#female reader

It was a low bar. You just had to not egg him on like Butcher, or try to give him a free, unlicensed therapy session like Hughie. You just sat there, and glowered while he grinned, and everyone said you had Soldier Boy on a leash.  

“What’s wrong with you,” you hiss during the meeting, and Ben shoots you a sideways glare.

He still doesn’t say anything. When you poke his arm, he recoils, flinching as if he’d been shot.

That’s what makes you freeze.

Ben doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t wince, and he doesn’t whine or bitch or moan. You’ve seen a rocket launcher slam into his chest, and he’d roared like an animal before throwing the thing back at the shooter. You’ve poked and slapped him almost every day for the past year. He’s only ever looked down at you with raised brows and a smirk, like you were a misbehaving bunny trying to eat his socks.

But this time, his eyes are black, and his brow is knit. There’s a tension in his jaw that makes your breath hitch, and his nostrils flare. The table whines under his grip. You’re rooted to your chair, unable to rip your gaze away. He grunts your name, low and rough, and you’re suddenly all too aware of it. The space between your bodies. Your knees aren’t pressed together under the table. His fingers aren’t grazing your arm every few moments, like they have every single day since Butcher tossed you into his den and told you to keep the old man from blowin’ something up.

There’s a heat radiating from his body that makes your head spin. It’s not the radiation or the bomb. His eyes aren’t empty and there’s no glow coming from his chest.

Ben runs warm. You’re more aware of it than he’s ever going to get to know. Ben’s always made of the kind of heat that pools between your thighs and makes your heart skip, even when you’re shoving his chest and flipping him off.

But this.

This feels like a fever.

Soldier Boy isn’t supposed to be able to get a fucking fever.

You open your mouth to ask what’s wrong again. Ben looks away, and leans back in his chair. His body is angled away from yours. Your feet bump, and he jerks away with a low, almost feral sound. You swallow, a bile rising from the back of your throat. He’s never passed up a chance to touch you.  

Through the entire debrief, there wasn’t one word. He grunted in response to questions.  Not an insult or crude joke, not a brag or boast about how much they’d needed him, not even an attempt to get into your pants. He’d sat, stiff and silent, then left the moment Butcher waved for everyone to fuck off.

You watch him go, your hands clasped under the table, worrying at the cuffs of your sleeves. You’re not worried about him. You don’t get worried about him. He’s an old ass with a pretty face, who spends more time trying to make you spread your legs than listening to plans for missions. But there’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, and it feels like a ship, rocking back and forth in a storm.

“Butcher?” You call, still watching the door Ben vanished through.

Butcher turns back to the table with a groan, glaring at you in your chair. “Fuckin’- I was about to go get Waffle House, love, so if you’ll excuse me-“

“What happened?”

“What-“ Butcher cuts himself off, running a hand down his face. “You mean on that mission Ijust fuckin’ debriefed-“

“No, I mean with Soldier Boy-“

“Ah, your sweet lil Ben-“

“No- I mean- He’s not-“ You shake your head. “Butcher, I’m fucking serious, he’s being- He was quiet.”

Butcher shrugs. “So? Far as I can see, he’s learnin’ how to be a good boy.”

“But he’s not,” you say flatly. “He’s not a good boy, and- You fucking know that.”

“Maybe. But I don’t go ‘round lookin’ for holes in good things, Love-“

“Oh, fuck off, that’s all you do-“

“Well, I’m a changed man.” Butcher gives you a lazy grin. “You got anything else for me? Gonna whine about grandpa actin’ too polite?”

You narrow your eye, holding Butcher’s stare. His tone is indifferent. His posture is bored. “You know I’m right about this,” you say, cold and quiet. “Don’t try and- And fucking dance around this. Ben’s acting weird, and-“

“Ben,” Butcher coos, and you snap your mouth shut. “Ain’t that sweet-“

“Butcher, I swear to fucking God-“

“What? You’re gonna tattle on me to your Ben-“

You shoot to your feet. “I am worried about the safety of our team, you dipshit-“

“Then go talk to your sweet Benny Boo, and maybe he’ll let you tickle his balls for an answer-“

The door slams open, and you and Butcher both freeze.

You’ve never found Ben as scary as you maybe should. He’s all muscle and talk and bite, but the teeth don’t seem sharp when they’ve only ever been bared for you. He tells you he’s a breathing fucking weapon, so you should watch your mouth. You ask him why you should bother, when he’s watching it for you. He laughs in that way that only you ever get to hear, and tosses his arm around you on the couch. Not a danger. A mountain of a man, that you know better than to try and topple with nothing more than moral hands.  

A mountain that you’re used to bowing down to your height. That usually looks at everyone else like he’s measuring the minimum amount of effort he can use to crush their skull, right before offering you a hand to climb. When you take it, his lips twitch. When you tell him you don’t need help, he stares at you like he’s still learning how to look.

You know what the team says about you. What they think about the peace you’ve found with Ben, and the way it lingers around him whenever you’re near. But that’s really all it is. An understanding. Something close to friendship that you’re not brave enough to name. You think about him in the dark. He tries to fuck you, and you turn him down because you know.

It would be easier to fall for him that it should be. Whatever things are broken inside of you, he’s made of a kind of gold that pours into the cracks and makes them shine. But it’s fool’s gold. It would crack under pressure, leaving you more hollow than before. He’s not the kind of man that would want to build something. You only want to build something. And so he gets nothing, and you remain empty in a way that still lets your heart beat.

And you never fear Ben.

Not until he’s looming in the doorway, glaring between you and Butcher with a white-knuckle grip on the door and a glint in his eyes.

Butcher takes a small step back. You can’t move. Ben makes a low, rumbling sound from his chest, and the air suddenly feels hot and wet. No one dares to move.

“Ben,” you breathe, and his gaze snaps to yours. “Wha- Are you okay-“

He vanishes. You feel the floor rumble, as he stomps away, leaving you and Butcher frozen in the room. You turn slowly, glaring at Butcher. He throws you a winning grin, and slips out the door before you can ask if that seemed normal. Your fingers curl on the table.

Something’s going on, and you’re going to figure out what the fuck it is.

In the days after the meeting, Ben seems to almost get better. He speaks again. He walks around and jokes and smokes on the couch like everything is normal. Butcher acts like nothing happened, but you catch MM and Hughie giving him cautious looks. Annie and Kimiko are hanging around you more, and Ben seems angrier about it than usual.

“I think we need a new dryer,” you mutter one morning, sighing when Hughie gives you a curious look. “It’s eating my underwear.”

“Eating your- What?”

“My underwear. Like- How washers eat socks.” You frown at your cereal, poking it with your spoon. “It’s all going missing, I think it’s the dryer-“

“The fuck is wrong with the dryer,” Ben grunts, dropping next to you at the table.

“She thinks it’s eating her underwear,” Hughie mumbles, watching you nervously. “Are you sure you’re not just like- Dropping it in the hall or something?”

“Yes, I- I’ve even gone back and checked, it’s all just- It’s getting eaten, I swear-“

“Well- Um-“ Hughie glances at Ben. “Has your underwear been eaten?”

“Fuck no,” Ben grunts, and you sigh.

“He doesn’t believe in the dryer.”

Hughie blinks. “What- What do you mean, doesn’t believe in it?”

“Too many fucking buttons,” Ben grumbles. “Never trust a fucking robot to do what you can do with your goddamn hands. I wash my shit in the sink.”

“Mhm,” you smile at your coffee. “And then I wash it with the machine.”

Ben glares at you. You smile in return, and his mouth twitches. You expect a smart little comment about whatever gets you touching his boxers. Instead his eyes dart to your cereal, then your mouth.

“What-“

“You’re not eating.”

You blink. “I- I was talking to Hughie-“

“Why.”

“Because- My underwear- And-“ You swallow. The room is getting hot again. Ben’s glare is almost like a laser, driving into your body. “Ben, I’m going to eat-“

He grunts, and pushes the food closer to your body. He doesn’t look satisfied until you’ve cleared the bowl. You glance at Hughie, who seems just as lost as you do.

“Um- The dryer-“

“I’ll look at it,” Ben stands up, his own coffee and bacon completely ignored. You and Hughie exchange another look.

“Ben,” you say gently. “You- You can’t even turn it on-“

“It’s just fucking buttons, I’ll figure it out-“

“But- Ben-“

He’s already walking away. You chase after him, and barely manage to stop him from ripping up the whole laundry room. You’re not sure if this is part of it. You’re not really sure of anything right now, except odd looks behind your back, and your increasingly declining supply of underwear.

You keep an eye on him, closer than you have to. You don’t want him exploding, or going feral, or getting sick. If he gets sick, you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with it.

If he gets sick, you’re going to have to watch him get pale and small, and the thought makes your gut turn into a tight, strangling fist that reaches your throat. You spend the night curled up, staring at the ceiling. You walk to Ben’s room and linger outside the door, then shake yourself and go back to your room. You’re not some foolish, doting nurse. You’re his friend, and he’s a grown man who can take care of himself.

“Are you feeling okay?” You ask him in the morning, because you can’t help it.

Ben laughs, rich and deep. “Feel like a million fucking dollars, doll.”

“Hm,” peer at him on the couch. He’s relaxed. The color on his face is back to normal, and his thigh is pressed against yours easily. Ben catches your gaze, and smirks.

“You got something you wanna say to me?”

“No,” you say quickly, and Ben laughs.

“You gonna take my fucking temperature? Ask about my sleep and my fucking smoking habits?”

Your nose twitches. “No, I’m just- You had a fever yesterday-“

Ben cuts you off with a grunt. “I don’t get fucking fevers.”

“You were sweating, Benjamin-“

“Room was hot,” he grumbles. “Don’t lose your damn head about it.”

You scowl, moving up to your knees. “I’m not- You were acting weird,” you hiss. “You weren’t talking, and you- You didn’t touch me once-“

You cut yourself off, face flooding with heat, and Ben’s smile becomes wolfish.

“Oh,” he drawls, turning in his seat. “You missed me touchin’ you?”

“I- That’s not what I said-“

“Isn’t it?” He leans forward, fingers brushing near the top of your thigh. “You want my touch, sweetheart, all you have to do is say please.”

You narrow your eyes, tipping your chin up like it can defend you. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t you want to,” he teases, and your jaw drops.

“I- You’re fucking- I hate you.”

He laughs. His fingers trace the hem of your shorts. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re a shit fuckin’ liar-“

“You’re a shit fucking liar.” You spit, hoping he buys the false venom in your voice. “You were sick, Benjamin.”

Ben shrugs. “And you’re givin’ me the sex look.”

Goddamn him. Every, massive, cocky inch of him, and how you can’t seem to figure out how to stop him from affecting you. “I- I am not- There’s no- No-“ You look around the room, leaning forward to hiss low enough no one will hear. “There’s no fucking sex look.”

Ben hums, looking you up and down with that dragging gaze. The one that makes your body hum in excitement, that feels like more pressure than any other man’s hands.

“Stop doing that,” you snap, and he laughs.

“You’re real mouthy this morning, aren’t you.”

You scowl, sinking back into the cushions. “I’m hungry.”

Ben goes rigid. His hand fists on his knee, and his eyes lock on yours with that gleam again. You blink, leaning slightly back. Ben’s mouth presses in a thin line, and a low grumble rolls from his chest.

“Wha- What-“

He stands up, and marches away. You don’t move, too confused to remember how. Things hadn’t been back to normal, but they’d been a stilted version of it. Then he’s gone again, leaving you with too many fucking questions and an empty couch.

You’re seconds away from following him, when he stomps back into the room with a scowl.

“Ben, what’s- Shit-“

He tosses an apple straight into your lap. You fumble with it for a second, trying to figure out if a secret code or something, then look up at him with an openly confused expression.

“I- Um-“

“Eat that,” he grunts.

You blink. “What?”

“You said you’re fucking hungry, didn’t you?” He snaps, jerking his head to the apple. “Eat.”

You stare at each other for a long moment. The apple feels heavier than diamond in your hand, but Ben’s gaze is a burning, impossible pressure. It presses down against your core and makes your thighs ache. His eyes have gone almost wholly black. He’s back to that predatory stillness. You look at the apple, then him, and slowly raise it to your mouth.

Ben watches you take a large bite, and hums in satisfaction. You chew, and his eyes gleam. A little juice dribbles down your chin, and your tongue swipes out to catch it on instinct.

He moves back. You sit up, the apple tight in your fist, and Ben stumbles backwards like you’d punched him.

“Ben, what the fuck-“

He marches away again. You’re alone again, this time with an apple instead of Butcher.

At least the apple is less judgmental, while still offering the exact same amount of answers. You stare at it for twenty minutes, before you move. Ben doesn’t come out of his room for hours, and when he does, he won’t even look at you.

And that heat. The air-waving, mouth-watering heat is back, rolling off of him like an approaching storm. No one else seems to notice it. You’d think you were going insane, if you didn’t still have that apple, tight in your fist.

“You didn’t finish it,” Ben grunts from behind you, and you yelp in surprise.

“Jesus fucking- Ben-“

You whirl around, and cut yourself off. He’s right behind you. His legs are pressed to yours, his arms braced at his side, the weight of him almost locking you against the counter. Your hold on the apple goes slack, and it thuds to the floor. Ben’s glare deepens. His brow is beaded with sweat again.

“Hi,” you breathe, and he grunts.

“You were supposed to eat the fucking apple.”

“I- I had eggs,” you say, and Ben’s jaw locks.

He takes a long breath through his nose, leaning further down. This is the kind of thing that should make you want to run. It doesn’t.

“Who the fuck made you eggs,” Ben growls, and you blink.

“Me? I- I mean- I made me eggs- And- Um-“ You scan over his red face, his black eyes, and God, all that heat is so intoxicating you might be getting dizzy. “Be- Ben?”

He grunts your name. His arms brace on either side of your body. You might be about to melt.

“Can I please check your temperature?” You whisper. “I’m getting really worried. About-“ You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and forcing the words out. “About you.”

Ben doesn’t answer. You don’t dare to look. There’s something hard and thick, poking into your upper thigh. You grab Ben’s forearm for balance, and a low, dangerous sound rumbles from his chest.

Then, suddenly, the weight of him is gone. And when you open you’re eyes, it’s almost like he was never there at all.

Hughie coughs from the dining table, and you blink at him. You hadn’t even realized he was there.

“What- What the hell was that?”

You shake your head, staring blankly ahead at the wall. “I- I don’t-“ You cut yourself off, then look back to Hughie. “You were on the mission.”

Hughie swallows. “I- Um-“

“Hughie-“

“What mission?” He says, moving to his feet. “I mean- We go on so many, it’s easy to lose track-“

You block his path out of the kitchen, and he swallows.

“Please don’t-“

“Sit,” you point back to his chair, and he obeys.

“I- I really- I think Annie’s calling me-“

“Talk,” you hiss, and Hughie swallows. “Now.”

Ben got hit with a chemical. Hughie doesn’t know what—none of them do—but you’ve got a theory.

It’s a fragile thing. The way he’s acting, how you could possibly deal with it. You walk into the kitchen in the morning and find that he’s made you eggs. The plate gets shoved towards you with a grunt. Ben doesn’t stop staring until you’ve eaten every last bite, and then he stomps away without another word. You do your laundry and catch him staring at your clothing with twitching hands. You shower that night and open the door to find him standing in the hall, his whole body tense and his mouth hanging open.

“Ben,” you say gently, and he takes another one of those stumbling steps back.

You sigh, as he vanishes down the hallway. He hasn’t had a normal conversation with you in three days. The last time you bothered to try, he’d pinned you down on the couch and stared until you whispered his name, and he ran again.

He spends most days locked in his room. He comes out to make sure you’ve eaten or follow you to the grocery store, pressing behind you in the milk aisle and glaring at anyone who comes too close.

“Do you want anything?” You ask him softly before you go to checkout, and he just stares at you. Some days he’s not even talking anymore. Last night Annie tried to walk past you both on the couch, and he snarled like a dog.

He leans down until his nose is pressed to your hairline. His lips drag over your brow, and you stare up at him, trying not to let your heart burst out of your chest. He inhales deeply, and a low rumble rolls through his chest. His hand finds your waist, massaging and kneading at the skin.

Your gaze drops down, and there it is again. The outline of his cock, tenting in his jeans. You bite the inside of your mouth. Your knees wobble, and your hand flies to Ben’s shoulder. He’s burning up, skin searing even through his shirt.

He yanks back again, eyes black and chest heaving. You sigh, and turn back to the grocery cart. You’re too used to it now. It makes you worry more.

You try to get a straight answer out of Butcher that night. It’s somehow more useless than last time.

“I know Hughie blabbed, ain’t no reason in tryin’ to talk to me-“

“You know what’s wrong with him,” you hiss, and Butcher shrugs.

“Maybe. Gonna make any fuckin’ difference to what you’re doin’?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m fucking asking-“

“Oh, like you ain’t figured it out yourself.”

You glare at him. He smirks back, challenge lining every inch of his expression.

“You gonna go put your money where your mouth is, doll?” Butcher mocks. “Or just keep whinin’ around about it?”

And you don’t have an answer. Because he’s right. You figured it out when Ben snarled at MM for offering you a cup of coffee, a boner pressing through his sweats that everyone pretended to ignore. It would take a true idiot, to not be able to figure it out.

“When did you know,” you mumble, leaning back against the counter. Butcher shrugs, watching you carefully.

“Moment it hit the fucker.”

“Where you there-“

“I was the only cunt in the room.” Butcher shudders. “He started moanin’ and gettin’ hard, it was the most disgustin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

You sigh, giving him an unimpressed look, and Butcher smirks.

“He was cryin’ for you, love. Almost had to put him back under to stop him just sprintin’ back to the house to take you. Like a fuckin’ dog.”

You blink. Your heart does a little flip that you refuse to acknowledge. “He hasn’t touched me-“

“Don’t know why,” Butcher mutters. “I thought I was gonna follow him inside and find him- Well, you know.” He winks, and you narrow your eyes.

“But he hasn’t. Which-“ You swallow, looking up to the ceiling and biting your tongue.

It’s fine. It’s fine if it’s not you he wants to do this with. Probably for the better. It helps you cling to that last shred of dignity. The sliver of an illusion, that you don’t think about him more than you think about yourself,.

“Do we think this- Can it hurt him?” Your voice is smaller than you want it to be. Butcher just shrugs.

“Ain’t gonna kill him. Probably hurts.” His lip curls. “Permanent fuckin’ blue balls. Hell don’t go deep enough.”

You sigh. “Well, what if we hire him like- a hooker-“

“Tried that,” Butcher dismisses. “Almost got punched through a damn wall.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “What? That’s- Ben wouldn’t turn down a hooker-“

“He did,” Butcher gives you a pointed look. “And it ain’t a hooker he’s makin’ eggs for, genius.”

You blink at him. “No, that’s- That isn’t part of it-“

“You willin’ to bet his life on that?”

And you aren’t. You’re not willing to bet anything. Because it hasn’t just been boners and staring. Ben’s been feeding you, following you like all illusion of not being your personal guard doesn’t matter anymore, refusing to let you do anything that might get you hurt.

“But- If it’s just a sex chemical,” you say slowly, and he cuts you off with a raised hand.

“I ain’t holdin’ your hand through this,” he says. “You talk to him yourself, and-“ He looks you up and down, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Bring protection. We don’t need soldier tots runnin’ around the house now, do we.”

“Butcher-“

“Not just a sex chemical,” he shrugs. “And you know it.”

You do. You wish you didn’t but you do.

A sex chemical would be easier. You could climb into bed with Ben, get railed into oblivion, then collect your heart off the floor and move on. But this is more. This is possessive and targeted and that means something. Something you don’t want to know. Something you have to know.

Butcher leaves you in the kitchen to collect yourself. You close your eyes, and try to control your breath, but it’s useless against your pounding heart. He turned down hookers. He moaned your name.

If this means nothing, you’re going to fucking kill him.

If it means something, you’re ready to deal with it. You don’t think you really have any other choice.

“Ben?” You knock on the door once, forcing your voice to steady. “Ben, can you please- We need to talk.”

He doesn’t answer. You weren’t expecting him to. The knock was more of a polite courtesy, then a question. You steel yourself, holding the doorknob with shaking fingers, and push into his room.

You barely make it a step inside, before all the will is knocked out of your body. It’s as if you walked into a wet dream. One of the private, dirtiest ones that make you wake up with the sheets bunched between your legs, that make reality feel like a slap to the face.

The room reeks of sex. Salty and heady, sweat and something rich that just smells like Ben. The sheets have been ripped and tangled on the floor, the pillows tossed off the unimportant corners of the room with piles of boxer and shirt and panties.

Your panties.

Ben sits, silent and dark-eyed on the bed, completely naked. One hand is fisting on of your panties, the other is wrapped tight around his thick, red cock. It’s veiny and so big it makes you sore just to look at. It throbs in his grip, and your cunt pulses in return. White pre-cum leaking from under his thumb, and his balls sit heavy between his thighs.

Your tongue darts out over your lips, and you force your gaze to drag up. Ben’s staring at you with a vein in his brow and that same burning intensity. The heat lingers in the air, humid and electric. Sweat falls from his neck, over his broad, flushed chest. His thighs are locked, his lips parted and eyes narrowed. 

You glance back to the panties in his hand and swallow. You suppose, at the very least, you were right.

“I lost those,” you breathe, and Ben grunts.

“I’ll give ‘em back later.”

You blink, then glance at the pile in the corner of the room. Ben doesn’t look away from you for a second, and a low chuckle rumbles from his chest. It sends a thrill up your spine, and you have to lean back against the door to stay upright.

“You here just to collect your panties, doll?”

You shake your head, looking back to him hopelessly. You’d had a whole speech, about how he needed you to fix this, how you knew it must hurt, how if he asks nicely, you’ll let him take what he wants. It’s misting into thin air, with every thin, fraying thread that had been holding your dignity. Ben doesn’t make it easy. His gaze rakes over your body, a strange, blurred line between worship and hunger etched over his handsome features.

You don’t know how you’re supposed to pretend like this. With all of him at your fingertips, only a few steps away. You’d prepared yourself to be a toy, but you’re a lamb to slaughter. An offering to a god who won’t take anything else, who holds your sanity like a delicate bird in his rough hands. He could destroy you, and you’re going to thank him. He could recreate you, and you’d never know a better blessing.

Ben leans back, something iron lining his words. “You should go.”

You shake your head, and his jaw ticks.

“Go.”

There’s a low, deep command in the word. You almost obey.

“Those are mine,” you breathe, nodding to the panties, and Ben sighs.

“Fuckin’ Christ- Go-“

“Why are they mine?”

The question is soft. You know he hears it, because he goes quiet again. You stare at each other for another long moment, and you take the smallest step forward. A low groan pulls from Ben’s throat. Your knees almost buckle.

“Don’t,” he gives you a look like it’s a command, but there’s something thinner under the word. Something soft.

“I- I know about the chemical,” you whisper, and Ben’s throat bobs. “You could’ve asked-“

“Ask what? For you to suck my cock? Like some limp-dick pussy who can’t handle his booze?”

Your lips twitch. “Your dick isn’t limp.”

Ben gapes at you. His cock jumps in his hand, and you take another step.

“You’re- Fucking unbelievable,” he grunts, and you laugh. “This shit ain’t funny, doll-“

“It’s a little funny,” you murmur, stopping right above him.

No part of you is touching. Every inch feels gravitational. He has to be the one to crash first.

“You turned down hookers for me,” you whisper, and Ben scowls.

“It doesn’t want hookers.”

You glance at his cock, then his tight face. “What does it want?”

He glares. You don’t back down. You never have before, and you’re not about to start now.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease-“

“Don’t be a dick,” you lean down. Ben’s legs part to make room for you. It’s an effort, not to just touch him. “What does it want, Ben.”

What do you want.

He hears the invisible question. His jaw works, and his eyes drop to your lips.

“I’ll fuckin’ break you,” he rasps, and you smile.

“No,” you say. “You like me too much.”

Ben’s gaze rips back up. You raise your brows, daring him to do it. To say it. To put you both out of your misery.

A low growl rips through his chest. “Go. Now.”

You don’t move, and watch as the last line of Ben’s control snaps.

He grabs you by the waist and drags you fully into his lap. You gasp as his lips smash against yours, the kiss rough and demanding. There’s so part of you that isn’t consumed by it, that doesn’t mold into his touch. Your legs spread so you can straddle his lap, and Ben grabs your ass with a grunt, forcing you up so his cock is pressed against your clothed cunt. You moan against his lips, and he presses his tongue into your mouth.

“Be- Ben-“ Your nails scrape at his shoulders, and he squeezes your ass with a grunt. “Fuck- Ben-“

“Already whining,” he mutters, dragging his free hand up to rest on the back of your neck. “Barely fuckin’ touched you are you’re already sayin’ my name like I fucked you.”

Your face burns, and Ben weaves his hand through your hair, gathering it in on fist and pushing it down to deepen the kiss. You almost don’t know what to do with yourself. His touch is hot and possessive, sending shivers through your whole body. His cock rubs against your underwear with every shift, and the pressure makes your legs spread wider. You start to grind down to chase the friction, and Ben moans, deep and low.

“That’s it,” he grunts, massaging your ass with shockingly gentle hands. “That’s a good girl. Show me what you’ve got, doll, prove that you’re gonna take this cock for me.”

You try to drag him closer, but he’s immovable. When you push, his hand moves from your ass to your lower back, pushing down so you can feel every inch of his dick, rubbing between your thighs. You make a strangled noise, and Ben chuckles. It’s an even rougher sound than before. His mouth has started to wander over your cheeks and jaw, pressing open, sloppy, kisses everywhere he can reach.

It’s almost like you’re being seduced into the same, sex-focused daze that’s taken a hold of him. The kisses light undying fires over your skin, spreading and spreading until you think you’ll die if he moves away. Ben’s started to lose focus himself, pawing at your ass like an animal and growling against your skin.

“Bennn,” you moan as his fingers graze on your inner thigh, turning your face to bury in his neck. “Mmmm- Ben- M- More-“

He growls again, and his hips slam up. It knocks the air from your lungs, and he’s not even inside you. Your arms wrap around his neck, trying to hold on as he starts to rut against your core, broken, desperate sounds falling from his lips.

You manage to lean back to look at him, and he’s thoroughly wrecked. He grabs your jaw, still rutting, and you try to smile. His nostrils flare and he kisses you again, the fervor only seeming to build as he chases his own orgasm. You hum against his lips, trying to make yourself pliant and soft, easy for him to use.

“Smell good,” he rasps against your skin, beard tickling against your neck. “Always smell so- So fuckin’ good-“

He cuts himself off with another groan, his cock twitching between your thighs. He shoves you further down, rocking his hips back and forth as he keeps trying to get there against your body.

“Gonna wreck you,” he mutters, mouthing at a pulse point. “Fuck you ‘till you can’t walk, fuck you stupid, fuck you mine.”

You moan happily, dragging your hands down his bare, thick back. The muscles ripple under your touch, and Ben moans like that touch is almost enough to set him off. You kiss over his cheekbone and beard, along his jaw, and slowly guide his mouth back to yours. He lets you lead this kiss, mindlessly focused on trying to fuck himself against your body. He’s panting so hard you’d be worried about anyone else. 

He groans against your lips, clawing at your clothing with blunt nails. “Off- Get- Fuck- Get this shit off-“

He whines like a dog when you push on his chest, and you expect him not to let you up, but his grip loosens. You smile down at him, moving back to your feet, and he stares at you with a slack jaw.

“Get back here,” he growls, one hand still splayed on the back of your thigh. “Now.”

“I’m helping you,” you tease, slowly pulling down your shorts. “Say please.”

Ben’s eyes flash, and his jaw locks. You know he won’t beg. You don’t really want him to. This—the undivided, adoring attention, the way he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing he could ever possibly want in the world, when he’s spent a century of life indulging in sweet things and easier desires—is more than enough.

You sink to your knees, and he lets you. That hand on your thigh drags up to fist back in your hair, and he goes back to that predatory stillness as you rub his thighs with light hands.

“I ain’t beggin’,” he grunts, and you hum, letting your fingers brush against the base of his cock.

Ben’s hips jerk up, a moan ripping from his chest. You giggle, guiding his hand away, and he glares at you under hooded eyes.

“Something fuckin’ funny?”

“Mmm,” you shrug, wrapping your hand around his cock, and god, he’s even bigger than he looks. “I’m just… Learning.”

“Learning,” Ben echoes, the awe pushed through gritted teeth. “Jesus fuckin’- Christ-“

You lick a long, slow stripe up the length of Ben’s cock, and he tosses his head back like he’s praying.

“Holy- Fuckin’ hell-“ He tugs at your hair without actually trying to move it, biceps bulging as he tries not to overtake your mouth. “You’re- warm-“

You giggle again, pumping your fist as you kiss the tip. Ben makes a low, sinful sound, his free hand fisting at the sheets. You’ve never seen him in such control of himself. A living god that could skullfuck you until you sobbed, trying to let you lead your way. You think it’s something in the way he’s holding you like you’re made of lace instead of silicone. It makes an unbearable ache return to your core.

You take Ben in your mouth until he bumps against the back of your throat, and he groans your name so loud it must echo through the city. You work what you can’t fit in your mouth, sucking on his cock like it’s candy.

“Fuckin’- You can suck some fuckin’ cock, doll-“ He chokes out, hips bucking when you squeeze him near the base. “Best mouth I’ve ever felt- Son of a-“

His words turn to moans, and you look up at him under your lashes. He’s leaning back with a glazed eyes and veins pushing at his neck. His shoulders are tense, his abdomen flexing, and you can’t control your own hips as they start to chase relief against the air. Ben catches the movement, watching it as if he’s under a spell. His cock is heavy and pulsing in his mouth, and it just makes your cunt ache more, imagining the weight of him buried inside of you.

“Jesus, you’re a needy thing,” he mutters, his thumb dragging over the soft skin behind your ear. “You fuckin’ like this? Like choking on some proper dick?”

You whine, eyes rolling back as he presses back against your throat. You press your shoulder forward, forcing your tits further up for him to see. Ben jaw clenches, and you feel him try to not move. His pre-cum is getting thicker, and who knows how long he’d been going before you.

“Ben,” you pull off for a split second, dropping your hand to massage his balls as you kiss over the head of his dick. “Please.”

You drop back down, and he understands in a second. He uses you like a toy, pulling your head up before slamming it back down. You make your jaw slack, moaning around him with every single thrust. Your eyes roll back in your head, and the need builds and builds between your thighs.

You drag you’re hips forward shamelessly, grabbing Ben’s leg and angling your clit to rub against whatever it can reach. Ben groans at the sight, and the sound just floods between your legs.

“Shit, I can feel how fuckin’ wet you are,” he growls, and you whimper, watching him under glossy lashes. “Shit- Lookin’ at me like that, gonna make me-“

You moan eagerly, and Ben’s control snaps again.

It’s fun to see the edges of it. How the pit of his restraint is far deeper than you would’ve imagined a week ago. He tries to drag you off his cock as he cums, but you push yourself back down. It comes in thick, sticky ropes, shooting down your throat until you’re gagging and almost unable to breathe. You try to swallow, but there’s so much it falls out of your mouth like drool, dripping down your cheeks and onto your breasts.

“Jesus, thought you were gonna drown in it,” Ben pulls your dazed head off, grinning down at you. “Look at you, baby. Little fuckin’ trooper.”

You blink at him, still trying to lick the remains off your lips. You glance down to his cock, and it’s still hard. How the fuck is it still hard.

“Hasn’t been goin’ down since that shit hit me,” Ben mutters, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “Needs it’s pussy.”

“It’s pussy?” You breathe out, and Ben sighs.

“Your pussy,” he mutters. “Needs you, smartass.”

“It needs me?”

You give him your best innocent look. He glares at you, and you just tilt your head, smiling like you’re made of honey. You sort of feel like you are. You’ve never been this gooey, just from sucking a guy off. You’ve never even liked sucking someone off.

But this is Ben. Rough everywhere, but made of tiny divets that go soft when pressed. The kind of man you can crawl into and never have a harsh hand find your body again.

He swallows, his thumb lingering on your lips. You kiss the pad of it, then the knuckle, before slowly wrapping your lips around him and sucking. Ben’s cock twitches, somehow getting harder. You don’t think you’re ever going to walk again.

Worth it.

“I need you,” he rasps, pulling his thumb away. “Feet. Now.”

He taps your nose, and you scramble up. You’ll fight him tooth and dirt when he’s fighting back. When he’s not, you can’t think of a single reason to deny him a thing.

Ben grabs the back of your thigh again, watching you with an expectant glint in his eyes. You swallow and pull your shorts down, trying not to fall over when he stares at your core like you’re showing him a treasure. His fingers dig into soft skin, and his free hand wraps around his cock, pumping slowly as you continue to strip in front of him.

You peel off your shirt, and Ben’s tongue darts over his lips. His grip on your thigh tightens, and he slowly coaxes you forward. You rest your hands on his shoulders, shoving down the bubbling, electric nerves in your chest.

“Ben,” you whisper, and he hums, dragging a massive, rough hand up your side. “E- Easy-“

“Oh, doll,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your breast. “This is easy.”

Your legs wobble, your confidence quickly waning. The doubts start to pool like rainwater in a gutter, as Ben takes in your naked body. Maybe you weren’t the dream doll he had in his head. Maybe you pushed it too far with the teasing. Maybe he doesn’t really want you in the same, volcanic kind of way you want him.

He drags two fingers along your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin as he mouths at your breast. You close your eyes, trying to just breathe, and Ben chuckles.

“And you wanted me to say please,” he drawls. “Look at you, all fuckin’ sweet for me. You gonna beg for me again, baby? Or that mouth only good for sucking my cock?”

You whimper, a gush of heat flooding between your thighs.

“Yeah, you like me talking,” Ben mutters, kissing over your sensitive nipple. “Like knowing you’ve got the only fuckin’ pussy in the world that makes me act like an idiot. Pretty girl, pretty fuckin’ tits,” he  sucks a dark spot on your breast, his thumb slowly dragging between the lips of your cunt. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy, wet like a whore in the summer for me.”

Ben thumbs at your slit, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking hard. His thumb drags up in the exact same moment, finding your clit and rubbing tight, unrelenting circles. You vision blurs and you stumble forwards, wrapping your arms tight around his head.

“Be- Fuck- Bennnn-“

He hums around your nipple, grazing his teeth over the perked bud. His mouth is warm and wet, his tongue flicking back and forth until you’re in a sex-addled frenzy. You press your face into his hair, gasping his name as he drags his thumb back and forth across your clit.

He wraps a massive arm around your body, fingers splaying over your back and cradling you close to his body.

“Feel that fuckin’ mess,” he drawls, kissing over your breasts. “No one else gets you this wet, do they?”

You shake your head, and Ben leans back with  narrowed eyes. He slaps your pussy with a harsh little tap, and a broken cry escapes your lips.

“Do they,” he growls, and you shake your head.

“No- No-“ You try to lean down, desperate to just kiss him, to get as close as he’ll allow. “Just you, Ben, just you-“

He smirks, slaps your cunt again, and goes back to making out with your nipples. You moan, slumping over his body as the tension becomes almost painful. You don’t know what he’s getting out of this until you feel his hips rocking beneath you. His cock rubs against his stomach and your thigh, already smeared with pre-cum again. You gasp and Ben moans around your nipple, the sensation vibrating through your whole body. 

“Oh- Oh my god-“ You squirm, the pressure getting unbearable. “I- I’m- Oh my god-“

You’re babbling, but you’re not sure what else there is to do. You cunt his clenching around nothing, the thick scent of Ben clouding your head as he works you like a toy. Ben nips at your nipple and pushes his thumb down hard. Your knees buckle, almost making you fall back to your knees on the carpet.

Ben’s arm around your back tightens, and he rolls you both over, tossing you back onto the mattress without even a grunt. You almost cry out at the sudden cold, the lack of Ben all around you. It only lasts a second before he grabs your ankle and drags you forward.

You’re lain on the bed, staring at Ben with an open expression. His jaw clenches and he rubs your thighs, slowly pushing your knees up to your chest. Your cunt is on full, open display to him, and your breath catches as he drags his thumb between the swollen lips of your pussy.

“Look at that,” he almost purrs. “Mine.”

You whimper when he flicks your clit again, but it quickly falls into a moan as he leans down and presses an open mouth kiss to your pussy. Your eyes roll back in your head, your hips arching to meet his chapped, full lips. Ben groans against your cunt, his grip on your legs tightening.

You’ve had men eat you out before. You’ve had them be good at it, and horrible.

Ben does it like it’s a job, and he’s never hated work a day in his life. You were already on such a thin wire that the first press of his tongue against your clit makes you snap, a cry falling from your lips and your hands flying wildly to catch a hold of something. Ben grabs them and pins them against your stomach, forcing you down into the mattress as his mouth keeps working against your cunt.

He’s open with it, moaning and sucking and pushing his tongue into your fluttering cunt as he rocks his face back and forth, dragging your orgasm out until you’re almost floating. The heat hasn’t stopped building. Every time you think you’re going to come down, Ben kisses your clit, and darts his tongue back and forth like he’s trying to get a high score of most orgasms in an hour.

Maybe two hours. You can hear the bed creaking in a steady rhythm, as Ben’s fucks down into the mattress, but then he drags another orgasm out of you, and the only thing in the world is Ben’s mouth against your cunt. The sounds he makes, the way he’s watching you under hooded, smug eyes, the way his massive back forces your legs further apart whenever you try to close them and exposes you to him further.

You writhe when your third orgasm hits, shoving at his head with weak hands.

Ben draws back, pinning your legs down to the bed and fixing you with a stern glare.

“Stay still,” he grunts, and you swallow.

“Too- Too much-“

“You want cock?” He snaps, and you nod frantically. “Only good girls get cock, baby. You bein’ a good girl when you whine?”

Your lip wobbles. Your face burns. Ben raises his brows, daring you to be a brat, and any other day you would. You’d stick your tongue out and mock him, you’d test his buttons, you’d see just what you could say, to get bent over his lap or tossed around the bed.

But there are tears streaming down your cheeks, and you’ve never been so totally aware of how empty you are. You really think the chemicals might be contagious. You really don’t fucking care.

“No,” you whisper, shame burning at your cheek and between your thighs. “I’m not.”

Ben hums, spits on your clit, and starts to rub it with a fast thumb. “You gonna be a good girl?”

You nod, and Ben smirks.

“Yeah. I know.”

He dives back down, and stars burst behind your eyes as another orgasm overtakes your body. You’re trembling and gasping for air, pulling at his hair and only earning another moan that makes your back arch. Ben laps at you through the orgasm, hips still slamming against the bed.

Then, one second, his beard his grazing over your inner thigh and his lips are pressed against the over sensitive, pulsing bundle of nerves. The next you’re face down with a thick arm around your stomach, dragging you back against Ben’s chest like a ragdoll. 

“Need to get in that pussy,” he growls, dragging his cock between the lips of your cunt. “Give you this cock real good, show you who the fuck you belong to, right now.”

Ben bites and sucks on your neck, the head of his dick bumping against your clit, but he still doesn’t push inside. Your nails dig into your forearm, the wet sound of him sliding against you filling the room, and you almost don’t know what the fuck he’s waiting for.

“Please,” you breathe out, dropping your head against his shoulder and giving him your best, sweetest eyes. “Please, Ben- Fuck me.”

Another one of those feral sounds rips from Ben’s chest, and his hand drags down to press two thick fingers against your clit as he slowly pushes himself inside. The breath is knocked from your lungs at the first inch, a broken sound escaping your lips.

Ben’s free arm wraps around your neck, the bulging bicep forcing your head back further so he can kiss over your open, drooling mouth.

“That’s it,” he coos, rubbing your clit back and forth as he presses deep into your cunt. “That’s a good little slut, takin’ just what I give you, come on-“

You whimper, and Ben deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue down your throat as he pushes another inch. You clench down around him and he groans, kissing you brutally as he bullies the last few inches inside of you.

He’s so big it makes sparks dance on the edge of your vision. You’ve never been this full, every single nerve in your body all too aware of the delicious split of Ben’s cock. Between the head lock and his mouth against yours, the tears can’t stop streaming down your face. Ben growls your name, kissing a stray one near your lips, his tone a warning you can barely hear.

“Christ- You’re fuckin’ tight- Gotta- Relax-“

You can’t. You’re overstimulated and so needy you can’t think, can’t move, can’t do anything but feel the smeared arousal between your thighs, the drag of Ben’s cock against your g-spot, the muscle and heat of his body wrapped all around you.

You clench down again, and the very last bit of Ben’s resolve snaps.

He cums inside of you suddenly, moaning down your throat as he ruts up in short, rough thrusts. The cum spills into your until you’re warm and stuffed, then runs down your ass and over your thighs. It’s so wet you think he’d slip right out of you, if it wasn’t for the headlock. You’re so full you don’t even remember how to breathe, until Ben squeezes just under your breast and groans your name.

“Don’t go out on me, doll, c’mon-“ He groans and kisses you again, his hand dropping back down to spread against your tummy. “Fuck- You feel so fuckin’ good- Better than coke, baby, Christ-“

You make another broken sound, your voice hoarse and small from the arm around your throat.

Then Ben starts to fuck you, and you think you might ascend.

He rolls his hips in long, deep thrusts, dragging in and out of your cunt like a machine. The sound of your cum mixing—sliding between your bodies with every single shift—is obscene. You’re being used like the most tended to, adored fuckdoll in the world. Ben cradles you like he thinks you’ll break, and fucking you like he’s trying to take you apart.

You feel him everywhere, with every single slam of his cock against your g-spot. Your vision swims, the tears falling freely, and Ben kisses every single one away with another, brutal thrust.

“Fuckin’ crying for me, babydoll?” He nips at your lower lip, and you whine a sound like his name. “Pretty girl can’t fuckin’ take it after begging? So sensitive you need to fuckin’ whine?”

You turn your cheek, giving him your best, pleading doe eyes. You can’t tell if his gaze sharpens or focuses. His thrusts become deeper, and his thumb finds your swollen, pulsing clit again. You sob, and he kisses the sound away with a hum.

“Bein’ such a good fuckin’ slut,” he mutters, pinching your clit and rolling it between his fingers. “Takin’ this cock like a pro, baby, like you were fucking made for me.

You babble his name again, and Ben smirks. This kiss is slower. Almost loving, and in a stark contrast with how he’s drilling into your gaping cunt.

The orgasm washes over you like a wave, and Ben moans your name as you squeeze down around him. Your vision goes white and you thrash, your body being wracked with so much pleasure you can only scream. Ben’s cock slams home against your g-spot, and rush of something wet and hot flood out of your pussy, and you think you might pass out.

At the least, you’re floating out of your body. Ben cums with rough, spat out praise, then slowly lowers you back down to the mattress. Weight shifts around. He rubs your back as you gasp for air, then slowly rolls you over and pushes your legs back open.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, the words far away, but his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Didn’t know you could get this fuckin’ dumb and quiet. Should’ve been fucking you every day.”

He laughs to himself, and your hand flies up, unsure what it’s looking for.

Ben catches it, twines your fingers together, kisses your knuckles, and presses it back into the mattress.

“Need more, doll,” he rasps, and you whimper. “I’ll go easy. Not tryin’ to break my-“

He cuts himself off. You don’t have the words to push him. You don’t have the energy to do anything. Ben kisses your stomach, then lower, then lower. You gasp softly, when you feel his tongue lapping at your pussy. It’s gentler than before. Slower, almost careful. He works you open, mixing your releases together and tasting it almost for the sake of tasting it.

Your eyes cross, as the soft, tickling sensations. They’re strangely relaxing, even if they make your pussy flutter hopelessly.

“Easy,” Ben murmurs, kissing over your clit. “Nice and fuckin’ easy.”

It is. You go limp again, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his tongue. He’s not trying to make you cum, or get you ready. God knows you could probably take a fist in there right now, with how he’s left you soaked and open. You can hear his fist working against his cock again, and find the energy to look up again.

He’s almost art, above you. Hair mussed and tangles, dominating your vision, whole face wet and eyes blown out. You squeeze his hand in yours and smile. He blinks, and his jaw sets as he understands. 

This time, he doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He must understand by now, that you might be more depraved than even he can dream up. You’d sit on his cock for the rest of your life, if he let you. And there are worse ways to be worshipped, than with everything a man—a broken, titan of a man who’s made of more than he can understand—has to give.

You let yourself lose track of it all. Ben moves you into positions you didn’t know you could make, hauling you back into his lap, flipping you over and dragging your ass in the air, sitting you on top of him and guiding your hips back and forth until you’re mewling his name and shaking around his cock. The whole room might have to be burned, when this is over. There isn’t an inch of your body he hasn’t cum on, kissed, spanked, or grabbed.

He ends up on top of you again, holding your knees back against your chest with a single arm, fucking you slow enough to drag long, loud moans from your lips every time.

“That’s my girl,” he mutters, watching his thick, swollen cock slide in and out of your cunt, smearing and spreading hours of cum between your thighs. “My pretty fuckin’ doll.”

You moan, reaching up with shaking hands to cup the back of his neck. His gaze drags back to yours, and you smile. You don’t know where the delicate, flowering thing inside of you is coming from. You think it’s always been there, and Ben’s stripped you so bare there’s nowhere to hide it, no way to make it wither. With his hands so gentle on your hips and thighs, his gaze so clouded with adoration you think that—to anyone else—he wouldn’t look like the same man, there’s nothing left to do but let this bloom.

“I love you,” you breathe out, the first words you’ve said in hours. “I love you, Ben.”

His eyes go impossibly darker. His fingers dig into you, and he crashes forward with a groan.

Ben cums one last time, and you pass out at his kisses all over your face, murmuring words you feel more than hear.

He doesn’t say it back. You didn’t think he would. Ben coddles you like a child after, wrapping you in a shirt that somehow survived the damage and carrying out back to your room. You get a warm bath and glass of water. Your stomach rumbles, and suddenly there’s food in your hand. Ben rises you both off in the shower, his breathing heavy and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

You can feel it with every single touch. That he’s trying to find a way to tell you. That it’s carving through his chest that he doesn’t know how.

And you’ll wait. Telling him he doesn’t have to will do nothing but make him more frustrated, and you’re happy to have whatever he can offer after… this.

He figures it out faster than you thought, though. He lays in bed with you, glaring at the ceiling and rubbing your side. You watch him, your head propped on his chest, and smile. You lean up and press a kiss to his jaw, and he grunts in surprise, his gaze dropping to yours.

You smile again. His throat bobs. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks back to the ceiling and lets out a slow, deep breath.

“Marry me.”

You blink at him. If you had an ounce of strength left in your body, you’d sit up. “What?”

“You heard me,” he grunts, glancing back down at you. “You mean what you said?”

“Of- Of course I meant it-“

“You sure?”

“Fuck you,” you shove his chest, and his mouth twitches. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure, asshole. But-“ You point a stern finger. “I’m not marrying you.”

That makes him really, deeply frown. “Why not.”

“Because I’m not crazy.”

“That ain’t crazy, doll, you love something, you fucking marry it-“

“Marry it?” You snort. “What, are you gonna marry the fucking TV?”

“No, you brat, I’m marrying you.”

Your mouth falls open. Ben glowers at you, his fingers digging on your hips again, like he’s worried you’re going to run. “Me?” You whisper, and Ben grunts.

“Don’t see me fuckin’ proposing to anyone else, do you.”

You laugh weakly. “But this is- Ben, this is a bad proposal-“

“It is not bad-“

“It’s horrible-“

“You’re going to say yes,” he snaps, and you sigh, tracing over the line of his pecs.

There’s something raw under that demand. Something you don’t want to mock or poke at. That you want to nurture, to get him to show without barbing it in a defensive wire.

But you’re also not marrying him after one sex marathon.

“I want dinner,” you say, and he frowns.

“I’ll get you a fucking ring-“

“No.” You lean down until your noses bump. “Dinner.”

Ben glares at you. You glare back, rubbing his chest, and he slowly relaxes under your touch.

“Dinner,” he mutters, and you beam, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

He grabs the back of your neck, holding you above him. “You’d say yes, though,” he rasps, and god help you, you would.

You just kiss him instead. Long and slow and deep, telling him in a language you know he prefers to speak. And you can feel it, under every single touch. How much he really, truly means it.

Five dinners, you tell yourself, but if Ben keeps holding you like this, you know. You’ll only last until he asks you again, and then—just like before—you’ll all too happily give in.

✦End note: theory answered: yes he can ✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

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In court, he is all iron edges and clipped commands, a prince carved from stone. His gaze is stern, his words measured, and no lord or lady would ever dare accuse him of being sentimental. If anyone suggested he was hopelessly devoted to his wife, he would fix them with such a withering stare that the room would fall silent.

But behind the heavy oak doors of your chambers?

The armor falls away. He is not a man that would declare his love for you in words, but when he does, it's a kiss against the curve of your neck, his beard scratching against your skin, “Fuck, you have ruined me, woman.”

He is forever finding excuses to touch you. A hand settling at the small of your back as you pass. Fingers brushing over yours beneath the supper table. Pressing absent-minded kisses into your temple while discussing the day's affairs, as though it is the most natural thing in the world.

He calls you "my sweet wife" with such quiet certainty that it sounds less like a pet name and more like a solemn vow.

You become the only place where the weight of crowns, wars, and expectations cannot follow.

Maekar has no need to prove himself before you. He lets you smooth the lines from his brow, rests his forehead against yours after particularly difficult days, and allows himself the rare luxury of silence because your presence alone is enough.

He will grumble when you tease him for being affectionate.

“I am not.”

Meanwhile, one broad hand remains firmly wrapped around yours. He will insist he is merely making certain you do not wander off. You both know he is the one who cannot bear to let go.

The court may know Prince Maekar Targaryen as unyielding steel.

Only you know he is all gentleness beneath it—and that every ounce of it belongs to you, unless he's balls deep in your clenching cunt, whispering filth into your ear as he fucks into you from behind.

The world sees Maekar as a monster, a man carved from ice and iron who leaves ruins in his wake. They see the coldness in his eyes and the blood on his hands, and they tremble. But as he pushes you down onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, that ruthlessness transforms into something far more dangerous: a focused, obsessive devotion.

He doesn't start with brutality. Instead, his touch is agonizingly slow. His large, calloused hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip with a tenderness that would shock anyone who knows his reputation. He kisses you deeply, tasting of wine and hunger, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, possessive rhythm that claims every inch of your mouth.

“You're the only thing in this world I won't break,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, vibrating rumble.

Then, the shift happens. The gentleness remains in the way he holds you, but the ruthlessness takes over the way he wants you. He flips you over with a sudden, firm movement, pressing your chest flat against the sheets. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you as he positions himself.

He doesn't tease. He drives his thick, pulsing cock straight into your clenching cunt in one heavy, unrelenting thrust. You gasp, your back arching as he fills you completely, stretching your walls to their limit. He is balls deep, the impact of his pelvis slamming against your ass with a wet, heavy thud.

As he begins to fuck you from behind, the rhythm is punishing. He hammers into you, each stroke deep and deliberate, driving himself into your womb. While his body is a weapon, his mouth is a sanctuary of filth. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Look at how you take it,” he whispers, his voice dripping with a dark, erotic hunger. “Such a tight, greedy little cunt, squeezing my cock like you're afraid I'll ever leave. You were made to be fucked by me, weren't you? To have me stretch you open and fill you with my cum until you can't think of anything but the way I'm ruining you.”

He reaches around, his hand sliding forward to grip your breast, squeezing the nipple hard even as he continues to drive into you. The contrast is intoxicating, the brutal, rhythmic slamming of his hips and the filthy promises whispered in your ear, all while he holds you as if you are the most precious thing he has ever owned.

"Tell me you're mine," he growls, his pace accelerating, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “Tell me you love it when I fuck you like a slut.”

He doesn't wait for the answer; he can feel it in the way your cunt clamps around him, milking him with every desperate twitch. He lets out a low, guttural groan, his grip on your hips tightening until it leaves bruises, and with one final, devastatingly deep thrust, he pours his hot cum deep inside you, filling you to the brim while he holds you tight, refusing to let go.

Maekar lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you toward the steaming hot tub. The air is thick with vapor, blurring the edges of the room, but his grip on you is solid and unwavering. As he steps into the churning water, the heat hits your skin, but it's nothing compared to the fire radiating from his body.

He doesn't let you slide in slowly. With a possessive grunt, he positions you over him, his thick, rigid cock pulsing and ready. He lowers you down with a slow, agonizing precision, letting the head of his shaft stretch your opening before he drives forward. You let out a sharp cry that echoes off the tiled walls as he sinks deep into you, the water sloshing violently over the edge of the tub from the force of the impact.

The sensation is overwhelming, the searing heat of the water enveloping your bodies and the feeling of him filling every millimeter of your clenching cunt.

He doesn't give you a moment to adjust.

Maekar’s hand slides up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back, exposing the sensitive line of your throat. He sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder, marking you with a sharp, bruising bite that makes you moan into the steam.

As he begins to move, the water creates a slick, rhythmic friction, making every slide of his cock inside you feel fluid and heavy. He grips your thighs, hoisting you higher so he can drive upward, his pelvis slamming against yours with a wet, splashing thud.

He leans in, his lips grazing your ear, his voice a dark, guttural rasp that cuts through the sound of the bubbling water.

“Look at you, soaking wet and shaking on my cock,” he whispers, the filth in his tone contrasting with the way he supports your weight. “I can feel your walls twitching around me, trying to suck every drop of cum out of me before I've even started. You're such a needy little slut for me, aren't you? Just a hole for me to use and fill whenever I want.”

He shifts his angle, grinding his hips in a circular motion that rubs his cock against your g-spot, sending jolts of electricity through your spine. He bites your earlobe, his breath hot and demanding.

“I'm going to fuck you until you're breathless, until the only thing you can feel is me stretching you open in this water. I want you to feel exactly how much I own you, how deep I can go inside you before I paint your insides white.”

He accelerates the pace, the water churning around you as he hammers into you with ruthless efficiency. Each thrust is a claim, a violent reminder of his dominance, while his arms hold you close, ensuring you don't slip, treating you like a prized possession he intends to ruin completely.

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 does not say I love you.

He has never been a man for effortless declarations or honeyed poetry. The words catch somewhere behind pride, duty, and a lifetime spent believing affection should be proven rather than spoken.

Instead, he rises before dawn to ensure the fire is stoked before you wake. He notices when your goblet is empty before you do.

He remembers the flowers you once paused to admire months ago, and somehow they always find their way to your chambers.

His hand seeks yours without thought. His eyes search every room until they settle upon you. His shoulders only truly relax when you are safely within arm's reach.

If you shiver, his cloak is around your shoulders before you've had the chance to complain.

If someone speaks to you with less respect than you deserve, they soon discover why Maekar Targaryen has earned such a fearsome reputation.

He never says, “I love you.”

He asks if you have eaten.

He waits until you fall asleep before allowing himself to rest.

He remembers every small preference you've ever mentioned, no matter how insignificant it seemed at the time.

He loves in quiet gestures, in unwavering loyalty, in the certainty that you will never have to wonder whether someone stands beside you.

And that is why no one questions it.

Not the servants.

Not the lords.

Not the ladies whispering behind jeweled fans.

They have seen the way his expression softens the instant you enter a room. They have watched a prince forged from iron become impossibly gentle with only one person in all the realm.

He does not say the words.

He lives them.

Everyone knows that Prince Maekar Targaryen burns for his wife.

He simply believes that a lifetime of devotion speaks louder than three little words ever could.

Your apartment pool could never.

Thankfully, Satoru was willing to lounge around on floaties with you, his presence comforting despite his tendency to be annoying about fifty percent of the time. The other fifty percent makes it worth it, and today, that fifty percent is in full effect.

The sun beams down towards you, warming your backside as you lie flat on the clear inflatable that Satoru insists is "the superior floatie" because it lets you see the water beneath you.

Not that there's much to see besides the occasional leaf or the faint shimmer of the pool's blue iridescent tiles, but he seems to take great pride in his floatie collection.

Occasionally, Satoru will push your floatie towards the waterfalls that cascade into the pool, claiming he's just "helping you cool off" before splashing your hair to get it wet.

He tricked you once, claiming he was improving the angle so you could tan better, his voice full of faux sincerity—which you naively believed— only for cold, hard water to be dumped on your face from the waterfall.

You should have seen it coming from a mile away. His laugh echoed across the pool, and you craved revenge, but the free pool was too good to give up, so you let it slide. For now.

Anything for the free pool.

You could hear the water splashing as Satoru swam, his movements creating gentle ripples that disturbed your peaceful float.

Your floatie shifted, your body being pulled away from your perfect tanning spot, catching the optimal amount of rays without frying you to a crisp.

"Satoru, swear to god, if I feel a single drop of water, you're dead," you warned, lifting your head and pulling the sunglasses over your eyes so you weren't blinded by the sun.

"You're so scary," he laughed, elbows resting on the edge of your inflatable, his chin propped up on his arms. "You want a bomb pop?" he asked lightly. His tongue was already dyed purple, a telltale sign he seemed to have indulged himself in one already while you were busy sunbathing.

You were craving something sweet, your mouth watering at the thought of that icy, sugary goodness, so this was perfect timing.

His hair was tousled and wet with water, the white strands darkened to a soft silver where they were soaked through, and his skin was even a little tanned from the sun, a rare sight that made him look like a surfer from California.

The contrast was pretty on his white hair and cerulean eyes. You hummed, nodding your head, "Pull me back."

Obliging, Satoru pulled you with him to the pool's edge, his hands gripping the sides of your floatie with surprising care. Your floatie had traveled quite the distance across his expansive pool, and as you moved, you took in the sheer scale of his pool deck.

His home was beautiful; your own family's wealth wasn't anything to laugh at, but Gojo's was on a different planet entirely. He even had his own golf course named after him back home, a fact he brought up too casually.

You would jokingly call his family the Crazy Rich Gojo's when you found out how wealthy he was.

Your pool at home was nice, sure, but Satoru's was pretty damn close—if not better. The carefully curated landscaping that surrounded it, the infinity edge that made it look like the water went on forever. It was picturesque, residing in someone's dream home pinterest board.

Rolling over, you let the coolness of the floaty cool the warm skin on your back, the plastic slightly sticky from the heat but still refreshing. It felt nice, relaxing you further onto the floatie as you surrendered to the heat.

You kept your hand pressed to the ledge so you wouldn't float away again, your fingers gripping the edge.

You watched as Satoru climbed out of the pool, his body dripping wet from the chlorinated water, droplets cascading down his back in rivulets that caught the light. Even though you were in the deeper end, he didn't need to take the ladder; the pros of being tall meant he could just hoist himself up like it was nothing, muscles flexing with the effort.

It took a minute for him to come back with your sweet relief, his footsteps padding against the stone tiles as he made his way to the outdoor fridge. He carefully unwrapped the red, white, and blue bomb pop, holding two others in his hand.

Crouching down in front of you, his strong calves bending towards you, he waved the cold treat over your lips, the cool air touching your lips ever so slightly. You reached out to snatch it away, your fingers grazing the white wrapper, but he happened to be faster, pulling it back with a grin.

Holding the popsicle in the air, his arms reached higher than where you could grab it comfortably, his height advantage making this game incredibly unfair. He waved it back and forth, and you felt that familiar irritation prickle at your skin once again.

"Satoru, stop," you groaned, sitting up from the floatie to take it out of his hand, the movement causing water to slosh around you. You were planning on playing nice with him today, being the bigger person and all that, but he always found a way to scratch your nerves, pulling them taut until you snapped. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company.

Knowing Satoru since your freshman year, through friends of friends who had somehow dragged both of you to the same party, you happened to become friends with Satoru; it felt practically inevitable.

When you first met him, you thought he was an egotistical prick. But the more you got to know him, the more you realized he wasn't that bad. He was there for you during breakups, letting you cry on his shoulders while he fed you ice cream and told you that your ex was "a shit loser anyway."

He was there for rough hangovers, making you drink water and bone broth even when you insisted you would die if you moved. He was there for late-night drives, windows down, music blasting, the two of you screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs like you were the only people on the quiet streets. The plentiful noise complaints proved you definitely weren't.

And you were there for him, even when he drunkenly threw up on your vintage Kelly, a bag you had gotten for your sixteenth birthday—She will be missed. He ended up buying you two more as an apology, one in the original color and one in a shade that matched your eyes, but still, Satoru was a great friend.

Even if the lines are blurred in the friend portion.

"Satoru, stop!" he mocked in a high-pitched voice, his impression of you absolutely terrible. You definitely didn't sound like that, and you snatched the already melting popsicle from his hands before he could pull it away again.

Your tongue hurriedly reached out to lick the melted juices, the sweet flavor exploding on your taste buds as you started from the base to the top, not wanting to waste a single drop. The UV was making it melt faster, so you took a bite out of the tip, crunching through the icy layers. Might as well eat it before the sun does first, you thought, chewing happily.

You hadn't noticed Satoru's gaze as he watched, his eyes fixed on your mouth, wincing slightly as you bit the bomb pop with more force than necessary.

"Don't look at me like that, you're double-fisting bomb pops over there," you rolled your eyes, lifting your glasses to the top of your head to get a better look at his face. His face was crunched up with a look of amusement.

"You're the freaky one," he mused, licking both of the popsicles at the same time, his tongue darting out to catch the melting drips with practiced ease.

You were tempted to bring up the time you found him and Suguru passed out on his bed with two other girls, a scene that had been burned into your memory forever, but you decided to let it slide. But you're the freaky one, right..

"Whatever," you said instead of bringing up his freak escapades, taking another bite of your bomb pop. You wouldn't let Satoru live that one down, but you'll live past his greed, saving that ammunition for a later date when you really need to win an argument.

"I feel bad for any of your victims," he said, his eyebrows furrowed in mock sadness, kissing up to the sky like he was praying for the souls of your hypothetical head receivers.

He sat down on the ledge, his legs dangling into the water, the ripples spreading outward from his movements.

"Luckily, there are none," you said, the words coming out louder than you intended.

He paused dramatically, his entire body freezing as he stared at your face to see if you were serious. Realizing you weren't lying, a smirk twitched at his lips, one that usually preceded with more irritating and unnecessary comments.

Much to the dismay of your many hookups, you had never given head before. Too nervous to mess up and bite someone's appendage off, you never tried. It was a confession you rarely made, one that usually got you a mix of shock and pity, but with Satoru, it felt different.

"Not even-" he started until you shook your head firmly, cutting him off. He thought for a second, his expression contemplative, before asking, "You want to practice?"

It's not like you haven't tried to practice before, using fruit and various objects in an attempt to gain some semblance of skill, but a banana is much different than a real dick. The texture, the shape, the way it moves—or lack thereof. It's just not the same.

You stared at him momentarily, thinking about his offer, your brain running through all the possible outcomes. It's not like neither of you had crossed lines before; you're the one who taught him how to make out with someone after he claimed he didn't know how.

A claim you still weren't sure was true or just an elaborate excuse to get you to kiss him.

Once, led to twice, and whenever either of you was feeling lonely enough, your lips would find his. It was convenient, and a line you had long since stopped pretending existed.

This wasn't much different, right?

"You'd really show me?" you questioned hesitantly. If you wanted to practice on a real person, you might as well do it with Satoru. He nodded, leaning closer to the edge, looking down towards you. His gaze was almost eager, excited maybe.

"Of course, I mean, what are friends for, right?" he tilted his head slightly, the sun catching the water droplets in his hair. He looked pretty, glittery even. "The same way you were eating that, just less biting, more sucking, and inside action." You nodded, taking in what he said patiently.

Lifting from your floatie, you climbed onto the sun-warm pool deck. Swallowing the rest of the bomb pop, you sat next to Satoru, ready on the ledge, your eyes hinting at the lounge chairs. He stared at you for a moment. "Oh- I see, yeah, over there m-might be better," he stuttered, getting up to go to the chairs.

He sat down on the much cooler chairs, shaded by the umbrellas from the sun. "Do I sit here?" You knelt on the pool deck's smooth concrete, your body kneeling between his spread legs.

He looked down at you, confused and partially nervous. "Don't tell me you're getting nervous about me, Satoru," you teased, laying your head on his knee.

"N-nervous? No, I was just… surprised," he muttered, clearing his throat, "Didn't think you meant practice on me." he paused for a moment, his empty hand carding through his hair.

"Not that I am opposed, practice makes perfect, you know?" he smiled, licking the remainder of his bomb pop.

"You expected me to practice on a bomb pop?" you chuckled. "I need to practice on something real," you sighed. By the hardness growing in Satoru's swim shorts, he definitely didn't seem opposed.

"Why? Tried before?" he half-joked, but you only glared at him; he didn't need to hear how you embarrassingly choked on a banana after it broke in your throat. "Well, first, you need to set the tone; it's better if the little guy is awake first," he instructed, handing you a pillow.

"Doesn't seem like you need any help with that," you murmured, getting more comfortable on the pillow.

"What can I say, I'm a healthy guy," he commented nonchalantly, the pink tinging his ears telling a different story. "You want to take it out," you followed, your hands nervously pulling at his trunks.

His breath hitched the second your fingers brushed against the waistband of his swim trunks, the fabric damp from the pool water he'd been lounging in moments before.

The bomb pop had long since melted down his hand, sticky sweetness dripping onto his knuckles, but he made no move to clean it off. His focus was entirely on you.

"There you go," he murmured, voice dropping as he lifted his hips just enough for you to tug the trunks down his thighs. His cock sprang free, already half-hard and flushed pink at the tip, curving slightly to the left. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit, catching the sunlight like a tiny pearl.

"Very healthy guy," you joked, trying to distract yourself from being too nervous. You swallowed, staring at it with wide eyes. It was big. Thick and long, veined and heavy, resting against his lower stomach with an almost casual weight.

Not really what would be your first as a beginner. You wouldn't boost his ego any further, or he might explode.

Your hand hovered over it, fingers trembling slightly, and Satoru's lips curled into that familiar smirk. "Don't just admire it, babe," he teased, reaching down to wrap his sticky fingers around yours, guiding your palm to wrap around his shaft. The heat of him seared against your skin, velvety smooth over rigid hardness. "You gotta touch it. Get familiar with it. Not gonna bite."

"Says you," you mumbled, but your fingers tightened experimentally, and his breath caught in his throat, a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch that made your confidence bloom.

"Start slow," he instructed, his voice a little rougher now, the playful edge sharpening. "Just... wrap your hand around it. Feel the weight. Get it, wet, get a rhythm going. Don't just-" You nodded, spitting onto the tip. You stroked him, once, clumsily, your grip too tight and your angle wrong. He winced, but the sound that escaped him wasn't entirely pained.

"Okay, okay," he laughed breathlessly, his head falling back against the lounge chair. "That's-that's a start. But loosen up. It's not a weapon, alright? Gentle. Like you're holding a baby bird."

"I've held birds; this does not feel like a bird," you shot back, but you adjusted, lightening your grip, letting your fingers slide down to his base and then back up. His hips twitched involuntarily, and you grinned at the reaction.

"There you go," he breathed, his hand coming up to card through his wet white hair, pushing it back from his forehead, his gaze making you even hotter. "Now, use your mouth. Just the tip, first. Get used to it."

You leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the head of his cock. He tasted salty, like chlorine and sweat, and you found yourself licking your lips before you even realized what you were doing.

"Don't overthink it," he murmured, his hand dropping to rest gently on the back of your head, not pushing, just there. "Just take it slow. Let it- ah-"

You parted your lips and took him in, just the head at first, your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. His hips buckled up involuntarily, and you gagged, pulling off with a wet pop.

"Sorry, sorry," he panted, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink beneath the shade. "Fuck, you just-your mouth is really cold, okay? Give a guy some warning."

"Maybe you should give me some warning," you snorted.

"Fair enough," he conceded, "How about this, you get back down there, and I'll return the favor. Make it fair."

"Fair?" you echoed, your hand still wrapped around him, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat through the velvety skin. "You think you can keep quiet while I'm down here?"

Satoru's laugh was low, almost a purr, as he settled back into the lounge chair. His white lashes fluttered half-closed, those piercing blue eyes watching you through the slits. "I've kept quiet through worse."

Your thumb traced the ridge of his tip, spreading the glistening bead of pre-cum across the sensitive skin. His stomach muscles flinched, and you felt a surge of power at the small reaction. "Yeah, sure."

"Attagirl," he breathed, one large hand coming to rest on the back of your head again. His fingers resting gently in your hair. "Now, take a breath. Relax your jaw. You're thinking too much."

"How do you-"

"You're clenching your teeth," he interrupted, "I can feel it." You exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to drop, and leaned forward again. This time, when you took him into your mouth, you focused on the weight of him on your tongue. Your lips stretched around the head, and you hollowed your cheeks experimentally.

"Fuck," Satoru hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair. "Yeah, that's-that's good. Just like that. Don't try to take it all at once. Work your tongue."

You obeyed, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside of his tip, tracing the little vein that ran along his shaft. His hips twitched again, but he held himself still, letting you explore at your own pace. His hand stayed heavy on your head, occasionally stroking your hair in a way that felt almost encouraging.

"Breathe through your nose," he instructed, his voice growing rougher. "And, mmngh- use your hand on what you can't fit in your mouth. Make it part of the same rhythm."

You pulled off with a wet sound, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his flushed tip. "You're a lot better than a tiktok video."

Satoru's laugh was breathless, his chest heaving. "What am I not good at? Now get back down here before I get lonely." You rolled your eyes but complied, taking him back into your mouth with renewed determination. You wrapped your hand around the base and pumped in time with your bobbing head.

The angle was awkward, your neck starting to ache, but the way Satoru's breath hitched every time you took him deeper made it worth it.

"Sloppy," he murmured, his thumb stroking the shell of your ear. "Get sloppy. Use more spit. You're not trying to make it pretty, you're trying to make me come." You pulled off just long enough to gather a generous amount of saliva in your mouth, letting it drool down your chin and onto his shaft. The sight of it, the way his cock glistened in the dappled sunlight, made something hot curl in your belly.

You licked a stripe up the underside, from base to tip, and Satoru groaned, deep and guttural. You were starting to understand when your friends would remark that their mouths were watering.

"Fuck, okay, okay," he panted, his composure finally cracking. "You're a fast learner. That's—yeah, right there-"

You took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, pushing past the resistance in your throat. Your eyes watered, but you forced yourself to relax, just like he'd said. You focused on the sounds he was making: the broken moans, the way his breath stuttered, and the feedback loop of pleasure and power it created.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, his voice dropping into something silkier. "That's my good girl. Taking me so well, you're a natural, shit-" His hips bucked upward, and you gagged, pulling off with a cough. Saliva dripped down your chin, and you wiped at it with the back of your hand, glaring at him through watery eyes.

"Warning?" you croaked.

"Sorry, sorry," he panted, but he wasn't sorry at all. The smug look on his face was a dead giveaway, even as his chest heaved and his flush spread down to his collarbones. "You just got me excited."

"Asshole," you muttered, but you were already leaning back in, licking a slow, teasing stripe across his tip.

Satoru's hand tightened in your hair. "Watch your mouth, princess. Or I'll make you." The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You took him back into your mouth, sinking farther than before, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You held there for a moment, breathing through your nose, before pulling back and repeating the motion.

"That's it," he groaned, and his control was sliding, melting away with each bob of your head. "Just like that. You're doing so good, so good for me-" His grip tightened, guiding your pace faster, and you let him. You wanted this, wanted to push him over the edge, wanted to taste the proof of your progress.

His cock twitched in your mouth, opening your throat to take him deeper. "Fuuck-" he moaned loudly. He motioned for you to pull off, but you kept your head still. His seed sputtered onto your tongue. You held there for a moment as he caught his breath above you.

His cum didn't taste horrible, just foreign, a bit salty. Nevertheless, you swallowed. Wiping the outside of your mouth of spit.

"Did I do well?" You asked slowly, pulling his cock from your mouth.

"You- yeah, you did great," he breathed. Tossing the melted popsicle into the trash, licking his hand clean of the popsicle. "Since you did so well, let's make it fair."

Before you could ask what he meant, he was shifting, grabbing you by the hips and manhandling you with surprising strength, flipping you around until you were positioned over him, your knees on either side of his head, your face hovering above his already hard cock.

"Pretty skilled here too," he announced cheerfully, his voice muffled by the fact that he was already pressing his mouth to the inside of your thigh. "Best way to learn. You get to focus on your technique while I keep you...distracted."

"Distracted?" you squeaked, but the word dissolved into a moan as his tongue licked a broad stripe up your slit, through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms. He hooked a finger under the material, pulling it aside, and the first real taste of you seemed to make him groan.

"Shit," he breathed against your cunt, his nose nudging your clit. "You taste better than those bomb pops."

"Focus, Satoru," you managed, your voice shaky as you lowered your head back down to his cock. "You're supposed to be teaching me."

"Right, right," he chuckled, the vibration of his laughter against your pussy making you jolt. "Then get to work, pretty girl. And remember-"He licked into you, slow and deliberate, "-tongue's your best friend. Use it."

You moaned, the sound vibrating around his shaft, and he groaned in response, his hips twitching up to meet your mouth.

You tried to remember his instructions: gentle, start slow, don't overthink it. It was hard when his tongue was doing that, curling inside you, tasting every inch of your slick heat.

"You're-" you gasped, pulling off his cock for a breath, "-you're not making this easy."

"Not supposed to be easy," he murmured against your folds, his lips brushing your clit with each word. "Supposed to be fun."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing lazy circles while his tongue dipped back inside you, and you cried out, your hips grinding down against his face without your permission.

He let out a pleased hum, his free hand coming up to grip your ass, squeezing the flesh hard enough to leave marks.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a low rumble. "Use those pretty hips. Ride my face." You took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, your head bobbing in a clumsy rhythm.

Your teeth scraped against him, and he hissed sharply. "Teeth, angel," he reminded you, his voice strained. "No teeth. Just lips and tongue."

You sucked hard, and his hips bucked, pushing himself deeper into your throat. You gagged, tears pricking at your eyes, but you didn't pull off. You were determined. "Good," he praised, his voice dripping with approval. "That's my girl. Taking it like a pro."

His tongue speared into you, and you moaned around his cock, the vibration making him shudder beneath you. His grip on your ass tightened, his hips thrusting up into your mouth in shallow, desperate little movements.

"Just like that," he breathed, his words muffled by your pussy. "Fuck, you're so beautiful. Suck it- yeah, just like that." You were drooling, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft, your jaw aching, but you didn't care.

He pulled his mouth away from you for just a moment, his breath hot against your slick folds. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Gonna make me cum again if you keep that up-" You doubled your efforts, taking him deeper, your hand pumping what your mouth couldn't reach. His hips bucked erratically, his fingers digging into your ass, his whole body tensing beneath you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

He came with a choked cry, hot and thick down your throat, and you swallowed instinctively. He kept twitching in your mouth, his hips still jerking as you milked him through it, not pulling off until he went limp beneath you.

Although he had just come, he didn't let off. His moans vibrated against your cunt, pulling you closer and closer.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Satoru's tongue was back on you, lapping at your dripping folds like a man starved. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider, and you felt the cool air against your slick skin before his mouth descended again.

"F-fuck, Satoru-" you gasped, your forehead dropping against his thigh. His cock was starting to grow half-hard beneath you, twitching against your cheek, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through the velvet skin.

His tongue circled your clit, slow and deliberate, and your hips stuttered against his face. He laughed, the sound vibrating through you. "You're so responsive," he breathed, pulling back just enough to speak. "I can feel every little noise you make-" He licked a broad stripe up your slit. "-Don't think I can stop after this."

You cried out, your hips grinding down against his face without permission, and he groaned in approval. His hands gripped your ass harder, pulling you closer, and you could feel the wet sounds of his mouth against you; it was obscene. "'Toru-" you gasped, your hand tightening around his thighs.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles while his tongue plunged back inside you, and you shattered. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, your body convulsing above him, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

You could feel him smiling against you, his tongue still working you through it, drawing out every last tremor.

"That's it," he cooed, his voice soft, almost tender. "That's my girl. Let go for me."

Your hips rocked against his face involuntarily, riding out the aftershocks, and he let you take what you needed. When you finally stilled, trembling and breathless, he pressed one last kiss to your clit before gently nudging you off him.

"Okay?" he asked, sitting up to wrap his arms around you. His voice was rough, but his eyes were soft as he looked at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Yeah," you managed, your voice hoarse. Turning towards him, you positioned your body over his lap. Your hips were still trembling from the aftershocks as you settled over his lap, the wet heat of your cunt sliding along the thick length of him. Satoru's hands found your waist immediately, fingers digging into the soft flesh there like he was grounding himself. His chest was heaving beneath you, that stupidly pretty face.

His grip on your waist tightens the moment you settle over him, fingers pressing bruises into your skin before he's even inside you. "Fuck," he breathes, the word coming out almost reverent. "You're gonna kill me, you know that?"

You don't answer with words, just roll your hips forward, letting the slick heat of your cunt drag along the underside of his cock. The sensation makes him hiss through his teeth, his head falling back against the lounge chair.

"Look at you," he murmurs, one hand leaving your waist to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb traces along your bottom lip, and you part your mouth instinctively, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. He groans.

"So fuckin' eager. That mouth of yours-" He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as you sink down, just the tip, just enough to make him see stars. "Shit, baby. Don't tease."

"Thought you wanted me to take what I needed," you counter, voice breathy but carrying an edge of defiance. You lift your hips again, letting him slip out, watching the way his jaw tightens. "You said I could-"

"Sassy," he cuts you off, but there's a grin splitting his face, all teeth and mischief. His hands find your hips again, and this time he doesn't ask; he just guides you down, slow and steady, watching your face as he fills you inch by inch.

Your breath catches in your throat, fingers curling into his shoulders. The stretch is obscene, almost too much, but you take it, sinking down until you're flush against him, his cock buried to the hilt.

You moaned, feeling every ridge and vein of him inside you. Your hips start to move on their own, small, experimental circles that make him groan low in his chest.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and you take the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you," you murmur against his skin, and his eyes snap open. "Satoru-"

"Don't." His grip on your hips is almost bruising now. "Don't thank me, not when you're-" He bucks his hips up, just once, and the sudden jolt steals the breath from your lungs. "Not when you're doing this."

You laugh, breathless, and it dissolves into a moan as you start to move in earnest. Up and down, slow and deep, letting him watch the way your body takes him. His eyes are glued to where you're joined, watching the way your cunt glistens around his cock with every slide.

His thumbs trace patterns into your hips, not guiding, just feeling— like he can't get enough of the way your skin feels under his palms.

"Faster," he says after a moment. His voice is thick, almost strained, and there's a flush creeping up his neck. "Come on, pretty girl."

You raise an eyebrow, even as you pick up the pace. "What, you want me to-"

"I want you to ride me like you mean it." His hand comes down on your ass, sharp and sudden, and you jolt forward, a squeak escaping your throat. He grins, satisfied. "That's more like it. Now come on. Don't make me ask again."

You plant your hands on his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath your palms, and you move. Hips rolling, thighs burning, you find a rhythm that has both of you gasping.

His head falls back again, his hands gripping your waist as you might disappear, and you feel it, the way his breathing quickens, his hips start to meet your thrusts with increasing urgency.

"Yeah," he breathes, and his voice is ragged now, all pretense of control gone. "Just like that. Fuck, baby, you feel so good-"

You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, your breath mingling. The position changes the angle, and you feel him hit something deep inside you that makes your vision white out for a second. Your nails dig into his chest, and he groans, snapping his hips up harder.

"Right there," you gasp, and he grins, that infuriatingly beautiful grin, because he knows. He knows exactly where you need him, and he's gonna give it to you. His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision, and you cry out, your rhythm faltering.

"Don't stop," he commands, and his voice is a low growl now. "Don't you fucking stop, baby. You're so close, I can feel it. Just let go."

You're shaking, trembling, every muscle in your body tense as he works you higher and higher. He's watching your face, eyes dark and hungry, like he's memorizing every expression you make." 'Toru," you gasp, "I can't-"

"Yes, you can." His fingers on your clit are relentless, his hips driving up into you with a pace that's almost punishing. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't you? Gonna soak my cock like the good girl you are."

The words break you. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your whole body seizing as you cry out his name. Your walls clenched around him, milking him, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge.

You feel the heat of him filling you, pulse after pulse, and the sensation sends another ripple of pleasure through your oversensitive body.

When you come back to yourself, you're collapsed against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like you're something precious. His heart is pounding against your ear, and you can feel his breath ruffling your hair.

"Fuck," he murmurs, and his voice is soft now, almost sleepy. "That was-"

"Stop talking," you mumble against his skin, but you're smiling. "You'll ruin the moment."

He laughs, and it's warm, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "I just saved some lucky guy from getting his dick cut off, thanks to me." Smugness filling his tone.

You smacked his chest, playfully, your palm connecting with his pectoral in a light thump. "I would not do that," you rolled your eyes, but your hand stayed resting on his chest, your fingers splayed across the firm muscle.

It was soft, the skin warm and slightly damp, and you didn't feel like moving it. He didn't mind either, his fingers finding the strings of your bikini top and toying with them absently, twisting and untwisting the fabric.

"Let me use your shower. I feel disgusting," you groaned, the words muffled against his skin.

The chlorine and sweat had dried on your body, leaving you sticky and uncomfortable, your skin tight and pulling with every movement. The heat didn't make it any better, the sun still bearing down even as the afternoon wore on.

He nodded, his chin brushing against the top of your head as he played with strands of your hair, twirling them around his finger.

You missed his shower; the water pressure was perfect, hitting your shoulders with just the right amount of force.

You'd even set up the same one in your own apartment after the first time you used it, but it never quite felt the same. You were staying the night here anyway, not like Satoru was going to say no. He never did.

"Sure, what are friends for, right?"

​

“Did you work through lunch again?”

You blinked, confused. “How do you know that?”

“You get quieter when you're hungry,” he said, grabbing your bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “You’ve usually asked me at least three questions by now.”

You grinned at his attentiveness because while many people would find it off-putting to discover that their boyfriend has learned everything about them, you know that this is one of the ways Dex shows his affection.

You also know that him knowing these things about you is also what keeps his mind clear, like a north star guiding a lost sailor home.

“You know that’s not normal, right?” You tease while grabbing his free hand.

“It is for me.” He said with a serious face while interlocking your fingers together.

Of course it was.

You couldn't stop smiling at his reply before your eyes landed on a folded brochure in the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Honey.” You pull his hand to grab his attention.

“Yeah, baby?”

“What's that?” You ask, pointing at his pocket.

For a moment, a suspiciously pleased look crossed his face. “A surprise.”

You immediately narrowed your eyes. “I don't trust that expression.”

“I know.” He grinned.

“Dex.” You whined, but the smile you were trying to hide gave away the fact that you were only playing.

He playfully sighed as he held the brochure out, showing a pair of already paid-for tickets for the aquarium you had told him about a few weeks ago.

Your eyebrows shot upward. “You planned a date?”

“Yes.”

You looked from the tickets to him. Then back to the tickets. Then back to him again.

“You planned this weeks ago, didn't you?” You asked while grinning.

“… Maybe.” He said as his cheeks warmed red.

“Oh my God.” You laughed.

“It was difficult finding a day you weren't working.”

Your chest warmed pleasantly because that sounded less like annoyance and more like a fact he'd carefully thought about.

“Come on,” he said quietly, tugging your hand gently to make you start walking.

And because you couldn't think of a single reason not to, you happily moved.

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The aquarium wasn’t as crowded as you expected, with just enough people to fill the halls with soft chatter and excited children.

You'd barely made it through the entrance before something enormous swam past one of the giant tanks and caught your attention.

“Oh wow.” Your pace immediately slowed, and you didn’t notice as Dex altered his own pace to match yours as your eyes were glued to the beautiful animal.

A stingray was gliding across your view, its movements graceful and enchanting, as it swam closer to the glass before quickly changing directions as if it was teasing everyone watching it.

A laugh escaped you. “Honey, look, it’s beautiful.”

“It is.”

You glanced at him only to find he wasn't looking at the stingray, but he was looking at you.

Your cheeks warmed instantly. “You know that's not what I meant.”

“I know.” He said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Dex.” You gently nudged his side with your elbow.

A tiny smile appeared on his face as you rolled your eyes and continued walking.

But you couldn't stop smiling either.

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The jellyfish exhibit was your favourite.

The room glowed blue as soft music drifted through the darkness while hundreds of jellyfish floated through illuminated tanks like stars.

You stopped in front of one immediately as your attention was taken by the pretty pink jellyfish that drifted slowly through the water, glowing softly beneath the lights.

For several moments neither of you spoke as you admired the jellyfish.

“You're staring.” You said upon noticing Dex’s usual expression.

“I know.”

You smiled. “There’s more jellyfish over there.”

“I know.”

You looked over your shoulder, and Dex hadn't looked at the tank once. Not once.

“You paid for tickets.” You gently reminded him.

“I did.”

“You should probably look at them.”

“I'd rather look at you.” He said seriously as his hands cupped your face.

Your stomach fluttered hard at the familiar response that should embarrassed you, but instead it only made your smile grow.

“Besides, we haven’t gotten to the shark section yet, and those are my favourite.” He teased kissing your forehead.

“Dex.” You laughed while gently hitting his side before noticing his gaze not leaving your face.

“What?” You asked wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I love you.” He whispered.

Your breath caught as everything in the room seemed to stop. The people, the music, the jellyfish, all of it. But his declaration didn’t shock you because you’d known for months or maybe even longer.

You'd seen it every time he looked at you, in every gift he gave, in every text he sent, in every careful touch, and thoughtful date. But hearing him say it aloud felt different somehow. Bigger. Real. Better.

For a moment you simply stared at him as the blue aquarium lights reflected in his eyes and showed the emotions he was feeling. Love, certainty, and patience.

“You don't have to say it back.” He whispered again while gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

The gentleness in his voice made your throat tighten as you realised he didn’t say it because he wanted an answer but because he wanted to be honest.

You swallowed and reached for his hand instead, with Dex immediately intertwining your fingers, and a smile appeared on his face that somehow said enough.

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The shark tunnel was quickly becoming your favourite part.

Mostly because a sweet seven-year-old boy had attached himself to Dex the moment he saw him.

“Mister, do you think sharks could beat dinosaurs?” The boy asked while tugging on Dex’s jeans.

Dex blinked in confusion while you looked away to hide your smile, shoulders gently shaking because of your quiet laughter, before turning back to face your boyfriend, who had since lowered himself into a crouch.

The boy’s mother sat only a few steps away from you with a baby in her arms and mouthed “I’m sorry”, which you waved away with a kind smile.

“Which dinosaur?” Dex asked, and the child gasped happily.

Apparently this was the correct answer.

Ten minutes later, Dex and the boy, who you have since learned is called Sammy, were not only discussing which dinosaurs a shark could beat but also their favourite dinosaur and why.

While you happily watched from several steps away, now sitting next to Sammy’s mother and cooing over Elena, her four-month-old daughter whose toothless smile was stealing your heart.

Eventually Sammy’s father returned with baskets of fries in each hand, and the small family made their way to the outside picnic area.

“Bye-bye, dinosaur shark man!” Sammy shouted while aggressively waving goodbye.

You smiled as Dex waved back before he turned and found you staring.

“What?” He asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“You like kids.” You grinned.

“No.”

“You absolutely do.”

“No.”

“You just spent ten minutes discussing sharks and dinosaurs.” You teased him.

“He asked.” He defended himself as you laughed so hard you had to grab his arm for balance, which Dex looked very pleased about.

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The gift shop was challenging your self-control.

Every stuffed animal was adorable and dangerous to your purse with their beady eyes and soft stuffed bodies calling your name, especially the sea otter that sat on a shelf near the cash register.

Round, soft, and holding its own stuffed rock, the stuffed teddy was perfect and would look wonderful on your bed.

You picked it up, squeezed it, then reluctantly put it back. “No."

Dex looked away from the hammerhead shark keyring he found. “No?”

“I don't need it.” You said walking towards him.

“You want the otter?” He asked while showing you the keyring in his hand.

“I don't need it.” You stated.

“But you want it.”

“Dex.” You playfully pointed a finger at him. “No.”

He looked completely unbothered as you dragged him away, leaving the sea otter behind.

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Lunch happened afterwards at a small family-run café near the waterfront.

You chatted excitedly about all the sea creatures you saw while Dex pretended not to notice as you stole his fries before subtly pushing the plate closer.

The walk back to your apartment was slow and peaceful, with neither of you seeming particularly eager to end the day.

Your hand remained interlocked with his the entire way as you both ate the ice creams you purchased from the local gelato. It was comforting, natural, and easy as you realised that you were happy.

Genuinely happy.

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You had been home for about an hour when you discovered the sea otter sitting happily in the middle of your bed.

You slowly turned towards the living room, where Dex had made himself comfy on the sofa. “Honey.”

“Yeah, baby?” You could hear the grin in his voice.

“Why is there a sea otter on my bed?”

“I don't know how that got there.”

“Dex.”

“I've never seen it before in my life.”

You laughed happily, the sound filling the apartment as you moved towards the sofa and pressed your lips against his.

“Thank you, honey.” You said into the kiss.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

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Hours later, you were curled against him on the sofa while the film you put on had long since become background noise, with neither of you paying attention anymore.

Your head rested on Dex's chest, one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist while his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns against your side.

The apartment was quiet except for the television and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. A few months ago that sound would have made you nervous, but now it settled something inside you.

You shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him, only to find Dex was already looking at you.

A smile tugged at your lips. “You're staring again.”

“I know.”

“You do that a lot.”

“You’re beautiful.” He said smiling as your cheeks flushed red.

Dex's hand slid up your back, twirling pieces of your hair around his fingers, and your chest warmed at his words. A few months ago hearing those words would have annoyed you, now it makes you feel nice. Wanted.

You leaned forward and kissed him. Only a quick press of your lips against his, but Dex immediately followed when you pulled away, chasing another kiss before you could retreat completely.

You smiled against his mouth. “Needy.”

“For you?” He questioned. “Always.”

The answer came so quickly that you laughed as he rested his forehead briefly against yours. The familiar tingles danced beneath your skin where his name lived. Like a lovely, gentle reminder.

Then his hand lifted to cup your cheek, and the look in his eyes made your stomach flutter. The soft look that he reserved only for you. Always for you.

You thought about the aquarium, about the jellyfish, the sharks, and the sea otter currently sitting happily on your bed. The way he'd held your hand all afternoon and memorised all your favourite things. The way he'd said I love you like it was the most natural thing in the world and the way he'd given you space when you hadn't been ready to say it back.

Your heart and stomach squeezed. “Dex.”

His thumb brushed gently across your cheek. “Yeah?”

For a second you simply looked at him before gently smiling. “Thank you for today.”

Something in his expression relaxed. “You had fun?”

“You already know I did.”

“I still like hearing you say it.”

Your laugh escaped before you could stop it, and the sound made him smile too. Then he leaned forward and kissed your forehead as your eyes fluttered closed briefly, savouring the feeling of being loved.

And when he kissed you again, pulling you closer until there wasn't any space left between you, you followed willingly.

Because neither of you wanted the day to end as the television continued playing unnoticed, and the city carried on outside. And somewhere between the shared laughter, quiet conversation, and stolen kisses, the evening slipped away from you both.

TAGS: @benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @doesanyonereadthis @not-the-teen-witch @hanniesrock @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @monikastuff @its-jackie-bb @that1weirdweebgirl @trulovekay @star-yawnznn @snowwythegloww @ethereal-athalia @musicalfan2026 @mewmew222 @scarlet48 @skylerepost @disappearintofanfiction @floatingintheupsidedown @abbotfan @ancientbeing10 @sarahskywalker-amidala @artistadistrada2002 @kakuchosbff @weallhaveadestiny @hyperfixations-go-brrr @capri-cuntz @bullseyeshandcuffs @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @muffinbrown @cowboylover00 @hearsaygoose @badbishsblog @miixkl @iangelofmusic @celleryxo @thecityofspareparts @planetevermore @sadest-bookshelf @paige0103 @bury-me-in-the-star @mrsxchase @kkkeeeiiirrraaa @clowninavan @shoxji @mossmydarling @lostfallenangelsblog @ofmyownvolitionfics

A/N: wrote this cause I’ve been thirsting over seonghwa (ik big shocker there) but also been having a tougher time these days but doing my best to not be defeated or lose my passion and this just came to mind. sorry if it sucks, I just needed an outlet, so enjoy my cherries ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊ feedback is always welcomed!

“Ugh! Fuck you, Hwa!”

“I thought we were fighting. Now you wanna fuck?”

The smug grin spreading across his lips filled you with equal parts disgust and dread because you knew it was as easy as breathing for you to fall for his charms.

Not today.

“Keep it up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned away, “We’ll see who has the last laugh.”

Before you could make it two steps, his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.

“Okay, okay.” His teasing melted away. “Don’t go. I don’t want to leave things like this.”

His expression softened, those big, warm brown eyes searching yours. Fuck! No! You glanced away before they could pull you in, looking anywhere else but at his face, blinking hard against the sting building behind your eyes.

“I’m tired of you embarrassing me and making me look like—”

Your voice caught.

“Like what?”

“Look like…some crazy bitch who’s desperate, obsessed, and head over heels for you.”

“..so you’re not head over heels for me?” There it was—that stupid grin again. You yanked your wrist from his hand.

“You think this is funny and it’s not.”

His smile faltered.

“Forget it.”

“No, wait.” He stepped forward. “What do you want me to say?”

His jaw tightened.

“She came on to me.”

“You allowed it! You went along with the whole thing—buying her drinks, dancing with her.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you sighed from exhaustion.

“Your friends continue to treat me as a joke because you do.”

“My friends are assholes, I can’t control how they act.”

His brows furrowed, his hand reaching out to touch you again but you stepped back to avoid it.

“Why is that my fault?”

“Because you never shut them down.”

You could barely look at him but you met his eyes, trying to calm down but the situation made you more upset than you’ve ever been before. This wasn’t the first fight, but it was the worst.

“You pick your friends and that says everything about you.”

Seonghwa flinched, the words paining him just as much as they pained you to say, but only half as much as his actions from the other night made you feel.

“I’m an asshole and I’m sorry. What can I do to make this right?”

It took everything out of you not to slap him, but you’d never lay a hand on Seonghwa. You couldn’t—wouldn’t. It wouldn’t solve anything regardless. It would only drive a final nail in the coffin of your relationship.

You were done with the argument.

You said everything there was to say.

“You can sleep on the couch. Goodnight.”

With that, you stormed off toward the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you before he could say another word, sobbing into your hand.

Half expecting him to knock on the door, you’re pleased when he doesn’t. You fall face first into your pillow and cry to your broken heart’s content.

At some point, you must’ve cried yourself asleep. Your pillowcase, stained with tears and smudged mascara, was proof enough. You rolled over and your hand instinctively reached over to Seonghwa’s side of the bed, fisting the sheets. Why’d he have to be such a jerk?

Why’d you have to miss him? His touch? His warmth?

Even his snores soothed something inside you, and the empty space beside you left you restless. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself back to sleep, but it never came.

Eventually, with sleep refusing to come, you pushed yourself out of bed. The first thing your hand grabbed was one of Seonghwa’s oversized t-shirts. You pulled it over your head, leaving your panties untouched, then quietly slipped out of the room.

The hum of commercials coming from the TV grew louder as you entered the living room, crossing over to the couch on the balls of your feet.

That’s when you saw him—

Hwa lay sprawled across the love seat, breathing softly as he slept on his back. The glow from the television washed over his face, softening every sharp angle. You bit your lower lip. His sweatpants had slipped low on his hips, the waistband of his boxer briefs peeking out beneath the hem of his shirt.

Damn him.

You stood over him and leaned down, tapping on his shoulder. He didn’t stir an inch. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off.

Tapping Seonghwa again, harder this time, he finally shifted. His eyes scanned the room as they opened, then he sat up, disgruntled.

“Babe?” He groaned. “Is something wrong? You okay?”

His concern pierced straight through the walls you’d spent the last few hours building around yourself.

Damn him…again.

How did he make staying angry so difficult?

“Define okay.”

Seonghwa nodded, flitting his gaze and stared at the floor. It was obvious he felt guilty.

Good.

If he wanted your forgiveness, he’d have to earn it—and you had a few ideas where to start. You took a deep breath and held out your hand to him. It took him a moment to understand, glancing at your hand then back up to your face, confusion settling in his expression. Then cautiously, he took your hand in his.

You helped him stand to his feet before dragging him to the bedroom. Even half-asleep, he moved with effortless grace—agile bunny. Closing the door behind, you leaned your back against it. Anger and desire churned together inside you until you could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

“Baby, I really am sorry. Can we talk more in the—”

Suddenly, cutting off his words, you closed the distance between you and lunged at him, pressing your lips to his with hunger and greed. Seonghwa’s hands slipped around your waist, tasting you with similar tension and need. Your hands trailed up the sides of his neck, fisting the hair at the nape of his head.

His tongue brushed against yours before he leaned back, leaving you pouting like a toddler who got their toy taken away.

“Wait, y/n, I want you to hear me,” he pleaded. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to weasel out of—”

“Stop talking.” You muttered, returning your lips to his.

Your wet lips trailed lower, kissing and licking the corner of his mouth before moving to his jaw and then his throat. Seonghwa let out a hushed moan, gripping the hem of your shirt tightly.

“I just want you to know…I know I was wrong and—”

“I have something better for that mouth to do other than yap.”

Hwa raised an eyebrow, curiosity briefly eclipsing the guilt in his eyes.

“I want you to do that thing…” You both stood in silence for a beat, “…with your tongue. Now.”

That cheeky smile of his made a quick comeback. He made short work of guiding you backward toward the bed until the back of your legs hit the bed frame and your butt plopped down on the mattress. He sank to his knees and hoisted your legs above his shoulders, drawing you back on your forearms.

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he cooed.

His fingers tightened around your thigh as Seonghwa pushed your legs apart and placed slow, tantalizing kisses up your inner thigh until he got to the crease of your hip. His nose grazed along your panty line, lightly kissing the wet splotch of fabric. It drove you crazy.

You caressed his bicep roughly, crescent shapes indenting his skin from your nails.

“Stop teasing, Hwa,” you let out breathlessly.

He lifted his head and sweetly nipped the inside of your thigh.

“But, baby, teasing is the best part…” He rubbed two of his long fingers in circles over the damp cotton, playing delicately with your covered clit.

Your thighs shook slightly in his strong hands. Seonghwa ignored the way you squirmed, heat rushing from your core to your face. Switching his fingers with his lips, he licked a hot stripe up the cloth and sucked at the sensitive bud.

Goddamnit. Your head grew fuzzy, blood pounding in your ears. Seonghwa let out a low laugh as you whimpered, desperate for him to latch his tongue directly to your aching flesh. Your fingernails left angry red marks as they scratched along his arm.

“So wet for me already, I see.” He boasted, nuzzling his face deeper into your soaked panties like a man starved.

“F-fuck you…Hwa…”

“All in good time, y/n.” He tangled his fingers in the strings of your underwear. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

You did as he instructed before he slipped them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He studied the juicy center between your hips, practically drooling at the sight. His gaze lifted to meet yours before he lowered his head once more, gliding his tongue up and down your pussy once. Your head tipped back, your entire body igniting like a flame.

“Please…”

“Please what?” He asked coyly. “Use your words, baby.”

“Please…eat me...” you whispered, clawing at his hand.

He buried his head, tongue parting through your folds and circling the bundle of nerves that begged for his attention. Seonghwa continued edging you, his tongue traveling everywhere but where you craved.

He knew exactly how to rile you up.

His mouth resumed the task at hand with renewed eagerness, and your choked gasps filled the room.

“H-hwa..” you moaned, but it was a broken, whiny sound from the back of your throat as your fingers twisted in his golden locks.

Your hips rutted up as his tongue worked you, a mixture of your wetness and his saliva dripping heavily down his chin. Each tug at his hair only spurred him on. He growled against you, sending vibrations through your core. Your toes curled at the overwhelming tension.

“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he rasped drunkenly.

Words abandoned you. All that came out was incoherent, meaningless babbling. His mouth moved to suck at your throbbing clit with endearing focus, the scorching pleasure blinding you.

Then he did it—that thing you loved most. His tongue slid into you, far as it could into your hot, wet core. His hand resting on your gut to hold you in place as you trembled.

“Hwa—” you cried out, gripping his hand frantically, grinding down as his nose hit your clit with each motion, his name tumbling from your lips. “P-please don’t stop.”

He sucked gingerly at your aching bud, swiveling his tongue flat like a brush in a painter's hand along your insides. The coil in your stomach knotted fast, the relentless attention to your clit sending unbearable sensations rippling through your body.

As the fire in your abdomen spread, an uncontrolled instinct to run away from him coursed through you, your hand shoving his forehead in weak effort.

He kept you exactly where you were.

His shoulders pressed your thighs further back as he moaned into you, keeping his mouth latched to you and his view unobstructed. Seonghwa liked to watch you fall apart. His gaze stayed fixed on your face as it lit up with delight.

The orgasm ripped through you as your eyes shut, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. You rode his tongue in a frenzy with the intense waves rushing through you. Silvery strings of spit and arousal broke as he pulled away. As the white haze faded from your vision, you caught the shine of it on his swollen lips.

Seonghwa stood over you, breathing heavily, taking in the aftermath of you coming undone.

“Fuck…” you panted, flicking your foot softly and pressing your toes to his crotch, teasing the bulge.

Seonghwa was rock hard, his cock pulsing to be freed.

“Flip over and get on your stomach,” his voice was delicate yet commanding as he pulled his sweats down by the waist, "I'm not done with you yet.”

You obeyed immediately, folding yourself over the side of the bed until your feet touched the cold wooden floor.

You barely heard him come up behind you.

Not until his cock pushed inside you, thick and unyielding, and stretched you open inch by inch. Your fingers dug into the bedsheets as the pressure built in your stomach with every snap of hips.

“Oh, y/n, you feel so fucking perfect…” his hands squeezed your waist to steady you as he bottomed out inside you.

The slick, heated squelching and your muffled cries as you stuffed your face in the mattress was all you could hear. Your legs threatened to give out under the weight of his thrusts. The burning friction was sharp, delicious, and intoxicating.

Your soaked cunt fluttered helplessly around him as he rolled his hips gradually, setting an intense but frustrating pace. Your breath hitched when you turned your head to the side, purring raggedly as Seonghwa stuffed you to an all too familiar fullness.

“You like that baby? Hmm, does this feel good?”

He knows you can’t answer.

Bastard.

Everything blurred into white as your body was entranced with fiery bliss, the next orgasm knocking on your belly with searing passion, but that’s when you saw it…

The mirror.

The reflection of the two of you staring back.

Your eyes widened at the sight.

(A few weeks ago, Seonghwa came home with the largest and gaudiest mirror you’d ever seen. A chrome silver frame adorned with red roses and thorny vines surrounded the glass, and he propped it against the wall across from the bed.

You hated it.

He loved it.

So, it stayed—but you didn’t understand why…until now.)

Seonghwa stared into the mirror, lustfully pumping in and out of you, a slow smirk creeping across his face as his eyes locked with yours in the reflection. His dark demeanor was animalistic and carnal and…painfully sexy.

Your boyfriend was watching himself fuck you.

Holy airball.

“You’re taking me so good, princess...”

Seonghwa raised your leg, guiding your knee onto the bed. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed deeper into you. One hand gripped the back of your thigh. The other seized the back of your neck, forcing your face into the bedding.

“Fuck…Seonghwa…oh my go—” you whined, feeling your ass bounce against his groin, “I’m c-close…don’t…s-stop…”

Low, wild groans tore from his chest as he quickened his rhythm.

Each thrust felt like an imprint in your pussy—like he was reclaiming you completely as his.

“That’s it, y/n. Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he grunted.

Those words shoved you right over the edge.

For a second time, a choked sob bursted out of you as your walls clenched around Seonghwa’s length, causing his hips to stutter.

Stars sparkled behind your eyes, and it hit you that this was the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.

(The memory flickered—Seonghwa had you pinned against a fence in the backyard of his family home—mind-blowing, but this surpassed it.)

“S-shit, holy s-shit…” his deep voice broke, your name dribbling wrecked and raw through his lips as you cum around him.

His head tilted back and hips stilled, spilling his seed inside you, slowly pushing back and forth as you milked every last drop from him.

The only sound was the both of you breathing as he stopped and rested against you.

Seonghwa stayed inside you for a second longer before pulling himself out sluggishly. He fell to his knees, gaze dropping on his cum leaking out of your cunt.

Your body, heavy and flooded, collapsed before you carefully crawled along the bed, attempting to shift away and put some distance between you and your sex demon boyfriend.

It was too late.

Hwa was ravenous.

He followed instantly.

“Nu-uh, come back here.” Seonghwa grabbed your waist and pulled you back.

He greeted you with a sizzling, sticky lick up your drenched core and you yelped at the sudden contact.

He didn’t slow down. Standing over you, he closed the distance again and shoved his finger inside you without warning.

“I have to see you cum one more time.”

“Seonghwa…” you mewled, thighs shaking from the overstimulation.

He added a second ring-clad finger for good measure, the cool metal roughly pressing into your flesh. Hwa drove his fingers further inside you, flexing them and hitting your sweet spot.

Your screams of ecstasy fueled him.

His fingers split you with reckless abandon. Your thoughts dissolved as juices trickled from your cunt, coating his hand and puddling onto the floor.

A piercing slap stung your ass cheek before Seonghwa rubbed the sore skin.

“Good girl. You’re doing very well,” he praised, his thumb playing with your clit in tandem with his strokes.

“Oh my god…”

It was too much.

A strangled noise tumbled from your mouth as the knot in your stomach shattered and released your third orgasm fiercely, your pussy spasming around his digits until he pulled them out.

You quivered tensely, swallowing hard before going limp.

Thick spurts of cum, his and yours, seeped between your legs.

The rest of the night, you and Seonghwa lay together in bed, cuddling with his second erection engulfed by your wet heat. Arms wrapped around each other as he moaned lovingly into your ear.

You were kissing and sucking sloppily all over his neck and throat, leaving these reddish purple splotches on his skin.

Marking your territory.

“Baby…fuck…” Every time he moaned, his cock twitched against your spongy walls.

It made you giggle.

“I want to apologize…please…”

Your head lifted as you met his eyes, ready to finally hear him.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like shit. I promise it won’t happen again.” Seonghwa whispered, appearing extremely sincere.

“I know, Hwa…and I forgive you.”

His face lights up, giving you a short kiss on your lips with the utmost satisfaction. You continued biting at his bruised throat, giving kitten licks in between to soothe the stings.

He meant too much to you to let go of.

He just needed to respect you more.

“But you’ll have to prove that it’s earned with your actions.”

“Didn’t I do that like half an hour ago? You came three times?”

“Shut up,” you tried to stifle your laugh but it came out anyway as you punched him playfully in the chest.

“I will, baby. I swear. I love you too much to—”

Seonghwa’s words cut off as his eyes grew wide.

“I mean…fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I, uhm...”

You took his face with both hands and kissed him tenderly. It was filled with passion, tongues massaging together as your mouths rolled over each other.

It felt like he was your last breath of air.

“I love you too, Hwa.”

© written by teezslvt— do not steal or claim as your own 𓆩♡𓆪