♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

you pick up a little crop top from the rack and hold it up with a smile.

“this cute?” you ask sweetly.

eren doesn’t answer right away—his eyes scan the shirt, then drop to your waist, your hips, your thighs. back to your face. he licks his lips.

“yeah,” he says low. “you like it? i’ll get it for you.”

like okay. why does he have to look at you like that.

you nod and try to focus on the jewelry spread in front of you, but the second you do, you feel his hands slide around your waist. his chest brushes your back, lips right against your ear as he murmurs,

“let’s get matching ones.”

you shiver. this man wants to turn you into a problem.

and it’s not even noon yet.

you close your eyes and sigh. you love your man. but—why is he trying to have you creaming in your panties this early in the day? can you live? can you shop in peace? can you not be ogled like a dessert tray?

because eren be looking at you like you’re the last fucking meal on earth. and the worst part? you like it.

you both keep walking, arms linked, buying little trinkets and snacks and whatever else catches your eye. cute, wholesome, soft. but the beach? yeah, deciding to head to the beach might’ve been your worst decision yet.

why? because your man is a menace.

and right now, he looks like he’s two seconds from fucking you in the sand.

you’re trying to relax. trying to bask in the morning sun, sip your juice, and mind your peaceful-ass business. but eren? eren has his own agenda. he’s behind you on the towel, kissing your neck, his hands everywhere—gripping your thighs, smoothing over your waist, palming your ass.

“eren,” you giggle, breathless, “relax… we’re outside.”

he kisses right below your ear. “so?”

then bites your sweet spot. slow. deliberate.

your breath hitches. your eyes almost roll back.

god. you swear he wants you ruined.

maybe sex on the beach wouldn’t be that bad.

would you get arrested? maybe.

but damn—he’s making it so hard to behave.

you shake your head. girl, calm down. you’re in public. he’s trying to slide into your bikini bottoms like you’re in a damn hotel suite, not in front of people and the entire shoreline.

you try to focus. but your body is betraying you.

you’re probably soaked through these bikini bottoms already.

maybe—maybe if you go into the water, it’ll hide the fact that your man got you this damn horny at 10:43 a.m.

you wade into the water, hoping the ocean will cool you down. not just from the heat, but from the throbbing mess between your legs that your fiancé caused.

maybe if you swim far enough, you’ll get lucky and a little current will drag you away from the problem.

the problem? eren.

your fine, menacing, can’t-keep-his-hands-off-you fiancé.

but when you glance over your shoulder… oh god.

he’s coming toward you.

water glistening on his chest. jaw clenched. lip between his teeth.

why is he looking at you like that?

like he’s starving. like you’re the meal.

“hey,” you say, voice going a little high. nervous.

“hey,” he murmurs back, eyes dropping to your boobs in that bikini.

he bites his lip again.

you nearly moan.

no. nope. stay strong. stay focused. you’re in public.

but then he gets to you. grabs your waist underwater.

pulls you in slow, smooth, like he’s done it a hundred times.

and he kisses you.

not just a kiss. one of those kisses. the ones that make your knees weak.

and then his mouth is on your neck.

why is he kissing your neck?! he knows that’s your weakness.

“eren,” you breathe, pulling back, desperate. “oh, look! fish.”

your finger shoots out, pointing to absolutely nothing.

girl… not you lying. not you trying to escape your man like he’s not about to be your husband.

you can’t let him fold you in the damn ocean!

“what fish, baby?” he says, playing along, but his voice is low and teasing.

he leans into your neck again. his breath sends goosebumps across your skin.

his hand squeezes your ass underwater like it belongs to him (because it does).

you bite your lip. your heart’s racing. your thighs clench.

“you’re doing too much,” you mumble, avoiding his eyes.

he smirks, tilts your chin up. “i’m not even doing enough.”

oh.

oh, you’re done for.

you want to fold so bad. give in. let him have his way.

but you’re still looking around, scanning the beach like the lifeguard’s gonna catch you getting publicly seduced.

this man really got you shy. flustered. wet in every way possible.

“you’re doing too much,” you mumble again, pulling away as eren’s mouth brushes behind your ear, whispering something nasty about what he’s gonna do to you tonight.

you pretend you didn’t hear it. your thighs, however? heard every syllable.

“let’s go get food,” you say quickly, trying to shake the heat off you like a wet dog.

he grins. “you tryna run from me?”

“no, i’m tryna not get fucked on the beach.”

he lets you go—for now.

you make it to the beachside restaurant. cute setup, ocean view, cold drinks. there’s music playing. you should be relaxed.

but you’re not, because this man across the table from you won’t stop looking at you.

“is your food good?” you ask, stabbing your fork into your food even though you can feel your appetite slowly crumbling under the weight of his fuck-me eyes.

“yeah.”

he doesn’t look at his plate.

he’s looking at you.

your voice is shaky. “you enjoying yourself?”

he chews, shrugs. “mm-hmm. but you look better than anything on this menu.”

you glare at him. “eren.”

he raises an eyebrow. doesn’t say anything. just stares.

his thumb slowly rubs along his glass like he’s imagining doing the same thing to you.

you’re spiraling. looking at the sea like please, god, if you love me, let a mermaid rise up and kidnap me.

is this how it’s gonna be when we get married? is this your forever fate—being devoured by your husband with his eyes at every damn meal?

after lunch, you spot a little stand selling popsicles and point to it like it’s salvation.

“i need something cold,” you say.

he smirks. “you sure do.”

you ignore him.

you both get popsicles yours is strawberry, his is mango.

you’re focused on yours, finally thinking, okay, peace at last.

but then you look up.

and he’s watching you.

not even doing anything extra—just licking slowly, biting into the top of his popsicle, watching your mouth wrap around yours.

and the eye contact? criminal.

you pull it away from your mouth, eyes wide.

“…is yours not nice?” you ask, confused.

he shrugs. “mine’s fine.”

but he’s looking at you like he’s about to drop to his knees in public.

and the way you have to suck on it just to keep it from dripping??

you do it once, absently, and his eyes darken. he shifts his hips like he’s adjusting himself.

you blink. “eren.”

he licks his popsicle, slow as hell. “what, baby?”

“can you not?”

“not what?”

“not look at me like that.”

he grins like the menace he is.

“sorry. can’t help it. you look too good with something in your mouth.”

your soul LEAVES your body.

you stare at him in betrayal. “i came here to relax.”

“i came here to ruin your life.”

so right now you’re taking your sweet ass time walking back to the hotel room. why, you may ask? because you know your fate. you’re about to get fucked out of your fucking mind and you don’t know if you’re ready for that. you might not have a spine after this. so you’re stalling. pointing at random ass shit like, “look… a crab.” and he’s just staring at you like. be serious.

“you better get to that room,” he mutters.

girl he don’t care about that crab. you’re literally pointing at a shell and calling it a rare sea creature. you’re walking slow like the hotel is a haunted house and he’s just walking next to you, hands in his pockets, unbothered. not speaking. he knows what’s about to happen. he’s waiting on it. you’re delaying the inevitable.

you finally get to the room and he’s unlocking the door, but now you wanna stop outside and look at the view. “i just wanna take it in for a second,” you lie. girl. be real.

“okay,” he says, dry. he’s so patient it’s scary.

“okay… i’m coming in now.”

you walk in like nothing’s gonna happen. like he hasn’t been eye-fucking you all day. he hasn’t touched you once and you’re starting to think maybe he forgot? maybe you’re safe? like wow. maybe he just loves you and you were projecting. you sit down like normal. take off your shoes. start making yourself comfortable again like he isn’t standing behind you like a fucking NPC waiting to trigger the next level.

you turn your head. he’s just standing there.

“…hello?” you ask, weak.

he doesn’t blink. “hi.”

“you good?” you smile nervously.

“i’m good.”

“…why are you staring at me like that?”

he shrugs. “you know why.”

you don’t even respond. you just stare, cheeks warm, because yeah. you do. and when he kisses you—oh. it’s over. you feel it in your toes. the way his mouth is on yours like he’s been starving all day and this is what he’s been craving.

your brain is short circuiting. like wait. it’s actually happening. you start panicking and getting excited at the same time like girl he’s not even fucking you yet and you’re already so wet. like it might go through the bed. you haven’t even touched the sheets. you’re just standing there. heart racing. pussy throbbing. like oh wow. you’re in danger.

you don’t even get a warning.

he’s pulling your bikini bottoms down like he’s been waiting his whole life to get them off you. no patience. no teasing. just hunger. like, damn—okay. they’re tossed to the side without care, and you slip your top off too, trying to match the mood, but he’s already laying back, licking his lips like you’re a fucking treat.

“sit on my face.”

you blink. “huh?”

he grabs your thigh, his eyes heavy, dark. “i said sit. on my face.”

and it’s the way he says it—slow, deep, like a promise—that makes your body move before your brain catches up. you straddle his chest, easing up closer, still hovering a little because you’re shy and cute and trying to keep your dignity—please. he pulls you down like he paid for it.

and then… he starts.

no easing into it. just full-on, filthy head. tongue all up in it, lips wrapped tight around your clit like it’s his. and it is. the first suck alone knocks the breath out of you. he moans into it, like he missed this. like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing on the menu. it’s wet, it’s messy, it’s obscene.

he’s slurping.

loud. sloppy. disrespectful. your thighs are already trembling and it’s been, what—two minutes? you try to lift off a little, overwhelmed, and he grips your ass to pull you right back down. like no, we’re not done here.

you’re holding onto the headboard, the sheets, nothing. your moans are borderline cries at this point. every flick of his tongue, every suck of that sensitive spot—your body jerks like electricity’s running through it. he’s locked in. like he wants you to suffocate him.

and he’s not just eating it. he’s feasting.

his face is coated. your thighs are soaked. and every time you grind, his tongue meets you halfway like it’s tryna follow you inside your own damn body. and the way he keeps going, like he enjoys watching you fall apart like this, it’s almost too much. almost.

“fuck—baby—why are you eating her like that…” you whimper.

he spanks your ass, firm and fast. “shut up.”

your whole spine shivers.

you can’t even hold it in anymore—you’re creaming all over his face, moaning like it’s the only language you know. your hips start moving on their own. and he loves that. groaning into your pussy, eating you through every twitch and gasp like it’s his life’s purpose. he licks up the middle one more time and sucks that clit like it’s something sweet, and baby—you break.

your head falls back, body jerking, voice high and shaking. he holds you there. lets you ride it out. doesn’t stop until your body gives up and your legs collapse over his shoulders. and even then, he kisses it soft like a thank-you.

and when you look down at him—glossy, breathless, soaked from the nose down?

he smiles.

and you know he’s not even close to done.

you don’t even know how you ended up on all fours. one second you were laying pretty, catching your breath, and now? you’re ass-up, face-down, pillow gripped.

and he’s behind you—calm, slow, smug. rubbing his tip right between your folds like he’s got all the time in the world. not putting it in. just there. tracing the same path over and over, watching you twitch, watching you wait.

“please…” you whisper.

he leans down and licks up your spine. slow. nasty. from your lower back to your shoulder. his voice is low, right in your ear. “what was that?”

you bury your face in the sheets. “put it in.”

he drags it along your slit one more time—just to be a menace.

“say it properly.”

your whole body’s burning. you can feel him, hard and ready and right there, but he won’t move until you say it. and you do. because you’re desperate now. “please fuck me.”

and that’s all it takes.

he grips your hips. spits on it once. then pushes in with one deep, slow stroke—so deep your mouth falls open. you don’t even moan at first. just air. heat. stretch. full.

then the moan comes.

and once he bottoms out? it’s over.

the pace starts slow—teasing, smooth, a little too gentle for the way you’re clenching. but that doesn’t last. he grabs your hips tighter, adjusts his stance, and starts fucking you.

loud. deep. steady. clap. clap. clap.

you’re losing it. you’re moaning, whining, trying to move your hips faster but he’s controlling the rhythm. one strong hand on your waist, the other smacking your ass with no warning. your eyes roll back, your toes curl, and you swear you almost come just from the sound of it.

your body starts pushing back, chasing the feeling. you arch more, throw it harder—but he grabs your arm and twists it behind your back like nah, baby. i’m driving.

“stay still,” he pants. “take this dick.”

you whimper into the sheets. “i’m trying…”

he laughs, low and breathless. “you’re not. but you will.”

and he goes deeper.

hips snapping, abs flexed, dragging that dick all the way out and then slamming it back in, so hard it knocks the breath out of you. your whole body jolts with every thrust. he’s got your arm pinned behind you, your back arched, your ass bouncing against his thighs, and all you can do is take it.

your moans are high now. desperate. fucked-out. that pressure’s building fast, and he knows it.

“don’t run,” he grits. “stay right here.”

you’re not even running—you’re breaking.

your legs shake, your pussy clenches, and then you’re cumming, loud and messy, gasping like the air got stolen from your lungs. your whole body spasms, walls gripping him tight, and he groans loud behind you.

“fuck—just like that…”

and then he’s cumming too. deep inside. hips pressed against you. spilling all that heat while he stays buried in it. he pants against your back, still holding your arm behind you.

and when he finally pulls out?

you collapse. absolutely ruined.

he smacks your ass one more time, proud. “good girl.”

he gets up like nothing just happened. like he didn’t just fold you like a damn beach chair.

he goes to the bathroom, turns on the light, and comes back with your shower cap. your shower cap. and he puts it on your head so gently you almost cry, even though you’re still literally twitching on the bed like your soul hasn’t fully returned yet.

“come on, baby,” he murmurs, checking the water with his hand. “it’s warm.”

sir. YOU did this. why are you acting like a caregiver now.

when the temperature’s right, he picks you up like you weigh nothing and carries you into the shower. you cling to him because your legs? absolutely not functioning.

you both shower together, steam everywhere, and he’s washing you so soft, following your routine perfectly like he’s rehearsed it. your favorite body wash—he knows the order by heart.

meanwhile your mind is just screaming:

he fucked me.

he actually folded me.

is this how he’s gonna be when we’re married??

you’re excited but also lowkey terrified. like are you gonna survive matrimony or nah.

he turns you around, washing the front of your body now, slow and careful, before he wraps his hand around your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

you giggle into his mouth because why is he being sweet NOW. five minutes ago he was trying to put you through the mattress.

he keeps washing you, taking his time, and when you try to help wash him he literally smacks your hand away.

“i got it,” he says, like he didn’t just assault you with affection AND destruction.

rude.

eventually you’re both done. you dry off, lotion up, get dressed—while he sits there watching you the entire time like you’re a movie he paid premium to see. the man does not blink.

when you’re finished, you both go outside to the hammock overlooking the beach. the sky’s all soft and golden, waves quiet, breeze perfect. finally peaceful.

eren grabs your hand, running his thumb over your ring before kissing it.

“can’t wait to marry you,” he says, voice low.

your heart does a stupid flip. “me too.”

he smirks. you already know something insane is about to leave his mouth.

“you ready to have your back blown every day?”

“EREN.” you whip your head toward him like he’s lost his damn mind.

“what?” he shrugs. “i’m not lying.”

you glare at him but your face is hot.

then he looks at you softer, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“i love you,” he says.

you melt instantly. “i love you.”

he leans in, gives you a tiny kiss, then pulls you into his chest. the two of you sway gently in the hammock, warm, calm, just breathing together while the ocean hums in the background.

quiet. peaceful. soft.