messages exchanged grew more frequent and personal, Hotch admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that he was a novice in the realm of online dating. He explained how his work shaped his cautious view on things like dating apps, and he confessed that it was his team’s encouragement that led him here.

You responded with understanding, echoing his sentiments about the unusual path that brought you both to this app, yet expressing a selfish gladness that his coworkers had nudged him into this new experience. It was a sentiment Hotch couldn’t help but share, feeling a connection building that was both surprising and delightful.

The conversation naturally flowed, and soon, you suggested shifting from texting to something more personal. "I'm not much for messaging," you wrote, "Would you be up for a video call instead?"

Hotch felt a wave of relief wash over him. Navigating the app was one thing, but speaking to someone, hearing their voice, that was familiar ground. He agreed eagerly, and within moments, he was waiting for the call to connect, his heart rate subtly quickening.

He was glad this didn’t allow for much time to think in between--he’d be afraid he would talk himself out of it. Find a million reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this.

When your face appeared on his screen, the connection was instantaneous. You were even more captivating in motion, your smile lighting up the digital space between you. Hotch found himself momentarily lost for words, taken aback by how the interaction felt so natural, so right.

"Hi," he started, his voice steadier than he felt. "I hope it’s okay to say this, but you’re even more beautiful than your pictures."

You laughed, a sound that was both melodic and grounding, easing the last of Hotch's nerves. "Thank you, Aaron. You're quite the charmer yourself."

As the conversation unfolded, the chemistry was undeniable. You both shared stories, your laughter mingling through the airwaves, bridging the physical distance with ease. Hotch, typically reserved, found himself opening up about aspects of his life that he seldom discussed outside his closest circles.

You were a professor at a university. A bit younger than him, but did not seem phased by that--especially considering his age, height, along with way too many other physical details, were displayed on his profile.

Encouraged by the undeniable connection, Hotch took a breath before voicing a thought that had been on his mind since the call began. "I don’t mean to be forward, but I would really like to meet you in person. Would you like to go out for dinner this week?"

Your smile broadened, and it was all the confirmation Hotch needed. "I'd love to, Aaron. That sounds wonderful."

Plans were made for a dinner later that week, the details ironed out with mutual enthusiasm. As the call ended, Hotch sat back, a sense of accomplishment and anticipation settling over him. He hadn’t expected this when he first opened the app, but now, he couldn’t deny the potential that lay ahead.

He placed his phone down, his mind replaying moments from the call, each laugh and shared story a promise of possibilities.

Hotch’s mind was a tumult of apprehension as he prepared for the evening. Each scenario he imagined was tinged with the occupational hazard of suspecting the worst. Yet, he meticulously chose his attire, settling on a sharp, dark suit that matched his formal, reserved nature. Despite the nerves, a part of him--the part trained to face unknowns head-on--compelled him forward.

He arrived at the restaurant punctually, the ambiance a blend of soft lighting and quiet chatter, ideal for a meaningful first date. Standing at the entrance, he scanned the area for you, his heart rate ticking upward not out of fear, but anticipation.

When he finally saw you, everything else fell away. You were waiting at the table, looking up from your menu with a smile that drew him in completely. As he approached, Hotch felt the last of his doubts dissolve, replaced by an unexpected surge of hope.

"Hi," he greeted, voice steady despite the whirlwind inside. "You look incredible."

You stood to meet him, extending a confident hand that he shook gently. "Thank you, Aaron. You're quite dashing yourself. I’m so glad to meet you in person."

As you both sat, the conversation began to flow naturally between the ordering of drinks and dishes. Hotch found himself genuinely smiling, engaged by your insights and humor. Almost forgetting that this was someone who had been a total stranger to him not long before.

"So, you're a professor?" he inquired, genuinely interested. He remembered you mentioning it briefly in your first initial conversation.

"Yes, I teach literature. I like to think of myself as a life-long learner and to be able to share words and pages that shaped so many lives--it’s incredible," you explained, your eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

"That sounds extremely rewarding," Hotch commented, noting the passion in your voice. "It must be fascinating to see students develop their understanding over a semester."

"It is," you agreed. "And what about you? I know you work for the DOJ, but what does that entail day-to-day?"

Hotch hesitated, weighing how much to share, before deciding on honesty--he couldn’t deny that your presence…your aura made it easy to want to share. "It's challenging. My job can be intense--managing cases, leading a team. But it's fulfilling, knowing we're making a difference."

You nodded thoughtfully, sipping your glass of wine and looking at him over the rim of the glass. "It sounds like you're very dedicated. I admire that."

The conversation shifted seamlessly to lighter topics, and eventually to Jack. "He's staying with a friend tonight," Hotch mentioned. "He's growing up fast, involved in sports, school...it keeps us both busy."

"It sounds like you're a great father," you noted, your tone warm. "Balancing such a demanding job and raising him."

Hotch appreciated the compliment, feeling a flush of pride. "I try my best. Jack is my priority. It’s just us two."

As the dinner progressed, there was a mutual, comfortable--and natural--level of flirting that neither of you shied away from. You leaned in slightly, your interest clear as you spoke, "I must say, Aaron, I was a bit nervous about this date, I’ve never been on a date from an app before…but you've made this evening truly enjoyable."

Hotch mirrored your movement, leaning in, driven by a rare impulse to connect. "I can honestly say the same. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'm glad I came tonight."

The evening ended with a promise to see each other again, both of you reluctant to part ways after such a promising start. As Hotch walked you to your car, he felt a lightness he hadn't experienced in years.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, standing a bit closer. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon."

"I'd like that," you smiled, your confidence and warmth evident even in the dim light of the parking lot.

As you drove away, Hotch remained for a moment, watching the taillights fade into the night. He allowed himself a small, hopeful smile, a sense of anticipation for the future blossoming inside him. Tonight, Aaron Hotchner felt not just the skilled agent, but a man stepping into a new chapter of his life, unexpectedly uplifted by the promise of new beginnings.

As Aaron Hotchner and you grew closer, the budding relationship unveiled a lighter side of Hotch, one that had been subdued for years under the weight of responsibility and duty. The dynamic between you was characterized by a playful banter that coaxed smiles and even laughter from the normally stoic FBI agent.

One crisp evening, as you both enjoyed a casual stroll through a local art festival, you pointed at a particularly abstract painting. "So, Aaron, if you were an art critic, what profound analysis would you offer here?"

Hotch studied the painting, his brow furrowng in mock seriousness. "Well," he began, adopting a thoughtful tone, "I would say that the chaotic swirls represent the tumultuous nature of...let's say, choosing the perfect wine to go with dinner."

You laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly with yours. "That sounds suspiciously like last night’s dilemma. Did this piece just speak to your soul?"

He turned to you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "It might have. Or maybe it’s reminding me that I should stick to my day job."

The conversation flowed effortlessly as you both shared stories and insights. Later, sitting at a small café, Hotch opened up about his work with a rare openness, prompted by your genuine interest and lack of judgment.

"You know, most people get intimidated when I talk about my job," Hotch admitted, stirring his coffee slowly.

"You're not just your job, Aaron," you responded, smiling warmly. "Though, I must admit, it’s a pretty impressive part of who you are. But I’m more interested in the man who can quote Shakespeare and knows his way around an impressive omelet."

Hotch’s smile was genuine, a little wider this time. "Well, I could say the same about a woman who can discuss Renaissance literature and beat me in a game of chess."

As the evening wore on, Hotch found himself sharing more than he usually allowed. The topic of fatherhood--the most important part of his identity, always seemed to weave his way through. And now, having a teenager, a wise teenager, it didn’t take long before Jack picked up on the fact that Hotch was seeing someone.

"Jack’s been asking about you," he said cautiously, observing your reaction.

"Is that so?" you grinned, clearly pleased. "And what exactly have you told him about me?"

"That his dad is spending time with a very smart, beautiful, and funny woman who might just be a worse cook than I am."

Your laughter filled the space between you, and Hotch felt a warmth that went beyond the ambient glow of the café’s lights. "Challenge accepted. I’ll have you know, my culinary skills are...in development."

The playful back-and-forth continued, with each exchange gently peeling back layers of Hotch's reserved exterior. It was clear to both of you that something significant was taking root--something filled with potential and promise.

As you parted ways that evening, Hotch felt an ease and contentment that was new and invigorating. "I'm looking forward to our next culinary showdown," he teased, his tone light but sincere.

"And I, for one, can’t wait to see what other hidden talents you have, Agent Hotchner," you replied, your voice playful yet affectionate.

Walking back to his car, Hotch allowed himself a rare, contented smile. This new chapter with you was unfolding into something unexpectedly wonderful, showing him that life could indeed be vibrant and full of surprises, even for someone as grounded in reality as SSA Aaron Hotchner.

After an elegant evening at the theater, Aaron Hotchner found himself walking with you to the car under a starlit sky, the air crisp and cool, perfect for the light jackets you both wore. The play had been a profound one, sparking rich conversation between the two of you that continued as you strolled. Your love for classic literature and his lost love for theatre combined.

Hotch, typically reserved, felt an unusual flutter of anticipation mixed with a warmth that had grown steadily since the night began.

He had thought about this often, but never felt the need to bring it up--in due time, he thought, but tonight…tonight felt like it was due.

"You know," Hotch began, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of emotion, "I can't believe we've been seeing each other for this long, and I haven’t even—"

You turned to face him, a teasing sparkle in your eyes. "Haven’t even what, Aaron?"

He paused, looking into your eyes which were reflecting the soft streetlights. "Kissed you," he admitted, the words feeling more significant as they hung in the air between you.

Your smile widened, and you stepped a little closer, diminishing the space between you. "Is Aaron Hotchner nervous about a kiss?" you asked playfully, tilting your head as you gazed up at him.

The corner of Hotch's mouth lifted in a half-smile, a rare show of his lighter side that you had slowly uncovered. "Maybe," he confessed, his usual confidence tempered with a vulnerability he rarely showed. "But only because it feels important."

"It is," you agreed softly, your hand finding his. "But only because it’s you."

That was all the encouragement Hotch needed. He leaned down, his heart beating a touch faster as his lips met yours in a gentle, searching kiss. It was a kiss that started tentatively but grew more confident as you responded, your hands moving up to lightly grasp his jacket.

The world seemed to quiet around you, the buzz of the city fading into a distant hum. Hotch’s free hand came up to gently cup your cheek, his touch tender yet certain. The kiss deepened, stirring a warmth that spread through his entire body, a feeling of rightness that was both exhilarating and calming.

When you finally parted, both of you were slightly breathless, a flush on your cheeks that matched the one on Hotch’s. You laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears.

"So, was it everything you hoped it would be?" you teased, your eyes dancing with mirth.

Hotch, still holding you close, nodded. "Even more," he said sincerely. "I think using that app might have been one of the best decisions I've ever made."

Your laughter rang out again, joyous and free. "Just for the record, you're the only one I ever made it on a date with," you shared, giving him a playful nudge.

"And you were the only one I ever messaged," Hotch revealed, his usual stoicism warmed by the affection in his voice. "I guess we both got incredibly lucky."

The drive to bring you home was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated by shared looks and soft smiles. When he stopped at your place, Hotch leaned over to kiss you again, this time with a confidence borne of the shared connection that had only deepened since the first.

"Goodnight," he said, his voice low and filled with a promise of more to come.

"Goodnight, Aaron," you replied, your hand squeezing his for a moment longer before you stepped out,

As Hotch drove away, his mind replayed every moment of the evening, each memory a treasure. He realized, with a clarity that was almost startling, just how much he had come to care for you.

Days later, Hotch sat solemnly at the round table, his usual composed demeanor slightly offset by an underlying layer of disappointment. As the team geared up for an abrupt deployment to handle a pressing case, Hotch couldn't help but think about the dinner plans he had to cancel with you. He had been looking forward to a relaxing evening, a rare chance to step away from the demands of his job and focus on the burgeoning relationship that had become a significant source of joy in his life.

"I'm sorry, I can't make it tonight," Hotch had said over the phone earlier, his voice carrying a weight of regret.

"It's okay, Aaron," you had responded, your tone light and teasing. "I'll just have to spend the evening sending you flirty texts instead. Stay safe, and catch the bad guys, okay?"

Despite your understanding and playful reassurance, the disappointment lingered. As the team discussed logistics and profiles, Hotch's mind wandered momentarily, reflecting on the personal sacrifices that came with his role at the FBI.

Suddenly, Garcia's voice snapped him back to reality. "Hotch, you seem more down about this trip than usual. Anything you want to share with the class?" Her tone was lightly teasing but underscored with genuine concern.

Hotch cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. "It's nothing," he started to dismiss, hoping to steer back to the case details.

But Garcia, ever perceptive, wouldn't let it go that easily. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. "No, no, no, this has to be something good. Wait! Did you meet someone on the dating app?"

The room quieted, all eyes suddenly on Hotch. The surprise on his team's faces was palpable, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Hotch sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he realized there was no dodging Garcia's sharp intuition. "Yes, I met someone."

"And I can tell he's incredibly happy," Garcia added, her voice squealing with excitement, filling the room with her infectious energy.

The team erupted in a mixture of chuckles and supportive remarks. "Hotch on a dating app, now that's something I didn't see coming," Morgan commented with a grin.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mock seriousness. "So, this is serious then?"

"It's...going well," Hotch admitted, allowing himself a small moment of vulnerability in front of his team. "And yes, I'm happy. It's just hard balancing the job with personal life sometimes. I forgot how difficult it is to cancel on someone you--someone you're starting to care a lot about."

The team's demeanor softened, understanding the conflict Hotch felt. Prentiss leaned in, her voice gentle. "We get it, Hotch. But it sounds like she does too. That's a good sign, right?"

Hotch nodded, appreciative of the support. "It is. She's very understanding. Makes it a bit easier."

Garcia beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Oh, I need to know everything. When we get back, you're giving me details, Hotch. Deal?"

Hotch couldn't help but laugh, the sound rare enough to cause a few surprised looks. "Deal, Garcia."

After all, he did feel like he owed Garcia…so much in this moment for if it wasn’t for her, he’d never had met you.

Throughout the duration of a challenging and complex case, Aaron Hotchner found moments of reprieve through the buzz of his phone. Each notification a reminder of the intriguing connection he’d developed with you.

Your texts, infused with lightness and wit, became small beacons of joy amid the high-pressure environment of his work.

One evening, as he and the team were wrapping up a long day of interviews and evidence analysis, Hotch’s phone vibrated with a new message from you. He glanced around--most of the team was absorbed in their tasks--and allowed himself a moment to read your text.

"Thinking of a proper celebration for when you get back...Maybe we can explore the possibility of moving past just kisses? I have a few ideas I think you’d approve of..."

The message was smooth, playful yet suggestive, and it caught Hotch off guard. He felt a flush of warmth spread through him, a mixture of anticipation and slight disarray, emotions he usually kept neatly compartmentalized.

Sitting back in his chair, Hotch let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh.

It was rare for him to connect with someone so deeply that thoughts of them could so easily unsettle his usual stoic demeanor. Yet, you did just that, and he found himself not only accepting this new dynamic but eagerly looking forward to what it promised.

He typed a response, his fingers pausing above the keyboard as he considered how best to reply. Finally, he settled on a message that matched your playful tone while still holding onto his inherent reserved nature.

"Exploring new possibilities sounds like an excellent plan. I’ll look forward to your ideas... very much so."

Sending the text, Hotch felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was an unfamiliar sensation to look forward to personal plans with such anticipation, but it was one he found increasingly appealing.

As he pocketed his phone and returned his focus to the case files spread out before him, Hotch’s thoughts momentarily drifted to what awaited him upon his return. The prospect of deepening his relationship with you brought a sense of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Even amidst the demanding rhythms of his job, Hotch found himself counting down the days until he could see you again, eager to explore the new dimensions of their relationship. The playful, flirtatious exchanges were more than just brief escapes from his responsibilities; they were reminders of the burgeoning connection that might just redefine his understanding of balance between his dedication to his work and his personal life.

After wrapping up the demanding case, Hotch found himself outside your apartment, his anticipation a palpable presence within him. He had been thinking about this moment throughout the flight back--about you, about the promise of what lay ahead. The door opened to your welcoming smile, and any remaining trace of professional tension melted away as he stepped inside.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could leave work at the door.

The evening unfolded effortlessly, as if every moment were simply meant to be. Dinner was a shared endeavor, filled with laughter and gentle touches that spoke louder than words. As the night deepened, so did the connection between you, pulling you both inevitably toward a more intimate closeness that felt both exhilarating and utterly right.

Later, wrapped in the warmth and softness of your bed, Hotch lay beside you, his arm securely around you, feeling the comforting weight of your head against his chest. The room was quiet, the only sound the gentle breath of two people content in each other's presence. It was a profound intimacy that Hotch had rarely allowed himself to experience, yet with you, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"You know," Hotch began, his voice soft and thoughtful, "I never imagined that downloading an app would lead me here, to this moment. But I'm incredibly glad it did."

You shifted slightly, turning to face him. In the dim light, he noticed a hint of shyness in your expression--an unusual trait for someone usually so vibrant and confident. "Aaron, I need to tell you something, and I’m a little afraid it might be too soon...or…or how you might react."

He tightened his embrace reassuringly. "Sweetheart, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

You nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking. "It's just that...I've never connected with anyone like this before. Not from a dating app, not in real life. Like I feel crazy. And it scares me a little because I think I’m falling in love with you."

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat, not just at your words but at the earnest vulnerability with which you spoke them. For a brief moment, he was speechless, overwhelmed by the depth of his own feelings that mirrored yours.

"I’ve been trying to make sense of it all myself," he confessed, his voice a whisper against your hair. "This isn’t just unusual for me; it’s unprecedented. But hearing you say that...it’s exactly how I feel. I’m falling in love with you, too."

Relief and joy mingled in your eyes, and you moved closer, pressing a kiss to his chest--a simple, sweet gesture that sealed the words just shared. Hotch felt a profound peace settle over him, the kind that came from finding something real and true.

As you both lay there, entwined in the quiet aftermath of shared revelations, the world outside seemed inconsequential. In that room, with the soft glow of the nightlight casting gentle shadows, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t just an FBI agent or a guarded widower; he was a man deeply in love, grateful for every unpredictable twist of fate that had led him to you.

"You know," you whispered, a playful twinkle returning to your voice, "this is going to make a great story someday--how a skeptical FBI agent fell for a girl from a dating app."

Hotch chuckled, the sound rich and content. "It’s a story I look forward to telling again and again," he agreed, pulling you closer.

As days turned into months, Hotch experienced a transformation in his daily life--a lightness and joy that were new and profoundly delightful.

Your relationship flourished; the connection deepened with each passing moment you spent together. Jack met you and took an immediate liking to you, his youthful judgment never faltering. The integration of you into his and Jack’s life felt seamless, natural, like pieces of a puzzle that had been waiting to find their place.

You were fiercely independent and career-driven, qualities that resonated deeply with Hotch. The balance between your professional pursuits and personal life mirrored his own, creating a perfect symmetry that allowed both of you to thrive without sacrificing the bond growing between you.

Reflecting on this, Hotch couldn’t help but think back to several months ago when his team, especially Penelope Garcia, had pushed him to step out into the dating world. He was immensely grateful for their encouragement--grateful that Garcia had practically coerced him into using the dating app that brought you together.

Once (and due to his line of work, pretty much always will be) a skeptic of dating apps, he now sung its praise, in a…cautious way. It was praised enough that in a very Rossi-fashion, David Rossi bought stock in the app, Hotch and your love story solidifying the need to.

Now, seated at his desk in the quiet hum of the FBI offices, Hotch decided to express his love and appreciation in a tangible way. He opened a florist’s website, browsing through the selections to find something that captured the essence of what you meant to him.

Settling on a bouquet of wildflowers--bright, beautiful, and unpretentiously elegant--he filled out the delivery form to send them to your workplace. The note attached was simple but heartfelt: "For no reason other than I love you. Aaron."

With a contented sigh, Hotch then organized a second floral arrangement, this one for Garcia. He chose vibrant sunflowers and daisies, flowers as bright and cheerful as Garcia herself. The note for her was equally thoughtful: "Penelope, thank you for pushing me onto that (still questionable) app. I am forever grateful. - Hotch."

As he confirmed the orders, his colleague Morgan passed by his desk, noticing the slight smile on Hotch’s usually stoic face. "What's got you looking so happy, Hotch? That doesn't look like case work."

Hotch looked up, the smile still playing on his lips. "Can’t I just take a moment to appreciate the good things, Morgan?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Good things, huh? Does this have anything to do with that special lady I’ve been hearing about?"

"You could say that," Hotch replied, his tone light, an uncommon but genuine warmth evident in his expression. "And I’m also sending Garcia some flowers."

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Man, Garcia’s matchmaking really worked out for you, didn’t it? Never thought I'd see the day. She’s never going to let this one down."

"It did," Hotch acknowledged, his thoughts drifting back to you. "And it’s made all the difference."

After Morgan left, Hotch leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a few moments of quiet reflection. He felt a profound sense of gratitude--not just for the love and joy you brought into his life, but for the unexpected journey that led him to you.

It was a reminder of the unpredictable beauty of life, how sometimes, taking a chance could lead to something extraordinary.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #kiwriteswords #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminalminds #aaronhotchner #Aaron Hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner reader insert #criminal minds fluff #hotch x you

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monogamia · 2 days ago

Note

hiii! i loved the piece you wrote about caleb, sylus, and xavier’s reaction to their kid telling their mom to shut up. i was wondering if i could request a part 2 with zayne and rafayel?

i hope you’re well and stay hydrated!

੭⠀A LITTLE PRANK.

⋆⠀AUTHOR'S NOTES: I made this part a little longer than I intended, but I hope you like it. <3

⋆⠀FEATURING: Rafayel, Zayne.

⋆⠀WARNINGS: English is not my first language, so it may contain some mistakes.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀RAFAYEL

That afternoon, your house was bathed in an unusual calm, almost total silence, if not for the soft giggles coming from your youngest daughter as she played with her father. Rafayel was sitting on the floor, holding her tiny hands, dipping them into paint, and letting her clap them onto a piece of paper already grayish from so many colors blending together.

You watched the scene with a smile on your face, until your eldest son walked into the room, wearing that mischievous look you knew all too well. You swore his playful nature was inherited from his father—and the older he got, the worse it became. He wasn’t disobedient or rebellious, but he had recently developed a habit of testing boundaries, especially with his dad. This time, he had even convinced you to play along with one of his ridiculous ideas.

He flopped onto the couch, yawning. You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “You should take a shower before sprawling all over the furniture after your outings.”

Rafayel glanced over at the two of you, opening his mouth to say something, but your son spoke first. “Shut up—”

He didn’t even finish the sentence, falling silent when a high-pitched gasp escaped his father’s lips. Even your daughter looked up, slightly startled. Rafayel stood up, holding her in one arm, while his free hand pointed at the teenager. “Are you trying to get disowned!?”

While your son stood there completely speechless, you had one hand over your mouth, laughing. “Dad—”

“What are you, a caveman, to act like that?” Rafayel asked, his voice dripping with exaggerated disdain. The baby in his arm burst into laughter, clapping her hands and then rubbing one of them on his cheek, leaving a blue smudge behind.

”… It was a prank,” the boy explained, already embarrassed by how far his father was taking it.

Rafayel narrowed his eyes. ��Oh, a prank? How wonderful, we’ve got a comedian in the family.” He gestured dramatically with his free hand. “Apologize to your mother. Now.”

Your son sighed, sinking further into the couch with a groan. “Mom…!” he grumbled, clearly hoping you’d tell him to shut up.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀ZAYNE

Your son was never a stubborn or messy child, at least not when he was younger. Whether it was adolescence or simply him picking up traits from his parents, the fact was that he had developed a habit of annoying his father. Not with any bad intentions—just a pure, innocent desire to disrupt the poor man’s peace. And this time, he had even managed to convince you to join him.

Zayne was in the living room, reading a book, and beside him, your son was doing the same. You entered the room to remind your son to tidy up his room, though you had already forgotten about the plan the two of you had cooked up. “So, when do you plan on making your room livable again?” you asked, glancing at your son.

Without even looking up from the book, he replied, “Shut up, mom.”

You pulled a genuinely surprised expression, as your boy had never spoken to you like that before. Sensing your disbelief, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow. And that’s when you remembered, letting out a sigh.

The book was suddenly plucked from his hands, and he could swear the atmosphere in the room had grown a little colder.

“Would you like to repeat that?” Zayne asked, his gaze locked on his son. The boy gave an awkward laugh and swallowed hard, already regretting the idea. “I think you should reconsider your actions… While you’re tidying up your room.”

Running a hand through his hair, he glanced at you, almost pleading for your intervention, but decided to obey instead, leaving you with the unpleasant task of explaining it had all been… a “joke”.

You sat down beside Zayne on the couch, leaning your head on his shoulder. “He was just trying to get on your nerves again.”

“I suspected as much, but your surprised expression threw me off,” Zayne said, pinching your cheek lightly. “I believe next time he’ll choose a prank that doesn’t test my patience like that.” His lips curved into a faint smile.

#l&ds x reader #lads x you #rafayel x you #zayne x mc #lads x y/n #love and deepspace #lads fanfic #lads x reader

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

Text

If You Only Knew Pt. 2

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Part 1

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, tooth rotting fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v)

Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.

Author's Note: Nothing better than making a man be down bad.

Word Count: 8.5k

He’d pulled out the fucking stops. Ben didn’t even know what the fucking stops were, but he’d pulled them out. He was going to make every goddamn romance in history look fucking pathetic. She was going to swoon and fall into his arms like a movie, and he’d kiss Her like the hero he was, and then he’d have Her forever.

Just Her. All for him.

If Ben did this right—and he would, because he was a goddamn gentleman and not a fucking pussy asshole who would fail the first woman who’d managed to make his heart move—he’d get to have Her forever. He’d have one fucking person he didn’t need to prance around like a monkey for, who he could walk home to, smile at, and fucking mean it. One person he actually liked, who didn’t want to see him do a trick or say the right thing, who just wanted him. Who spoke to him without fear, but still with reverence, because Ben would make Her fall for him so fucking hard, she’d finally feel all these stupid goddamn emotions he’d been plagued with over the last year.

Ben would do whatever the hell he needed to for Her feel this. This strange fucking pull to be near Her all the goddamn time, and serve her, and talk to her. He’d throw everything he had into showing Her that he felt it—more than he’d ever felt fucking anything—and that if She could feel it too, he’d never allow her to stop feeling it. He’d fucking worship Her. He’d be whatever She needed him to be.

And She just seemed to want Ben to be Ben.

Which made him fall harder.

And made him all the more resolved to romance the fucking Christ out of Her.

He was picking Her up. Standing outside Her apartment with a bouquet of flowers like some goddamn idiot. Shifting on his feet as he waited for Her, because her roommates said she was still getting ready, and Ben wasn’t allowed inside.

Her roommates didn’t really seem to like him. Ben didn’t really fucking care what they thought. They weren’t Her, and she was the only one who fucking mattered right now. Maybe ever.

Christ on a cross, that would be nice. If She got to be the only thing that mattered to Ben. If Ben got to be the only thing that mattered to Her.

He should knock on the door again, because it could not take that fucking long to get ready for a date. Ben had done fucking everything—suit, shaving, shoes, cologne—and that had taken him five goddamn minutes. Maybe those fucking bitches were trying to talk Her out of this. Trying to tell Her that Ben wasn’t serious about her, and she shouldn’t waste Her time with him.

She needed to waste Her time with him. Ben was here to do fucking everything with Her, and that included wasting time. Together. If he had it his way, they’d waste time all fucking night, and then keep wasting it for another million years.

He needed to break that fucking door down. He’d fix it after, too, for Her. He’d do fucking anything for Her, and if she was having doubts, he needed to kill them-

The door swung open only a second before his fist went flying, and Ben felt like he’d gotten punched.

She was flawless. Fucking gorgeous, designed by goddamn heaven and sent to Earth like some star that never burned out. Ben had never seen anything like Her, in front of him and smiling. Perfectly colored lips and styled hair and sinful body, more beautiful every second because She was being beautiful for Ben. She always looked like a fucking incarnation of Ben’s fantasies and dreams—no matter what She wore or how she did her makeup—and he’d seen Her look like this a million times for charity galas, but it had never been for Ben.

She’d chosen that dress for him. She’d done Her hair because they were going out. She picked a lipstick she wanted Ben to see.

And if Ben did this fucking right—did this like She deserved—he could have that color staining his cock by the end of the night.

“Hi.” She whispered, giving him a sweet smile, and Ben was going to fucking explode. “I’m sorry about my roommates. They’re protective.”

“Good.” He grunted, glaring over Her head. “You deserve to be protected. But they don’t have to fucking protect you from me!”

She raised Her brows, even as a faint, pretty flush crept over her face. “I don’t think that’s going to convince them, Ben.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He muttered, moving his gaze back to Her. Christ, She was too goddamn beautiful. It was trapping him in a loop. “You look fucking hot.”

“Thank you. You, um, you too.”

Her voice sounded breathy, and She was looking at Ben like she wanted to jump on him. He needed to keep that look on Her face for the rest of goddamn time.

The stops. Ben needed to pull out the fucking stops.

“These are for you.” He shoved the flowers into Her hands, scanning over Her pretty features to check that they had the intended effect. They seemed to. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and Ben could hear her heart do a little stumble in Her chest, so he was pretty damn sure they’d worked.

“Ben-“

“There’s paper in my car, too.” Ben jumped in, because She needed to know about everything before She formed an opinion. “And a fuck ton of pencils.”

She blinked at him. “Why?”

“You said you needed more paper and pencils.”

“I said-“ She swallowed, Her body leaning a little closer to his. That seemed good. “I said I needed more paper and pencils, so you bought me more paper and pencils?”

Ben frowned. He was pretty he’d made that damn clear. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do.”

“Nothing.” She smiled at Ben. The soft smile. He’d fucking nailed it. “Thank you, Ben.”

He grunted, offering Her his arm. “Are you ready.”

She nodded, disappearing back into Her apartment for only a second to put the flowers in a vase before returning, fucking smiling at him again, and letting Ben lead Her out of her shitty apartment building to his car. She looked fucking right in his car. The seat molded perfectly around Her, she was beautiful at Ben’s side, and this was where She belonged. Where Ben could touch Her—his hand curled into a fist in an effort to not touch Her, not yet—and she could be comfortable. In luxury.

She deserved luxury more than fucking pussy Ben knew. More than the assholes who already had it, more than the brown-nosing dick-riders who chased it at Vought. Ben could fucking give it Her. She didn’t even have to ask, and he’d move the world onto a platter at Her feet. Because She was real, and beautiful, and so fucking sweet Ben got a little fucking high on it when She spoke. When She told him about all her students in the car, and giggled at his jokes. When She smiled at him in the golden light of the road, took his hand out of the car with sparkling eyes, and leaned into his touch as he guided Her into the empty restaurant.

He could get used to this. To the look of wide, blatant awe on Her face as they were led to their table—it was a nice fucking restaurant, and Ben had picked it out specifically for Her, so that was another damn good sign—and the way that whenever their eyes met, she’d give him that soft smile again.

“Ben.” She whispered as they sat down. “Where are all the other people?”

He shrugged, giving the waiter a curt nod as he poured the water and left them alone. “Not fucking here, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know that. Why aren’t they here?”

“Probably because I rented the place.”

She sat a little taller, and Her expression open as her lips parted and brow furrowed.

“What’s-“

“The whole restaurant?” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben frowned.

“Obviously,” He grunted, trying to work out why the fuck this was freaking Her out. “Do you not like it?”

“Not at all, it’s just-“ She pulled her lower lip between Her teeth, fingers fidgeting with her napkin. “You didn’t have to do that. For me.”

Ben scowled. “Of course I fucking had to-“

“Ben-“

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t, people would be gawking at us all damn night. Sticking their fucking noses in your business, crawling up your taint like they’re always up mine.” Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide gaze. She needed to know he was serious. That She was damn worth this, and Ben would keep Her safe. Keep Her at peace, away from the fucking vultures and monsters, at Vought and in the media. “This is for us, babygirl. I’m not going let any fucking pussy bother you, let anyone look at you who you don’t want to. And nobody,” he shot Her a wink. “Is going to crawl up your taint but me.”

She giggled, Her body relaxing, and Ben counted that as another fucking victory. “That’s gross, Ben.”

“It’s true.” He shrugged, bracing his forearms on the table. “Until you say the word, nobody’s going to know fucking shit about us.”

“The waiters will know.” She pointed out, even as the pretty flush returned. “About… us.”

Christ, the word us had never sounded so fucking good. Ben never wanted to hear anyone but Her say it again. He never wanted it to mean anyone but them. Her and Ben. Us. Something he could defend and protect and keep just for them, together.

He chuckled. “The waiters will keep their pussy fucking mouths shut, if they know what’s good for them.”

She rolled Her eyes, but her smile remained. “You’d murder a waiter for me?”

She was joking. Ben would murder a waiter for Her, if she asked—She never would, but if she did, she wouldn’t even have to say please—but She was joking, so he just laughed.

“For you, I’d kill the damn president.”

Another fucking giggle escaped her. Ben wanted to bottle that sound and shoot it into his blood like goddamn heroine. “That’s not very American of you, Soldier-“

“Don’t fucking say it.” He raised an accusing finger at Her, even as a smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s Ben to you, sweetheart.”

She hummed, raising Her brows slightly. “Is it Ben for all the other girls, too?”

“Wouldn’t know.” He leaned forward with a smirk, lowering his voice to the rumble that always seemed to make that slack, wanting expression pop up. “There aren’t any other girls.”

“Oh.” She whispered, and there it was. Ben had Her. So fucking close. “No girls?”

“No girls,” Ben’s voice was firm as he said Her name, because he’d had countless other women in his bed but none of them had been his. None of them had been even fucking close to what She was, what Ben hoped she could be to him. “I was damn serious, sweetheart. I haven’t fucked another woman in a year.”

She swallowed. “For me?”

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she gave him a soft, slightly nervous smile.

“No sex?” She raised Her brows. “You must have a lot a free time now, huh?”

Ben laughed. It was loud and rolling through his chest, breaking the static silence of the restaurant because Christ, he needed to have Her.

“Smart fucking mouth, babygirl.” He smirked, leaning forward. “Not wrong, either. You’re going to get a fucking master.”

He winked, and there was a soft hitch in Her breath.

“I’m getting a master?”

“I haven’t be keeping it in my pants for fun,” Ben drawled Her name, and he could get addicted to that flush and small gasp. “We’re going to fill up that free time together.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She was gaping at Ben—practically fucking drooling—and if he grabbed Her face, he could kiss her. Here. Now. Blow Her fucking mind and fill that free time right here on the damn table. Fill Her on the damn table-

“What have you been using the free time for?” She asked. “While you’ve been, um, keeping it in your pants.”

He shrugged. He’d waited a year. He could wait a few more hours to fuck Her stupid. “Watched TV. Smoked.” He tilted his head at Her. “What do you use your free time for.”

“I, um, I don’t really have free time,” She mumbled, and Ben frowned. He’d have to fix that.

“What would you do?” He pushed, ready to mentally mark whatever he’d need to keep around for Her, once she had that time. “If you had the time?”

“Maybe a hobby?” She pulled her lips between her teeth, and if She kept doing that, they wouldn’t make it to actual dinner. “I could make art. Or write. Or bake.” She tilted Her head. “I think I just like making things. Seeing that I did something, and it was me. I did it.”

Ben nodded. He could get paint. And more fucking paper and pencils. And whatever the hell people used to bake. He didn’t understand Her making something shit, but Christ, he liked Her for feeling it and saying it. She was so fucking caring and sweet, he was going to lose his damn mind. “That why you teach?”

“Yeah, actually. I think it is.” She gave him an odd look. “What about you? What would you do as a hobby?”

Ben opened his mouth, and She shook her head.

“Don’t say drugs. Or me.”

He scoffed, and fuck, She looked hot when she was smug. “Fuck off, Sweetheart-“

“Was I wrong?”

“No.” He grumbled. “But I don’t fucking do hobbies.”

She snorted. “Everyone does hobbies, Ben. You just haven’t found one you like.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. He didn’t know how the fuck She did that to his face. “What, you think I’m going to start fucking knitting, like some damn pussy grandma-“

“You could collect something,” She offered, and Ben might fucking die if She kept sounding so sincere. Like She actually fucking cared that he found something to enjoy. “Or do a sport-“

He snorted. “I don’t fucking do sports. No one can keep up with me, it’s not fucking fun.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She swallowed, and Ben didn’t miss how She glanced at his arms, and chest, and hands. How that expression like She wanted to jump on him was back. “How about woodworking?”

Ben raised his brows. “Woodworking.”

She hummed, nodding with a small, teasing smile. “It’s a very masculine hobby, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s probably that, or coaching little league.”

Ben chuckled, but his brain started to spin into images of coaching little league for their kids. And he’d be more fucking thrown by that image if similar ones didn’t flash through his brain all the damn time. If he didn’t constantly fucking imagine a real life with Her. If he didn’t think about it all the goddamn time, because She was it. Ben wanted all of Her, and he’d be damned if he didn’t give Her his own all once he had her-

Right before Ben could damn it, throw himself over the table at Her, and prove to her that he was damn serious about his with his mouth and hands and cock—that he’d never fantasize about fucking Little League for any other woman—the waiter interrupted them to get their orders.

Ben ordered first, and She just took what he was having. She didn’t even glance at the damn menu.

“You know,” he drawled Her name, raising his brows. “I just fucking eat whatever the hell people put in front of me. That food might be fucking shit.”

She didn’t laugh like he’d expected. She just gave him an odd, unreadable look, and moved on. It wasn’t until the end of the night, when the food was gone and Ben felt fucking high on Her laugher and beauty, that it was mentioned again. When he asked if the food was worth the risk, and that look came back, this time with a question that threw Ben right off his goddamn axis.

“What’s it like?”

He frowned. “What’s what-“

“Having your life be a brand? Designed by Vought?”

Ben’s blinked. If it wasn’t Her asking, he would’ve stormed off with a roar. But that wasn’t some fucking gotcha question, meant to make his head spin and test his temper. She just wanted to know, so she could know Ben. And if that was all She was asking for, fuck him if he wouldn’t give it to Her.

“My job is the brand.” He shrugged. “And Vought is full of fucking pussies, but they do their damn jobs, I do mine, and we all fucking go home. That’s all it is.”

The Vought assholes went home to families, and Ben went home to cold, empty riches, but that wasn’t the point. Ben did his job, and he was fucking good at it, and the brand—Soldier Boy—was the fucking job. Simple as that.

“Do you like it?”

Her voice was still fucking soft. She was going to goddamn kill him, if She kept fucking caring. If She kept making Ben think about how he fucking loathed it. It was filled with gold and wealth and fucking nothing. All the light was just cameras flashing. All the warmth only stayed on his skin, never sinking into his muscles and organs. All his co-workers were fucking pussy idiots. And that had always been enough. It had always been all he wanted.

Until it wasn’t.

Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide, open gaze. “I like that it got me to you.” He muttered, and that was the goddamn truth. “And you’ve fucking got me, babygirl. I meant it, there wasn’t a damn lady before you. Not like this. And I’ll keep fucking saying that until you get it. Solider Boy might be the brand, might be the job, but I’ll keep it in my pants for another damn year and pick up fucking woodworking if I get you. Understood?”

There was a long moment of silence as She scanned over his face—looking for whatever She needed to find—and Ben felt an itch on his skin and a prickle over his heart. It might be fucking nerves.

He didn’t care for it.

“Understood.” She whispered, and the nerves vanished into some sort of euphoria as She smiled at him. “Do you, um, you want to go? Back to my place?”

Ben’s grin was unrestrained and probably looked a little feral, but thank fucking Christ. He had Her. He didn’t have to keep it in his pants, because he had Her.

And when he stood up, picking Her up into his arms with a squeal and carrying Her out of the restaurant, he made a silent vow.

He wouldn’t give Her a single goddamn reason to ever leave.

And he’d start proving why She should stay right fucking now.

—————————

Ben’s really strong. And you’d known that—it was the whole Soldier Boy brand—but that didn’t stop you from being shocked by how that strength feels wrapped around you. Pressed right up against your body, arms flexing and muscles shifting under his shirt, his chest and shoulders like a rock, but still somehow comfortable and warm.

You’d like to stay here, in Ben’s arms and against his body, for maybe the rest of your life. It feels safe, but not like a cage. Like a blanket or shield around you, promising that harm wouldn’t even dare to look at you, because only a fool would try to attack something that belongs to Ben.

Fuck.

You don’t belong to Ben. Not in the way you’d want to mean it, where it’s your heart out of your chest and into his hands, and you never have to worry about it again. Never have to worry about anything again.

It doesn’t help that it feels like you could belong to him. Like if you asked, he would keep you here. Maybe he’d carry you everywhere. Maybe he’d offer his heart back.

He won’t. You can hear his heart pounding, when you turn your head and press your ear to his skin. It’s loud and powerful, and you’d really like for it to move in a rhythm with yours. But you don’t know if you could keep up, and you’re terrified to learn that he wouldn’t slow down.

But your lips graze his neck when you breathe, and you could swear he shudders. That his grip on you tightens, and a low grunt escapes his throat that has nothing to do with walking to the car.

You’re too far gone. This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid, trying to dodge and weave around with giggles and eye rolls. Belonging to Ben. Making your dumb little heart really believe that he’d care about you in a way that he’d fight for. Falling into him until he’s less taking you, and more being offered to have you. However he’d like.

And God, if he asks to have you tonight, you’ll say yes. All your previous rules will fly out the window. Rules about waiting a certain number of dates, kissing first before going right into more, or ensuring that—when the sun rises the next morning—you won’t be alone in bed. Rules that would be pointless, because this is Ben and you’ve been dreaming about touching him for a year. He can never know you’ve lost sleep to it. To feeling heat between your legs at just the thought of him, to covering your face with a pillow because just the idea of him was enough to make you scream and moan and wake your roommates up.

Shit. Your roommates.

You’re going to have to figure out how to justify to them that you will be seeing Ben again, because you hadn’t stopped feeling dizzy and drunk on him for the whole night, and now you’re gone—the last piece of your resistance to his advances gone, your will to not fall in love completely dissolved—and you won’t be coming back until Ben breaks you in half.

That if Ben doesn’t break you—if he chooses to keep you, just you, because for reasons you don’t understand he seems to only want you—but holds you close and stretches tonight into sixty years, you’ll never even bother to try and return.

You don’t know if he’ll want to keep you. He’s placing you in the passenger’s seat with careful movements, but brushing hair from your face with an unreadable expression and restrained hands. He kisses your brow before drawing back up, and he glances at your lips, but he doesn’t touch them. He doesn’t say a word, only closing the door behind him and walking around the hood of the car.

When he drops in the driver’s seat, his hands rest on the wheel, and he stares ahead with a frown. He doesn’t grab the keys from his pocket. He doesn’t speak, or look at you, or move.

There’s a long and horrible moment when you think he’s done with you. Where everything tastes like ash and dust, and you can feel your body deflating and crumbling. Of course he wouldn’t want you. You’re normal and boring and wouldn’t look right on his arm. You’d fit there—you know you would, because you’d slotted right into him all night like you were meant to be there, and now that will haunt you for the rest of your life—but you wouldn’t dazzle and sparkle and flash. You aren’t a good accessory. You’d cleaned up best you could for this, but your clothing was cheap, your lipstick cheaper, and your hair styled by your own hands. Hands with little bumps on the fingers from writing, that you did your best to keep soft but also ended up dry, because your apartment’s humidifier was broken, and it’s the middle of winter.

You’re nothing horrible. Nothing worse than anyone else. But also normal. So painfully average, just another face that walked on the street.

Ben should be with someone bright. Someone blinding who wore lipstick that cost as much as that fancy dinner, and clothing that could probably out-sell this car. Someone who had their hair styled by a team, because they were American royalty like Ben was.

Girls like you don’t get to linger in divinity. They don’t get more than a night.

And you might not even get a night. Ben isn’t moving or talking or teasing about how he’s going to touch you, so he might not want to. He might have been trying you on, and now he’s ready to throw you out because he’d realized you didn’t look as good on him as he’d thought you would-

“We’re going to my place.” He grunts, and you blink at him.

“Your place?”

He nods, and finally looks at you. He’s so handsome. You’ve never seen anyone have a face like that. You’d been being dramatic and lovelorn before, thinking of him as divinity, but there couldn’t possibly be another reason for him looking like that.

Untouchable.

Reaching out to touch you.

Ben’s hand cups your face, keeping your gaze trapped on his, and his words are a low rumble that rip through your body like a wildfire. Your skin and heart are ablaze, and you’re completely ruined, and he’s only talking.

“I’m going to touch you, babygirl.” He mutters, and you think you whine. “Going to fucking ruin you.”

This isn’t fair. He looks like he’s about to ask you a question, and you’ll never be able to give an answer that isn’t a breathless plea.

“Ben-“

“But,” he pushes on, smirking as your breathing start to get ragged. “I’m going to have you screaming my name all fucking night, and I’m not interested in having an audience. I fucking love you, but your apartment is goddamn fucking. Dramatic roommates who won’t let me fuck you like you deserve, too goddamn small, and not nearly fucking good enough for you. So come back to my place.”

That’s probably supposed to be a question. Ben’s tone didn’t sound like he was asking—more like ordering, or telling you what was going to happen—but he’s also not starting to car or letting go of your face, so you think he’s waiting for an answer.

It takes a moment, because you’re trapped in his voice, still echoing in your head.

I fucking love you.

You don’t know if he’s aware he said that. If he is, it doesn’t seem as if he’s about to elaborate.

But he did say it. And he’s not taking it back.

You’re kind of done with testing the waters. With holding yourself back from what you want for the sake of your sanity.

Sanity that’s already long gone anyway. Razed and wrecked and shaped into the same sound of Ben saying I fucking love you, all while touch you and looking at you and speaking to you, and you alone.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you can’t really imagine saying anything else.

Ben nods, his hand moves to your thigh, and you can feel something changing inside of you. His touch is so measured—so carefully controlled with a big, rough hand that kneads mindlessly at your skin—and it’s igniting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt. It’s like lighting in your blood and water on your skin, soothing and electric and so completely consuming.

He really is consuming. You’ve never met anyone whose very presence devours your every thought and nerve until you’re glowing from inside. Even if you weren’t being branded by his touch on your body, weren’t drowning in his cologne, you’d still only be thinking about Ben. He’d said you looked hot, and under his cannon-like attention—loud and powerful and demanding—you’d really felt like you were. He’d said there were no other girls, and you believed him because you could feel the words over your bones. He’d said he’d kill the president for you, and it had oddly been the most romantic thing any had ever told you.

Ben’s life was Solider Boy. Soldier Boy’s brand was America.

He didn’t want to be Solider Boy with you. He didn’t care about Soldier Boy for you.

And you’d never tell him to kill the president, but if you do get to ask for anything—just one thing for Ben to give you, and only you, because you asked for it—it would be that he keeps doing that. Keeps being consuming. Keeps looking at you like you’re all the stars in the sky, when you’re the one getting lost.

Because you’re so lost. You’d promised yourself you’d be careful, but now you’re lost in Ben, and you’d never chose to be anywhere else. Not when his hand on your thigh is a promise of being a master and filling free time. You’d love to waste free time with him. You’d love to get more and more lost in this odd sense of given security—Ben is here, and he’s built like a tank that’s designed to keep you from horror—for the rest of your life.

And you’d think that was dramatic, if Ben didn’t keep looking at you like that. Like you’re a rare treasure he’d found buried underground, and he’s going to make you shine.

You’re already shining. Just that look—full of promises and stoic, firm care–makes you sit a little taller in your seat, warmth sparking and pooling in your gut like an oil meeting a match.

The explosion is going to wreck you.

You’re more than ready for it.

Ben parks outside of a shocking normal apartment complex, helps you out of the car, and half covers your body with his—his face bent down and hidden, you barely a shadow below him—before moving you inside.

This is a normal building. You’re awestruck, how average this place is. You’ve heard about Ben’s house, but it’s further upstate. You’ve been to one of his apartments for a Vought party—and ended up mostly curled near him, but not against him, on a couch—but that was across the city. And this place didn’t have the marble floors and doorman and oil paintings. It was all stained brown carpet and small mailboxes, walking up concrete stairs and passing worn welcome mats.

“Ben?” You lean back to look at him, and he seems vigilant. Watching every corner you turn and tensing at every creek of the building.

He grunts, his eyes falling to yours—something that’s always rough behind them not softening, but becoming honed, and aimed all at you—and you take it as a cue to continue.

“Where are we?”

Ben lets out a long, heavy breath, stopping in front of another, boring, generic door. “My apartment.”

“Oh.” You look around the hall, then back to Ben. He’s started to fidget with the keys. You didn’t hear him wrong.

You’re still incredibly confused, right up until Ben pushes the door open.

This is more what you expected. Plush sofas and polished chairs, a glass table and expensive looking art on the walls. It’s a little different that his other apartment—there seems to be more personal things scattered across the room, bits of Ben left out on the side table and shelves—but not at all in line with the rest of this building.

And Ben must see all your questions on your face, because he leans down to whisper in your ear, his arms wrapped around your stomach and light stubble brushing on your skin.

“Bought this place off the books.” He starts to guide you further inside, his hands rubbing slow, mind-numbing circles on your hips. “Place for myself, when I don’t want anyone intruding or interfering with my shit.”

You swallow. “Does anyone else know-“

“Just me.” He mutters, starting to kiss a very distracting line up your throat. “Not one damn pussy at Vought knows this place exists. Landlord thinks I’m a reclusive artist or some shit. Like I said, sweetheart. My place.”

Ben’s place. Just his place. For his shit. That he doesn’t want intruded on.

It takes you longer than you’d like to piece it all together. In your defense, you’re a little overwhelmed—in all your wildest fantasies about Ben looking at you and meaning it, you still hadn’t manage to imagine this—and Ben’s not really helping your thought process at all. One hand has moved down to pull and squeeze your upper thigh, the other is still keeping you pinned to his chest, and his mouth has started to wander. Grow bolder. Wet, sloppy kisses over your collarbone and along your jaw, sucking a small bruise behind your ear and making you a little dizzy.

But you slot it all into place.

And there’s not a thing in the universe that could save you now. Fuck, if anyone tried, you’d probably punch them.

“You’re serious about me.” You mumble, and Ben hums, the sound echoing around your head like a fucked up, love drunk lullaby.

“About fucking time you got it.” He mutters, his hands sliding up to grip your throat. It’s a light touch, barely any pressure at all, but Ben doesn’t need to be firm. He tilts your head slightly back, and you go all the way. Leaning on his shoulder, holding his darkened gaze with your own, slightly dazed one, smiling at him like an idiot.

You can be an idiot for this. For Ben, you’ll be a fucking fool, because you can be. There’s nothing else to do here. Nothing to work for. He’s won. You’re his.

All that’s left to do fall down.

Ben smirks at you, that hand on your thigh starting to drift further and further between your legs, and you don’t think he’s going to make this easy on you.

“Do you know how much I’ve fucking dreamt about this?” Ben drawls, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. It’s light, and taunting, and in perfect time with his fingers. Playing with the hem of your panties, knuckles occasionally bumping on your clit and making your knees weak, all while he continues talking. “I’ve spent fucking months working out exactly how I want to fuck you, babygirl. Thought about how fucking good you’d feel, wrapped around my cock, how pretty you’d sound screaming my name, how fucking beautiful you’d look all fucked out and wrecked under me, or against me, or fucking riding me. But nothing,” Ben nips at your ear, and you think you squeak. “Could’ve gotten me ready for this. Look so fucking gorgeous just here. Hardly ever touched you yet and you look like a dream.”

You’re going to lose your fucking mind. Ben’s hand has moved to cup you over your underwear, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding shamelessly onto him.

“Christ, sweetheart, already fucking soaked just from dinner.” Ben looks awestruck, his lips parted and breath hot on your skin. It just makes you more desperate. “You like it when I talk dirty? Like it when I tell you how much I fucking want you? How much I need you?”

You moan, nodding like a bobble-head, and he chuckles.

“Tell me what you want,” Ben says your name, pressing his thumb over your clothed clit, and you definitely squeaked that time.

“You, want you-“

“How do you want me. Get specific, babygirl, want to hear-“

“I want you with me,” you gasp, rolling your hips in search of any friction at all, whining when his grip on you tightens. “Want to have you Ben, fuck- Want all of you-“

You might have ascended. Ben cuts you off with a strangling, heavy, starved kiss, and if it wasn’t the most carnal thing you’d ever experienced you’d have thought it was holy. It’s invasive and rough—his tongue down your throat and his teeth nipping at your lower lip, swallowing your moan when he rips off you panties and shoves one, broad finger into your cunt—but there’s something softer behind it. His hand stays on your neck, but only to tip you further back and grant him more access, never tightening enough for you to really feel it. Your legs give out as he starts to finger-fuck you at a brutal, unforgiving pace, but he also keeps you upright and steady.

Ben pulls you apart on just his hand—palm rolling on your clit, fingers taunting and teasing on the deepest, most sensitive place inside of you—and he never breaks the kiss. You reach behind your body, wrapping an arm around his neck and running your fingers through his hair, and when you tug it, he groans. The sound moves through your whole body, fueling every bit of your arousal, melting you further into Ben’s body as he picks up his speed. He keeps a rough pace and firm pattern, drags your right up to the edge until you’re writhing against him and scratching hopelessly at his arm in a slight plea for more. You need more, you’re already inhaling him and filled with him but it’s not enough.

When he finally crooks his fingers inside of you, everything goes white. It’s only Ben sucking on your upper lip and pumping his fingers through your orgasm, only his pounding heartbeat near your ear and ragged breath over your face.

He’s hard. Pressing right up against your ass, and hard, and big. He’s fucking huge.

You need him. You need him now.

“Ben,” you tug on his hair again—your voice breathy and weak as your head spins—and he hums against your skin, that sinful fucking mouth sucking small marks along your jaw. “More. Need more, please-“

“Patience,” he mutters your name, and you moan, shaking your head. “I’ve been waiting too fucking long to take this slow. Got fucking months to make up for. You’re not going to be able to walk for a goddamn year when I’m done with you, babygirl, so calm the fuck down, and take what I give you. Got it?”

You nod a little stupidly, and Ben draws back from your neck with a smirk, teasing along your pussy with those same, sinful fingers before pulling them away and—before you can even whine from the loss of him—bringing them to his mouth. Licking your arousal off his skin, never breaking your gaze.

You can’t be patient. It’s an impossible thing to ask, when he’s toying with you like this. When he looks like that—so fucking satisfied from the taste of you and cocky when you moan from only the sight of him—and wraps his arm back around your waist, keeping you steady as he kisses you again. It should be illegal to be this good a kisser. It’s like a drug right into your bloodstream, making everything just pleasure and Ben. He tastes like wine and smoke and you. That’s you on his tongue.

You’re going to fly out of your skin.

“Please.” You gasp, tugging on his hair again until that same groan from before rumbles in his chest. “Ben, please-“

Ben squeezes your throat once before dragging it away, prying your hand off his head and kissing your knuckles with a softness that might be worse than the animalistic lust. It’s just a small, tiny second of care—silent, real affection—but you’re still going to go mad from it.

“You want my cock, babygirl?” He asks the question with the most smug grin you’ve ever seen. Like he knows there’s not a world where you’ll say anything but yes. “Want me to fuck you nice and dumb, take good fucking care of my girl?”

His girl. You’ve put it together that he really somehow means that, but it doesn’t change how the words are electric in your body. Your legs almost give out just from the sound of Ben’s deep voice saying them.

He tightens his grip around you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head backward. “Not a mind-reader, sweetheart, give me some fucking words-“

“Yes-“

The answer is barely out of your mouth when Ben hauls you off the ground and starts to move, walking into the bedroom and dropping you onto his mattress. This is Ben’s mattress. He’s slept on it before, and the sheets smell like him and have touched his bare skin.

You’re going to touch his bare skin. He’s ripping clothing off like it’s paper as you crawl backwards, and you barely have time to remove your dress—let alone take him in—before he’s prowling over you, his eyes gleaming and sparkling in a way that makes you start to drool.

He’s completely naked. You want to see him, see all that impossible, powerful glory that’s about to wrap around you, but you don’t get the chance before Ben starts to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses up your legs and your vision blurs with pleasure. He’s so good at this, and you’re not at all surprised, but it still makes every fantasy and wet dream you’ve had feel like a crude, faded sketch. The real thing is a work of art. You’d been joking when you’d called this his hobby, but he’s playing you like an instrument and molding you like clay. He finds his way between your legs, and stays there just long enough to work you into a frenzy. Broad licks up your pussy and flicks of his tongue over your clit, sucking the already burning nerve bundle into his mouth and letting his teeth graze against it until you’re grinding up into his face.

Then he’s moving on, leaving you dangling right on the edge and kissing over your stomach. Up your body until he drags you into a long, heavy kiss, silencing your every needy, high plea for release. He won’t let you have release. He’s kissing you far too passionately and firmly for you to do anything but melt further into him, but God you’re burning up from the inside and he won’t even let you move. He had dropped his waist to pin you down to the mattress, and you can feel him poking again your inner thigh, and fuck-

Ben rises up with a grin, and there’s the awestruck look again. He can’t keep looking at you like that. It’s going to kill you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He mutters your name, and you were wrong. That’s going to kill you. How sincere and blunt his words are, like they’re pure fact and not at all subjective. “Never seen a goddamn thing like it.” He rolls his hips against you, and you whine. “Look like a fucking angel.”

You want to tell him that he looks better, or at least thank him, but all you can remember how to do is moan, squirming a little beneath him as he chuckles.

“You got something you need, sweetheart?”

He rolls his hips again, and your eyes almost roll back in your head as you nod.

Ben clicks his tongue, leaning back down to speak against your lips. “Need you to fucking say it, baby.”

“Fuck me.” You gasp, because you’re past dignity and dancing around things. “Fuck me, Ben, please, fuck me-“

You yelp as he rolls you over, hauling you up onto his lap and impaling you on his cock in one movement. And when he starts to move—grabbing your hips and guiding them in a smooth rhythm with his thrusts—you know he’s not going to stop proving you wrong. He cares, and this is higher and better than any heaven you could’ve—and had—imagined. This is what’s going to kill you.

Because you’ve thought about this far too often, imagined this exact moment countless times, but it’s still more than you know how to comprehend. Ben’s splitting you open and bumping against all the right places inside of you, the angle pushing him so deep into your cunt there’s not a second where you aren’t on fire. He keeps alternating between wild, demanding bites—hickeys on your throat and shoulders—and gentle, hot kisses on your lips that swallow your every soft moan and whine. Your arms wrap around his neck as your try to drag him impossibly closer, and he smirks, his hold on your hips tightening as he starts to drill up into you.

It’s brutal and sudden and rough—his skin slapping on yours and his gaze burning right into your body—and if Ben wasn’t holding you up, you would’ve collapsed. You might be saying his name, might be begging for more, but you can’t hear it over a fogging haze of Ben, talking so dirty you’re surprised his voice alone isn’t bring you to release.

“Look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock, such pretty fucking tits, fucking tight and warm, goddamn soaked for me-“

“Fuck,” you try to grind down onto him, but he’s too strong. All you can do is kiss on his jaw and pray he’ll give you more. “Feels good, so good, please-“

“Who’s fucking you good?” He demands, nipping on your lower lip and guiding you in a circle on his dick, smirking as you whimper from the sensation. “Fucking scream it, sweetheart, tell the whole goddamn world who’s fucking you-“

“Ben!“ You almost scream, and you’d be embarrassed if it didn’t immediately earn you another long kiss and groan of your name against your skin.

“There you go,” he mutters, snaking one hand around your body to rub at your clit. “Good girl, feel so fucking good squeezing my cock, so fucking needy-“

“Ben,” Your brow drops to his, and your nails scratching at his neck and shoulder blades. “Please, wanna cum, please-“

He cuts you off with a searing, almost violent kiss, growling down your throat. “Since you asked so fucking pretty,” he jerks his hips up in a rough, blinding movement, pinching your clit at the same time. “Cum for me, babygirl.”

This orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Springing in your gut and washing your body in a burning but comfortable heat, filling your vision with stars and wracking your body with a pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. This is better than heaven. This is Ben kissing you through your high and still dragging you higher, rubbing his thumb around your clit and palming at your breast as you scream into his mouth.

And you don’t come down. Ben doesn’t stop, and you’re not sure if this is just a million smaller orgasms exploding like fireworks in your body, or if he’s trapped you in an infinite state of bliss, but the orgasm doesn’t end.

And Ben’s not done with you.

He’s getting rougher. He’s still hard inside of you, starting to throb and lose rhythm with his movements, and you barely have the mind to gasp or whimper when he rolls you back under him, pulls out of you for a brief second, and flips you around onto your stomach. There’s a brief, cold moment where he’s gone—still hard against your thighs but no longer caging you against him—and then he drags your ass into the air, pushes himself back into your dripping, oversensitive pussy, and starts to hammer into you with a pace you can only describe as feral. His balls slap on your clit as he hits somehow deeper inside of you, groaning behind you as you grind back into him, and you’re still cumming. You don’t now know how that’s possible. You didn’t know your body could do that.

You don’t really know anything but Ben right now. Thrusts becoming short and uneven, draping himself back over you to kiss at your shoulder and throat and behind your ear, pinching and rolling a nipple between two rough fingers, and groaning right in your ear in a way that just keeps everything going.

Ben grabs your chin right as his hips stutter, turning your head to roar your name against your mouth as he cums. It finally brings you down—when he’s spent inside of you and pinning you to the mattress in his warmth—and you like out a soft, happy sound of content when he kisses your swollen lips with a gentler, easier pressure. It seems like he’s kissing you just to kiss you. Touching you just to touch you.

Laying with you just to lay with you.

“Christ on a fucking cross,” he mutters in your ear, pressing another small kiss to your cheek. “You’re so fucking good, sweetheart. Never going to go a week without this pussy again, best thing I’ve ever fucking felt.”

You smile, craning your neck back to look at him, and you’ve barely started to move before Ben’s flipping you one last time, keeping you caged between his body and the mattress.

And he’s grinning at you. A powerful, wide grin that would look strange on his face if it didn’t feel so natural. You rarely see Ben really grin—all joy and teeth and something unbridled and almost pure—at all, his expression usually rough smirks and more taunting smiles, but this is just Ben, grinning at you.

And he looks like a human. He’s sweaty, short hair sticking up at odd angles and eyes a little brighter from his own release, and you really think this could be it. That he could be a life you’d be happy to lead.

Because Ben’s got you. Outside of how he’d just fucked you within an inch of paradise, he’s also pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, and a longer one to your lips, before moving away to grab a towel and clean the mess he left between your thighs. He’s bringing you water and tucking you right against his body, muttering that you should get some rest before round two, because there will be a round fucking two.

“Ben?” You mumble, and he grunts near your skin in a silent acknowledgment to continue. “What… um, I don’t know what you- what we-“

“We’re together.” He grunts, and you let out a long breath of relief. You hadn’t even had to say the stupid, embarrassing question aloud. “Nobody’s touch you but me, and not one single fucking lady is getting their hands on me but you.”

“Okay.” You hum, wiggling a little further into his hold. “Good.”

Ben chuckled. “Real fucking good, babygirl. You’re going to get spoiled fucking rotten.”

You smile, and you’ll fight that later. You don’t want to become only a doll on a shelf just because Ben’s got you.

But you also think you have him. And that if you asked for the world he’d try and figure out a way to put it into your hands. That if you demanded he not be an asshole about you continuing to work, he’d grumble but relent.

And you can live with that.

You can thrive with it.

End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.

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coldfanbou · 1 hour ago

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Least Restrictive Environment

So, this isn't what I wanted to put out. I got sick in the middle of the week, and looking at a screen has been difficult. I just happened to have this nearly finished, so I added a little bit more to it. It's part 2 of the Sana and Momo Kinkcember fic. That being said, it's pretty much just an update on what happened after P1 and smut, so it might be better to call it an epilogue. I'm starting to ramble anyway. I hope you enjoy it.

Length 2.1K

Sana X Momo X M reader

Once your relationship with your foster sisters had come to light, life became awkward in your home. The three of you would have constant sex when your parents were out; it didn’t matter where in the house it would happen; in the kitchen, bathroom, living room, everywhere was fair game. Your foster parents had had enough after a time. The smell bothered them more than anything. Considering there was no blood relation between any of you, they were okay with you being together; they just wanted you all to move out.

Together, the three of you were able to afford a decent place, renting a nice-sized apartment that quickly became your home. With the constant urge to play with each other, it was only a matter of time before Sana and Momo got pregnant. They were as happy as could be when they found out, and they wouldn’t allow their pregnancy to stop their daily activities.

While Sana went out to get some shopping done, you were with Momo, your hands digging into her shoulders as you massaged them. Momo groaned as your hands unknotted the tension, feeling your breath against her back move her to push for more. You hadn’t had sex yet, having agreed to wait for Sana to come back. Momo figured she might be able to convince you. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at you, “I need you to get a spot, but let me take this off.” She said, making you pause. Momo lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it on the bed. The shirt was Momo’s only clothes, leaving her naked; considering how far along she was, she didn’t wear her bras anymore, and with the constant sex you all had, she had given up on panties long ago. Momo smirked as you asked her where she wanted you to focus. She reached back and grabbed your hands, “Right here,” Momo said, placing your hands on her engorged tits. You move closer to Momo, looking over her shoulder. Her breasts were weightier; her nipples had turned a darker color as well. The sight of her bare breasts turned you on, and Momo could feel your hardening cock against her ass.

“Oh, it feels like you need to get some tension out, too,” Momo said with a smirk. She has you squeeze her tits once before turning around. “Lay down for me, baby, and take those clothes off. Mommy is going to make you feel good.” You had to admit Momo taking charge aroused you more than anything, so you did as you were told. Once your clothes were off, Momo patted her lap, “Lay down here.” You rested against Momo, letting her adjust your position at will. In the end, she had her hand wrapped around your cock as she offered you one of her tits. You couldn’t resist; the large mounds were hypnotizing. You leaned in, running your tongue along her areola before taking it into your mouth. Momo’s hand began to move along your length slowly. You were growing harder, and Momo noticed, smiling as your precum began to cover her hand. “Oh, you’re so hard already. Does Mommy’s hand feel that good?” You nod, continuing to suck on her tit. “Are you going to cum soon?” She asked, speeding up slightly. In her pregnancy Momo had little patience, often wanting to drain you of all your cum as quickly as she could.

“Cum for Mommy,” Momo whispered into your ear with a smirk, her grip becoming oh so slightly stronger. You groan as she moves her hand along your shaft, her delicate fingers massaging the head as she moves to the tip. You can barely focus on her tits, Momo’s hand never stopped moving. Your groans only get louder, even as you suck on her tits. Momo’s breathy moans grow longer as she pumps your cock, feeling it begin to throb in her hand. “You can cum whenever you like. Mommy knows you have a lot more for her.” Momo cranes her neck, reveling in the pleasure as you flick her sensitive nipple with your tongue. “Mmm, keep going, baby; maybe you’ll get some milk.” Momo moans. You reach up and gently squeeze her breast, drawing milk from her nipple. “Ah! Don’t steal it all.” Momo’s breathing gets heavier as her milk fills your mouth. You feel her hand on the back of your head, keeping you against her chest as the hand on your cock begins to speed up.

You were getting close to cumming, and wanting to last a little longer, you tense your body. As you do, though, you accidentally bite down on Momo’s nipple. She yelps and squeezes down on the tip of your cock, making you cum. Your semen sprays onto her hand, coating it in the sticky substance. You quickly release your bite and pull away, apologizing as Momo continues to stroke your cock. “You can’t be so rough,” Momo says softly, bringing her hand to her lips. She drags her tongue along her hand, happily swallowing your cum.

She lays back on the bed, spreading her legs for you, her bulging belly more noticeable now as you take in her body. Momo notices your stares and places her hand on her belly. “This is yours, I’m yours.” She says with a smile. Momo moves her right hand down to her wet lips, spreading them apart slowly. You gulp, your breath catching in your throat as you stare at Momo’s body. Grabbing your cock, you inch closer to Momo, your foster sister, your lover, the mother to your soon-to-be child. You rub yourself against her entrance, both of you cooing from the jolt of pleasure.

Just as you’re about to push inside, the bedroom door opens. “Yah! You said you would wait!” You turn around and see Sana, her cheeks puffed out. “Don’t move! I get to go first!” The flustered woman rushes to take off her dress, slipping the straps off her shoulder and pulling it over her belly until it falls onto the floor. Sana waddles over to the bed, climbing onto it and putting herself beside Momo. The younger woman pouts, her brows furrowed as she looks at the shameless older sister. “You said you wouldn’t start without me.”

“It’s not my fault. He was giving me a massage, and I thought he needed some relief, too.” Momo retorted, a smirk on her face, and a feeling of smugness came over her. She turns to you, “You wanted me to help you, right?” Momo was trying to pin all this on you. You can’t help but appreciate the ridiculousness of her claim, especially when you both knew Sana would side with whatever you said.

Sana turns to you, expecting to hear an honest answer. “Momo seduced me. She started moaning when I was massaging her shoulders.” You tell the younger woman. Momo sticks her tongue out at Sana, who returns it with an angry pout.

“You guys didn’t wait, so it’s only fair that I get to go first.” Sana says before reaching out for you, “Come on, let’s go,” Sana says, playfully kicking her feet. You move over to her and rub your cock against her slit for a brief moment before pushing into her cunt, her plump lips spreading as you push inside of her. Sana shuts her eyes and moans softly as you fill her; even though sex was a daily tradition at this point, she missed having your cock inside her. She runs her hands down your arms and intertwines her hand with yours, smiling at you as you begin to thrust into her. Momo pouts and gently turns onto her side, reaching over and squeezing one of Sana’s engorged breasts, letting some milk leak from her nipple.

“Mm, you’re both so mean for leaving me out.” Momo whines, unbothered by the situation, just wanting to remind you both she is still there. The older woman turns Sana’s head and kisses her, continuing to squeeze her foster sister’s tits and adding to the pleasure she was feeling. Sana’s whines were muffled because of the kiss. Momo had teased Sana’s tongue, coaxing the younger woman to poke it out before she began sucking on it. Sana could only moan as you thrust into her cunt; she was being pushed to the edge as you both played with her body. You added to the pleasure, sneaking one of your hands away from Sana’s and using it to brush at her clit.

“N-no, I don’t want to cum yet,” Sana mumbled with a grimace as she felt the waves of pleasure coming over her faster and faster. Her walls began to tighten around your cock, and her body tensed before she exploded, her cream covering your cock as she came. Sana cried out as you kept thrusting, pushing yourself to the edge.

“Sana, I’m cumming, “ you grunted.

Sana quickly pulled you in, holding you tightly against her chest. “Inside! Cum inside me!” Sana shouts, wrapping her legs around you in an attempt to keep you inside. It made you smile to see her so desperate for it, you were always planning on giving Sana a creampie, and this just made you want to do it more. You bury yourself inside Sana, pumping her full of your semen. Sana breath hitches as she feels your hot cum flow inside her. She smiles, and her body relaxes around you. Momo smiles and pinches the tired woman’s nipple before stealing a kiss from her.

“Did it feel good?” It was a rhetorical question, but Sana answered anyway.

“As good as always.”

Momo wrinkles her nose before laying back and beckoning you to her. “Now it’s my turn.” The elder sister spread her lips much like before. You rub your cum-covered cock against her entrance, making her giggle. “You’re going to leave me all dirty.”

You lean over the pregnant woman, “You’re always dirty when we’re done.” You whisper into her ear. Momo laughs as you slide your dirty cock inside her, moaning as your thrusts begin. You watch as her tits bounce along with your thrusts. They had only grown bigger since she had gotten pregnant. The same could be said for Sana, but Momo’s breasts often stole the limelight. You held onto Momo’s waist as you thrust, moaning as her tight walls clung to you.

Despite being tired, Sana still had enough energy to return the favor Momo had given her. She turned on her side and latched onto one of Momo’s breasts, suckling on it as fucked the older woman. “Ah, wait! That’s-” Momo bit her lip, her hums filling the room. You leaned down and latched onto her other breast. Together, you and Sana drank from Momo’s breasts, drinking her sweet milk. “That’s too much.” Momo groaned. Sana smiled, knowing that Momo was already on the verge of cumming because of her whines. She pulled away from her sister’s tit and kissed her, giving Momo a taste of her own milk. While Sana was doing that, you made sure Momo’s breasts were being pleasured, pulling and pinching the engorged nub. Momo began to writhe, the pleasure overwhelming her.

“Are you going to cum already?” You ask her, continuing to thrust into her wet cunt.

Momo nods, weakly saying, “I’m gonna cum. Mommy’s going to cum.”

“Oh, you’re calling yourself mommy? I should do that, too!” Sana adds, smiling as she sees the grimace on Momo’s face. The older woman had prided herself on lasting a long time in bed, but since her pregnancy, she’s been cumming just as quickly as the rest of you. You grabbed Momo’s arms, crossing them under her breasts and holding onto them as you sped up your thrusts. Her tits bounced wildly as you rammed your cock inside her, Momo bit her lip as she tried to hold herself together, but it was futile.

She cried out as she came, and you followed soon after, your cum pouring into Momo’s cunt. You pull out of Momo and lay on one side of her while Sana lies on the other, using her tiny fingers to pull on Momo’s hard nipple before moving her hand down to Momo’s belly. The older woman does the same, touching Sana’s stomach. “Don’t you think it’s great how big our family is going to get soon?” The cheer in her voice was enough to drag Momo into the conversation despite how tired she was.

“It’ll be so big. Our little brother is going to keep putting his babies into us. Isn’t that right? Daddy?” Momo says, her voice going into a low, sultry tone as she refers to you as Daddy.

“Of course, how could I not? Especially when we do it every day.” You say a bit of sarcasm in your voice at the end. Sana laughs, and Momo smiles at you, knowing that for all three of you, it was hard to resist the temptation.

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #twice smut #sana smut #momo smut

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poetinthelakes · 2 days ago

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DRESS . . . . hansol vernon .ᐟ

LYRICS. flashback when you met me, your buzzcut and my hair bleached ───────hansol vernon x afab!reader WARNINGS. MDNI .ᐟ smut, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, buzzcut!vernon made me go feral 🗣️ NOTES. this is the first time i write smut so please bear with me 😭 I need some tips on writing smut, if anyone wants to help, you're completely welcome but please be kind T_T

“I lost a bet,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth after walking through the door of your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Vernon, who looked at you with wide eyes.

You'd never dyed your hair any color so now seeing yourself with your hair bleached was a radical change for you and a pleasant surprise for your boyfriend.

“You look good,” he smiled at you, making you feel the same butterfly's as when you first met him, "It suits you,love."

“Really?”

“Really,” he stated, giving you those heart eyes he only had for you before talking again, “I lost a bet today too”

“Oh?” you said curious.

“Kwan made me do it,” he continued, bringing his hands to the hat that covered his head and consequently, his hair too.

“What are you hiding?” you asked, becoming suspicious of him.

Before you could say anything else, your boyfriend took off his hat, showing off his new haircut, a buzzcut.

You had to admit that he looked amazing with this cut, so much so that you couldn't help but open your mouth in excitement before smiling wide.

“You look hot,” you said, letting your impulses win over your reasoning for a moment, but you couldn't help it, Vernon had always been handsome and with his new hairstyle he looked twice as hot.

He chuckled before coming closer to you and give you a kiss on the forehead before going to where your lips met, leaving sweet yet intense kiss between you as a declaration of how much he liked your freshly bleached hair and how much you were turned on after seeing his new cut.

He wrapped his hands around your hips to pull you even closer as your kisses started to turn hotter and sloppier. It didn't help the fact that you started to feel a bulge forming in your boyfriend's pants, causing you to get wet as your core started to ache for him.

“Can i take your dress off?” he panted, his eyes filled with desire for you and you were sure you looked exactly the same as you nodded.

Vernon didn't waste time to pull the zipper of your dress down, leaving you completely naked with the exception of your underwear, you moaned in his ear the moment he took your panties off and he couldn't help the groan he let out at the sight of your pussy that was already leaking.

With no anticipation, he slowly pushed his fingers inside of you, making you crumble at the feeling of him stretching you out, “Nnghh! feels good~” you moaned as he found that spot your fingers never could reach.

“Yeah? Wanna feel the real thing?” he smirked, taking his fingers out of your wet cunt before licking them, making you let out another moan, this time louder than the last before shoving your tongue against his, tasting yourself on him and starting a make out session.

“I need you inside of me, please,” you pleaded, separating your mouth from his, leaving a thread of spit between you both as you felt his hot breath against yours.

Your hand quickly found his jeans, already taking them off of him, his boxers seeming tight against his hard cock. You licked your lips at the sight your boyfriend was giving you, pulling down the only thing that was keeping you from seeing his dick just as he took off his shirt.

Finally after leaving nothing to the imagination, Vernon grabbed you by the hips, causing your legs to immediately wrap around his waist, feeling his hard cock directly in your dripping pussy.

Vernon wasted no time and without waiting he pushed his cock inside of you, taking control over you as your arms held tightly onto him so you wouldn't fall. Your breasts bounced against his warm skin every time your boyfriend moved you up and down to push his cock all the way up to your cervix.

The grunts and moans coming out of your and Vernon's mouths were a harmonious melody to the silence of your apartment and hearing the sound of his balls hitting against your ass was even ore hotter than what you could bear.

“A-ah~ i'm close, Vernon!” you cried out as he made you bounce in his cock.

“M-me too,” he panted, looking for your mouth to give you a sloppy kiss capable of ruining you both.

You felt his pace slow down a little, the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock was enough to bring you both closer to the climax until you couldn't take it anymore. Vernon made his last efforts, resuming his speed.

“Oh god, I'm cumming, a-ah~!” you whined, trying to move your hips against him to help you both find the release you both wanted and needed so bad.

“Agh~! I'm gonna cum, you're gonna cum too?” he asked, watching your fucked out expression before nodding, “Cum for me baby, cum for me,” he grunted before he finally came inside of you, his hot seed leaking out of you with each thrust your boyfriend made, quickly leading your to your own orgasm, so strong and so good it made you scream in complete pleasure.

Vernon gave you one final kiss before pulling his cock out of your cum-filled pussy that was already running down your thighs. As your breathing labored and tried to catch your breath, your boyfriend led you to the bathroom to take a well deserved shower.

“We should change our hairstyle more often, don’t you think?” he joked, making you giggle before kissing him again.

“So. . .round two?” you asked mischievously and he just gave you a smirk before leading you into the shower.

This was definitely gonna continue for a while, and all you could think about was how losing a bet was the best thing you both could've done.

#vernon x reader #vernon fluff #vernon x you #vernon smut #vernon scenarios #vernon imagines #svt x reader #svt x you #seventeen x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #tay writes for svt #poetinthelakes

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misctf · 2 days ago

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All Eyes on You

A trade for @axeeglitter

“Really?” Eric could feel his temper rising, “How many times have I told you I don’t like it when...”

“I don’t get the big deal.” Paul replied, putting his phone down, “You know I think you’re hot, right?” He continues, “So what if I like to look at hot guys on the internet?”

Eric caught a glimpse of another guy Eric with ogling. It was always the same- his boyfriend totally had a type. Another stupid, athletic, and musclebound jock. The guy doing some kind of stupid dance- swaying and rubbing his engorged muscles. How could Paul watch this kind of cringe content anyway?

“That’s what turns you on?” Eric mumbled, “You know it makes me uncomfortable.” He admitted, “I just don’t know what you keep turning to social media to get your dick hard.”

“It’s not that...” Paul replied, “Look, I’m not trying to...”

“Well you are.” Eric spat, “I’m done talking about this.” And before Paul could say another word, Eric stormed out of the room and to their shared bedroom.

As he shut the door, a whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind. He paced back and forth, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he tried to process the hurt and anger coursing through his veins.

“Doesn't he understand how much it hurts?” Eric thought bitterly, “Seeing him drool over those perfect-looking jocks all the time. Like I'm not good enough for him anymore.”

He couldn't shake the image of the latest hunk Paul had been ogling - all rippling abs and bulging biceps, gyrating obscenely on screen. Compared to that Adonis, Eric felt small and inadequate. His own body, which he'd always considered average but attractive, now seemed soft and unappealing in his eyes.

“I wish...” Eric whispered under his breath, “I wish Paul would see me that way sometimes. That he’d look at me like he looks at those guys.”

As if in response to his heartfelt wish, Eric's phone began to vibrate and glow against the nightstand. He froze, staring at the pulsing screen in confusion. Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him. Eric glanced down and gasped as he watched his chest hairs disappear before his very eyes, falling to the ground and disappearing. He reached up to touch the smooth skin that replaced it. He hadn’t been hairless since his early 20s and the sensation of his smooth skin felt unfamiliar.

“What the fuck?” Eric breathed, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart, “You don’t just lose your body hair.” He mumbles, watching as the hairs on his belly fell away, “Wait...” He held up his arm, watching as the darker hairs became lighter in color.

Eric approached his mirror cautiously, his eyes widening as he took in the changes reflected back at him. The dark hair on his head were gradually lightening, transforming into a rich, honey-brown, while his five o’clock shadow vanished. His gaze drifted lower, noting the subtle shift in skin tone. Blotches of sun-kissed warmth broke through his natural pallor, spreading across his body slowly but surely. It was as if he'd spent hours basking in the warm summer sun without actually stepping outside. As Eric gazed at his reflection, he noticed something even more astonishing - the lines etched into his face, the crow's feet around his eyes, the sagging skin beneath his chin - all seemed to be fading away. His skin appeared smoother, tighter, almost radiant. He looked... younger. Much younger than his actual thirty years.

“No, it can't be...” Eric muttered, feeling his youthful skin, “I...” He bites his lip. He hasn’t looked like this since he was at least 21. But even at 21 he wasn’t sporting this kind of tan, “I need to find Paul. I need to...”

A sharp intake of breath escaped Eric's lips as he felt an intense heat radiate through his chest. He watched in disbelief as his pecs began to swell, growing larger and more defined by the second. Muscles he never knew he possessed started to take shape, bunching and rippling beneath his skin.

“No, stop!” Eric cried out, panic lacing his voice as he frantically tried to halt the transformation.

But it only intensified, spreading to his arms and shoulders. His triceps ballooned, his biceps thickened, and his deltoids grew broad and powerful. Eric let out a strangled moan as the metamorphosis continued. His abdominal muscles tightened and hardened, forming a chiseled six-pack that flexed with every ragged breath. The once-flat plane of his stomach now boasted a deep, carved indent in the middle. His glutes, too, underwent a drastic makeover. The flesh compacted and reformed, molding itself into two perfectly rounded globes. His thighs thickened, his quadriceps bulging with raw power. Every inch of Eric's body was being reshaped, remade, reborn into a sculpted masterpiece of masculinity.

“This isn't me. This can't be happening.” Eric gasped as he stared at himself in the mirror, “This is a dream... this doesn’t just happen to people.” He mumbles, drinking in the sight of his new muscles.

A sudden wave of prickling sensation assaulted Eric's armpits as coarse, dark hair sprouted. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sweat and musk, a potent aroma that filled his nostrils and made his stomach churn.

“Ugh, what the hell?” Eric groaned, clamping a hand over one armpit as he sniffed himself again, recoiling at the pungent odor, “I smell like a gym bag.”

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks - he now emitted the exact same stench as the muscular, gym-rat types Paul constantly ogled online. He reached his meatier hand to touch the mirror, and gasped. Eric's hands flew up to cover his face, trembling as he felt the contours of his features shift and morph. His nose narrowed, his jawline squared off, and his cheekbones sharpened into a chiseled, angular silhouette. His lips thinned into a smirk, and his eyes took on a cocky, confident glint.

“No...” Eric whispered, barely recognizing the stranger staring back at him.

Gone was the soft, rounded face of his thirty-year-old self; in its place sat the visage of a smug, arrogant young jock - the very archetype Paul seemed to worship. With a sense of dread, Eric watched as a pair of tight, athletic shorts emerged from thin air and slithered down his muscular thighs, settling snugly around his crotch. Embroidered on the side of the shorts in bold, white letters was the number '28'. At the same time, a pair of baseball cleats materialized on his feet, the stench of stale sweat and dirty socks wafting up to assault his nostrils. They fit perfectly, molded to the contours of his sizeable calves and ankles.

“This is insane.” Eric choked out, revulsion washing over him as he took in his new appearance, “What kind of sick joke is this? I don’t want this. I want Paul to love me for my looks, not some cocky asshole’s.” No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get rid of the cocky glint in his eyes. And his lips seemed to default to a smug smirk, “I need to...”

Before he could finish his thought, Eric's hips began to sway of their own accord, his movements fluid and sensual as he danced in front of the mirror. One hand roamed over his chiseled torso, tracing the dips and curves of his newly formed muscles. The smirk on his face grew wider, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger he didn't recognize.

“This isn't me.” Eric panted, but his body refused to obey, continuing its seductive dance, “Stop it! Get control of yourself!” But before he could say another word, his lips formed into a confident smirk. He realized that just like his dancing, he couldn’t control the smirk, “No please! I can’t talk.” He thought, “Stop! Stop this!”

In the mirror, he can see his newly athletic body move. His confident smirk. He can even still smell the masculine stench that wafts from his clothes and pits. Eric wanted to cry- feeling totally powerless. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t like those guys that Paul drooled over. He wasn’t...

“Wait, what’s that?!” Eric watches as his phone started to glow, basking him in a blue light, “Oh god it hurts! Stop!”

He could feel his body breaking down- simplifying. Every organic component of him being broken down and changed into a pattern of pixels and data. His body digitized and absorbed into the phone. And when the pain stopped, Eric realized he was no longer in his room. He was in a locker room. The smells from his own body still assaulting his nose. His body still moving against his will.

“Paul... Anyone...” Eric thought, “Help me...”

But his plea was lost amidst the endless loop of his own mesmerizing form. Reduced to a looping GIF of his newly buff physique. His athletic shorts and baseball cleats remained, along with the arrogant smirk frozen on his face. Each time the animation played, his muscles rippled and flexed, his abs contracting hypnotically. And worst yet, he could feel eyes on him. All the users who viewed him in his digitalized prison. Comments flooded in, each one more enthusiastic than the last. “Holy shit, so hot!”, “Best thing I've seen all week!”, “Makes me wanna tap that!”

“No... please...” Eric's mind reeled in horror as the comments repeated in his mind, unable to comprehend his own degradation. Trapped inside this digital prison, forced to perpetuate the very objectification he despised.

He didn’t know how long it took until he felt his boyfriend’s gaze on him. For a moment, Eric dared to hope - perhaps his boyfriend could somehow hear him, free him from this living nightmare. But as Paul's fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing out a message, Eric's hopes dwindled.

“Yum.”

Eric's heart sank, his despair deepening as he realized Paul had no idea it was him trapped in this degrading digital form. To his boyfriend, he was just another hot piece of eye candy to admire and lust after. And after a few more minutes of watching, Paul moved on, leaving Eric to continue his eternal dance.

Hours passed, then days, and Eric's awareness persisted, forever confined within the looping GIF. Paul returned sporadically, devouring each iteration of his digitally rendered form with hungry eyes. As the weeks dragged on, Eric's initial shock gave way to a numb acceptance. This was his existence now - a perpetual spectacle, reduced to nothing more than a collection of pixels and motion. The irony was not lost on him. He had once envied the attention Paul gave to those jocks and their thirst traps. Now he was one- just a thirst trap, dancing in a smelly locker room- forever.

#male tf #male transformation #jock tf

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tsuutarr · 1 day ago

Note

Begging and pleading for more content of that little elf freak 🙏🏻🙏🏻

you're so right, he's a freak lmaooo

so ofc he needs a nsfw continuation!! first part is here for anyone that wants it~

Yandere! Elf (Reol Mahija) x afab! Reader

When Reol had worked on his little secret… experiment involving you, Reol had no idea that you would come to him for help. Oh, but he’s not complaining. On the contrary, the mere thought that you trust him does things to him – it makes heat pool in his belly, makes his fingers tingle.

So of course Reol agrees to help you. How can he refuse you when you look so cute? So sweet?

This does put him in a little predicament, however, but Reol is nothing if not a genius, so it isn’t too hard to find a work around.

He’ll provide you with some false solutions, like drinking chamomile tea before breakfast or wearing certain colors, that seem to work for a bit, before your little issue springs to life again. He’s found that doing this is a lot more satisfying than teasing you every night – you’re both so much more sensitive if he’s left you alone for a week or so.

Plus, he managed to sneak in a little camera the last time you invited him to your room. Now, he can watch you squirm and moan as he uses his pocket pussy to tease your hole open with his long fingers. Your voice is so sweet, your expression is so alluring – oh, how can you tempt him like this?

It’s gotten to the point where this isn’t enough. It’s not enough, not anymore.

So, of course, Reol uses his brain to think of his next plan. It’s foolproof, surely, he thinks as he feels you clench around his fingers as you cum. With a low moan, Reol strokes his cock a few more times, before he spills into his hand, his shoulders shaking from the aftershocks of his orgasm. You always feel so good, always so perfect for him. So can you blame him for wanting more?

So, yes, his plan will work. He’ll make sure of it.

“What?” you ask the next day, cheeks hot from Reol’s words. It’s not just the content that has thrown you off guard, but the way he’s said it, too – so blunt and to the point. How is he not embarrassed?!

“As stated, your problem doesn’t seem to be resolving despite the numerous attempts we have made,” he responds, looking calm as he always does. There’s no way for you to know how intensely his heart seems to be beating inside his chest. He thinks he's going to go into cardiac arrest at this rate. “So, it’d be best if I took a look, don’t you agree? It’ll help me better understand your situation.”

“W–well, yeah, I guess, but…” you gulp, looking at the floor, unable to look into his eyes.

“We do not have to do anything you do not wish to.” Reol looks contemplative, though he’s inwardly panicking, desperate for your agreement. “But I have no leads currently, so it’s quite difficult to find more solutions.”

You bite your bottom lip and Reol can only watch you nervously. He’s done what he can to nudge you – it’s your turn to say yes or no.

Finally, after what seems like years, you look at him. “...Okay, yeah, you’re right,” you agree, looking determined despite your embarrassment. “I trust you, Reol.”

Oh. Oh. Reol thinks he can die happy now. You explicitly told him that you trust him? It’s enough to make him want to soar into the skies. But beyond that…

You agreed to his idea. You agreed.

Reol can hardly wait.

But even as impatience makes itself known to Reol, he waits for you as patiently as he can. He waits for you to make yourself comfortable on the Student Council Room’s couch. He waits patiently as you prepare yourself for him to inspect your pussy.

By the time you’re ready, Reol’s cock is already straining against his slacks. He’s grateful that the school robes are loose enough to cover his excitement, but really, can you blame him? When he sees your pretty pussy in person for the first time, Reol swears he’s going to die. He’s going to die, but he’ll die happy.

Despite wanting to do nothing but make you melt under his touch, he’s careful with his movements. Gently, he places a hand on your thigh as he slots himself between your legs.

“Are you ready?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah,” you whisper, body feeling hot.

“Don’t worry.” He kisses your inner thigh lightly, throat bobbing at the sight of your cunt – it's everything he's dreamed of and more. Gods, you’re just so beautiful from head to toe. “You can tell me to stop.” Which, yes, is true – but Reol will make sure you can’t tell him to stop.

He continues kissing your thighs, light pecks that send tingles down your spine. You’re so cute – your moans, your expressions, everything. It makes Reol want to ravage you completely.

“So, is there a pattern to when your little… problem occurs?” he murmurs, long fingers drawing rune-like shapes on your abdomen.

“Ngh– no,” you respond, thighs twitching due to Reol’s soft touches. “I haven’t found a pattern ye–” a loud moan escapes your lips as something begins to spread you open. Your tight hole stretches around nothing, more moans leaving you as an invisible object thrusts itself into you at a steady pace.

“Fascinating,” Reol murmurs, transfixed on the way your cunt stretches open. He watches all of you, determined to engrave this memory in his brain forever. The way you sound, the way you look, the way you feel – he’s determined to record every single detail.

He already thought he had done a fine job when he connected your pussy to his pocket pussy. But he’s even more pleased this time. He had set up a dildo that would thrust into his pocket pussy on his command, a perfect idea to ensure that your suspicion wouldn’t ever land on him. Plus, he gets to enjoy having you in his hands, even if it’s just for this moment.

So, of course, it would be a waste if he didn’t use this opportunity. He leans forward, licking your clit, before sucking it into his mouth. You gasp, grabbing a fistful of his hair, making him moan around your clit.

“Reol!” you gasp as you feel his mouth on you. He continues to eat you out like you’re his last meal, sucking and nipping you as he watches your reactions. Gods, you’re so cute, so wonderful. Reol can’t believe how lucky he is right now. He looks at you with worship, adoration deep in his eyes as he works to please you.

Reol’s movements along with the invisible object stretching you open is too much for you, making you let out a loud keen as you soak Reol’s face with your juices. Your legs wrap around Reol’s head as he helps you ride out your orgasm, gently suckling your clit while soothingly rubbing your hips. Satisfied, Reol allows the invisible object – the dildo – to finally pull out of the pocket pussy – you – once you stop cumming. Your pussy clenches around nothing, making Reol wish he could just reach out and fill you up himself, but he knows he should be patient.

“Hm, this has given me a lot to think about,” Reol murmurs, licking your cum off his lips. Yes, he’ll think about a way to ensure that you’ll be his. But for you, it sounds like he’ll think up more solutions to your problem. “I'll come to you with any news ideas I have.”

“I… I’d appreciate that,” you gasp, still feeling boneless from your orgasm.

“Of course,” Reol says, giving you a look of affection that’s so incredibly soft that you’re not sure if you’ve imagined it in your post-orgasmic bliss or not. “I… care about you. Truly. So… I wish to help you.”

Somehow, those words touch you. Especially with how Reol gently begins to clean you up with a towel.

“Water? Snacks?” Reol asks, using his magic to bring out some water and snacks from his bag. He offers them to you, which you take gratefully.

“Thanks, Reol.”

“Of course,” Reol responds, pleased with your reaction. He had read that the way to someone’s heart is through food and being kind, so he’s adamant to make sure he follows the advice. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will,” you reply, completely unaware of Reol’s plans or actions. To you, it just appears like he’s helping you with all his heart because he cares without any ulterior motives. And it’d be a lie to say that Reol’s care for you didn’t feel nice because, truthfully, it did.

And it’s true that Reol cares for you, he does, and he’s working hard to find a solution to your problem.

It’s just too bad that he’s the source of your problem in the first place.

#yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #tsuuper ocs #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #monster boyfriend #yandere elf #yandere elf oc #yandere elf oc x reader #Reol Majiha Tsuu OC #getting into the groove of writing smut again #nsft #monster fuqqer #afab reader #monster smut #tsuupicy

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absolutebl · 22 hours ago

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This Week in BL - There's 3 Good Shows Holding a Ton of BL Cr*p on their Shoulders

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Jan 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Your Sky (Sun iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - So darn adorable1 I love the whole shopping trip thing: Mom out with the gay boys is great.

GIVE ME MOAR OF LEE AND HIS PHI. Pretty please?

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 7 of 12 - I love the way Thame is basically like, in my head we are totally dating and acts that way with Po. Yet he hasn't actually discussed it with the poor man. Thame is such a pouty babygirl. Jun is a little shit. All in all, this installment was a little slow but I remain charmed.

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - I’m actually quite enjoying this. I really do just wanna spend most of my time with this pair watching them kiss (please don't make Noeul act mmm'kay?). So I’m really glad we’re on episode three and the show seems invested in supplying us with kisses already. Thank goodness.

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 9 of 12 - mostly I just feel sorry for Fadel. boy is so tired of everybody else’s gay drama queening.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 13 of 24 - I actually like how they are portraying Yotha’s character in this (with relation to his mother). It’s pretty authentic to that kind of situation and personality type, I enjoy that. I also like that Wa dumped Klao for being too jealous. good healthy decision, should have stayed that way.

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 4 of 10 - it just keeps moving through absurdist and ridiculous to gratuitously sexual to mind numbingly dull. I never know where I am with this show. At least it’s not boring... until it so much is. Also my cancer danger signaling is going off hard core. Beware.

I'm like one of those dogs that can sense and epileptic fit, only for death in BL.

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 1 or 10 - Star hunter is back this time with terrible facial hair. I’m putting it on the no fly list right up there with wigs. Apparently Thailand and fake hair are mutually exclusive. The lead ingenue looks a little bit like Yim, and I think they mean to give him a similar personality to Yim’s usual characters, but frankly I found him insipid, dim, and boring. Literally every other surrounding character and couple-to-be is more interesting than the mains. The linguistic bit was cute tho.

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - heavy sigh.

Fourever You (Thurs YT) ep 17 end? - supposedly still coming

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 2-3 of 10 - I’m enjoying these second 2 eps a lot better than the first ep. It’s leaning into the premise and I like a quazi Cyrano de Bergerac thing. It’s got that chewy Japanese “who knows where this is going?” seasoning. But one thing we can be sure of is Japan can always veer sideways given the right pothole. Or should I say plothole? Anygay, I like the way they’re different with each other via text than in person, I like that we’ve already had some language discussion and negotiation, I like the cool banter between these men. And they are men. I like how very adult this is. I’m interested to see where it’s going. Color me suitably intrigued, in a refined manner.

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 7 of 12 - Ooo I love the side couple!!!! They are soooooo cute. Kissing to seal a debt? Adorable. Also, yes please keep Ever 4 shirtless forever. I applaud his design, functionality, ans aesthetic choice. Rah rah rah. More manual labor in BL! Pun intended.

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 3 of 9 - I like the secondary couple a lot more than the primary. Shocker.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 16 of ?? - I bit the bullet and finally watched the 2 parts. It really did not need to occupy that much of my time. I did watch it on 1.5, which is not normally what I do with foreign language shows, but I’ve lost patience with this damn thing. I didn’t actually mind the student teacher side pairing, I didn’t like it either. I thought this was the final episode, and then I saw that there was an 2 part ep 17 announced. So i guess not. Have mercy.

Oh yeah and trigger warning all round.

It's airing but......

I Will Turn Back Time (China Gaga) 6 eps - It’s Chinese, no idea if it will end well or not. But it’s the stepbrothers trope. Still, I’m not gonna watch it until it’s done.

Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai) - It's done. Did anyway watch it? Thoughts?