#floch x reader

“Make sure you get it all, I don’t want a single spot on it when I take it out.” One hand holds the gun, angling it around in your mouth and prodding you from the inside. The other is in your hair, holding your head in place despite your incessant mewling. Floch pushes his gun further down your throat, making you gag, and it draws out a whine from you. You try to pull your head away, but he tightens his grip on your hair, shushing you with feigned sympathy.

Metal handcuffs dig uncomfortably into your wrists, too tight and biting at the sensitive skin. The gun was warm when Floch put it in your mouth. Smelled like gunsmoke and there was blood on it as if he’d pistol-whipped someone and then shot them. You look up at him; he’s blurry through your tears and he’s looking back down at you with a barely concealed smirk. You can practically hear all of the things he’s thinking, yet he’s being quiet right now, savoring every second of this. The only sounds echoing in the cramped jail cell are your gagging and whimpering.

How humiliating. You prayed earlier for someone to come save you from this, but now you hope nobody walks through here at all. The idea of someone seeing you like this makes you perform with more intent, hopefully he’ll be satisfied sooner and let you go.

Floch keeps the pistol in place for you, no longer shoving it down your throat and letting you lap and suck on the barrel in your mouth while his other hand lightly scratches at your scalp. No need to tug so tightly when you’re staying still now. The last of your tears settle on your face like water following a set path and eroding the ground. When Floch pulls his pistol out of your mouth, it’s wet and a trail of spit connects it to your lips. He lets out a breathy noise from the back of his throat, letting go of your hair to run his fingers across the length of the barrel. Inspecting. There’s no blood or dirt or dust on it. 

“You did good.” He hums after a beat of silence, wiping the gun down with a hankerchief from his coat pocket. He puts the gun back in its place. Floch looks down at you, then kneels to your level to wipe at your mouth with the used handkerchief. “It’s too bad it took all of that just to quiet you down.” He’s softer now, slightly. It’s noticeable. “You’re surprisingly reasonable when you want to be.” Your jaw tightens and you shoot him a glare. If your hands weren’t kept tightly together behind your back, you’d have throttled his neck. “Fuck you.”

Floch’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your curse. If he wasn’t so nervous about you biting his fingers off, he’d have shoved them down your throat for that. He clicks his tongue, wiping away the last bit of drool on your chin. “You still need work. Can’t train a dog in just one day, I guess.” Standing back up to full height, he puts his handkerchief back in his pocket. “I’m not a dog.” “You are what I say you are.” Floch says it as if he’s correcting you. “You’re an enemy of Eldia, I’m treating you kindly.”

An enemy of Eldia. You’d been arrested on a petty treason charge, and nobody could tell you what law you’ve broken or act of treason you’ve comitted. As it turned out, Floch was the one who put a call for your arrest out. He was also the only one you’ve seen since being put in this cell. Isolated from any other prisoner, with Floch as your only company for the past two days. “You can’t even tell me what I’ve done,” you counter him. “What are you going to say when I get a trial?” Floch scoffs coldly at that. “You’re not getting a trial.”

“But I haven’t committed any crime.” Floch looks at you as if you’re arguing a moot point. “It doesn’t matter anymore, you’re here now.” He says slowly. “And if you want to get out, I suggest you be on your best behavior.” Your own disbelieving face is met with a smug one. Sure, in the past he would habitually pester you and make a point to let you know what he thought of you. That you were nothing and no-one impressive. Wasn’t this going too far for a mere dislike?

He peruses your form, hunched over and in handcuffs, red-eyed and dishevelled. Not as pristine and put together as you were before being jailed. He wonders how long he’d have to leave you here before he could coerce you into letting him give you a bath. 

Floch grabs your hair again without warning, a good fistful, tugging your head forward to rest against his thigh. He keeps you there, slackening his grip when you don’t fight him on it. The fabric of his coat brushes against the side of your face and Floch himself smells like soap. His uniform must’ve been freshly cleaned. He gives you a look that comes off as patronizing, sighing deeply. “You know, I don’t like treating you like this.” He murmurs, and his face nor his words match his actions. You don’t respond to him.

“I heard you were planning to go to Yarckel.” He continues, and you perk up at that. You don’t know how or why Floch knows that, it’d been something you mentioned loosely to a few friends. Not to him or anyone in his circle. Not that you know of. “Do you have family there?” He asks, now massaging his fingers through your hair. You look up at him, and his likening you to a dog feels embarrassingly accurate with how you’re pressed against him, kneeling like his acolyte. “That’s not any of your business.” 

Floch bites his lower lip briefly, the hand in your hair turning rough again. He thinks you would’ve learned to play nice by now. Still, he tries to reign in his composure. He’s the one in control here, not you. You wince at having your hair pulled and it sends a shiver down his spine. “I heard the winters there are rough,” He goes on, watching you clench your jaw and grit your teeth to not snap at him with perverse amusement. You did a good enough job with his gun, maybe in a few days when he corrects the rest of your behavior, he can let you have a go with his dick. “I don’t get why you’d want to go there.”

“Is it a boyfriend?” He continues his prodding. You don’t give him an answer. You struggle again at the handcuffs, and Floch doesn’t know why. They didn’t come off the first time, they won’t come off the tenth. He’s getting to you, though, he can tell that much. “It won’t do you any good to not tell me. I’ll find out.” He presses you further into him, so much so that you’d fall off balance if he wasn’t there holding your head up. “It’s not like that.” “So what is it, then?”

Continuing the pattern of not entertaining him, you leave Floch to come to his own conclusion. Your gaze has shifted to the oil lamp instead of him, but he knows you can’t ignore his presence. Cheek against his thigh, his fingers mindfully making small circles in your scalp. “Yarckel is a quiet place to live. You wouldn’t like it there.” He hums, scratching lightly behind your ear. “You’d be happier in the capital, don’t you think?” 

Before you ask him what he’s talking about, and what right he has to make that judgement for you, your stomach answers in the form of a pained grumble. You think you hear him trying not to laugh. This must be been fun for him. You haven’t had anything to eat since last night, and it was only Floch coming to sit down on the other side of the metal bars of your cell to spoon-feed you his leftover stew. 

“Oh, right. I brought you something.” He lets go of your hair, taking something out of his navy green coat pocket. Something that looks like hardtack covered in some clear wrapping. “It’s like cake.” Floch tears the plastic off at one end, and in a show of good grace, gets back down on your level to feed you. He brings the biscuit to your mouth, and you don’t need any cajoling to take a bite. 

…You’d say it’s more like stale bread than it is cake. It’s sweet and it needs some bite to get through. Floch watches you eat, holding the biscuits in place while you take small, awkward bites. You want to ask where he got these from, and maybe there’s a benefit to pretending you care about making casual conversation with him. Floch answers your thoughts for you, eager to hear himself talk again. “They’re from Marley… Eren said they were fine to eat.” He doesn’t take his eyes off of your mouth. “I’d rather not give you anything at all, but I was feeling nice, and that’s all I could bring with me on short notice.”

You’re not sure if he means he’d rather you stay hungry or if it’s a gripe with the treat being from outside the walls. You don’t ask. When you finish, he lets the plastic wrapper the biscuits were in fall to the ground. There’s crumbs at the corners of your mouth and Floch swipes them away with his thumb. It’s too intimate, more than you care for. The two of you sat on your knees together like this. “How long are you going to make me stay here?” You ask, and he breaks eye contact to look away while he thinks. Finally, he looks back to you, his thumb still near the corner of your mouth, testing to see how close he can get to touching your lips. “As long as I say so.”

“If you behave, I’ll see about letting you out early. You won’t be able to go back home… but we can work something out.” As direct as Floch is, you still get the sense that this entire thing is meandering around the point of your arrest. You know enough to know this isn’t how these things normally go, and that you weren’t jailed on any reasonable crime. A treason charge that can’t be explained, a ploy made so Floch could get you under his thumb. You can’t tell if he really hates your guts or if he’s getting some thrill out of this. Maybe both. There might not be a point in trying to get him to admit to what he’s doing, you can’t imagine it would change anything. 

Floch’s thumb brushes against your lips again, pretending to get another crumb off of your mouth. Cleaning you up a little. You take his thumb between your lips, wet tongue poking at the flesh. His eyes widen slightly and it gives him pause. In his stillness, you take the rest of his thumb and bite down as hard as you can. He shrieks, loud enough for the flame in the oil lamp to sputter and flick back and forth. His free hand slaps you harshly, so much so that you lose balance and your head snaps the other direction. You’re forced to let go of his thumb. He’s quick to stand back up. “You—Arrgh!”

With no way to brace yourself, you fall over onto the floor, hitting the side of your head on the concrete flooring with a grunt. Floch holds his thumb, assessing the damage. There are deep teeth marks and blood and spit and his jaw clenches at the sight. The fingernail is split in half and he whimpers like a boy when he accidentally moves it from the nailbed. A bead of sweat rolls down his now pale face. You writhe on the floor to sit yourself back up, a stinging pain in your cheek that radiates outwards.

“You immature brat, you just… love making things harder for yourself.” Floch groans and his voice warbles slightly. He’s hunched over, cradling his thumb like it were a baby bird that fell out of its nest. He gets to his feet, dark brown boots splotched with a thin layer of dust and granules sticking to them now. His neatly combed hair is a bit out of place but he doesn’t care to smooth it over. “You can forget about getting dinner.” He huffs, scrambling to get out of the cell. 

“Hey–wait!”

Now on the other side of the cell doors, Floch closes the metal-bar-door behind him with a clang, standing on the other side and refusing to meet your gaze while he fumbles with the keys. His face is tight with irritation and pain. For the amount of times he’s been injured, a bite to the finger hurts more than he thinks it should. Maybe it has to do with all the nerves bundled there, he doesn’t know. He has to figure out how to make you pay for this.

“Be a good girl if you want your charges dismissed,” Floch says it through gritted teeth and locks the cell door clumsily with his non-dominant hand. He glares at you through the steel bars now, chest puffed. “I’ll be back tomorrow to give you your breakfast. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood then.” He turns on his heel, footsteps echoing in the hall as he leaves hastily to attend to his injury. You can hear faintly the sound of a metal door shutting heavily behind him.

You move yourself up and off the floor, with as much grace as you can given your hands are behind your back. The metal cuffs have dug deeper into your skin and you think you’re bleeding. You look up at the barred window that’s close to the ceiling. If you had to guess, it’s mid-afternoon. You try to think of the biscuits and maybe if you think hard enough, the taste will rematerialize on your tongue. Floch left the oil lamp in your cell in his haste, the flame is still going. 

But that’s what he likes about you. That you say what you mean and mean what you say and don’t give a shit about what others think about it.

He still remembers that time when you’d called Jean a coward. It was after he’d proclaimed that he only joined the military for the chance to go to the Interior – as far from the titans as possible. But you hadn’t said it as an insult. You didn’t sound judgemental at all, just said it with a slight tilt to your head and a thoughtful expression.

He once thought that meant you’d join the Garrison together with him. None of you made it to the top ten, after all, so it made sense. Because who in their right mind would want to join the Scouts?

You, apparently.

You and Jean, as well as a dozen other naïve fools.

He didn’t get it at the time. He’d guessed you changed during the Battle of Trost. Saw something he didn’t see. Realised something he didn’t realise

He also for sure thought that that would be the last he saw of you, and he couldn’t help but feel…angry. Betrayed. Which was ridiculous, since you didn’t owe him anything.

In fact, he’d be surprised if you even remembered him.

---

It turns out that you do remember him.

“Floch Forster, right?” you say, grinning like you haven’t been through hell and back since he last saw you.

Someone elbows him in the ribs – the same boy from last time who’s name Floch still can’t remember. Probably Wagner or Müller or Fischer, or some other tragically normal name. Normal, like himself.

And first then does he remember that he’s supposed to answer when someone addresses him. “Uh--, I mean, yes! Yes, I am.”

He’s just about to salute – pure reflex after having been in the military for so long – but stops himself last second. Which he’s grateful for because damn, that would be embarrassing. It’s not like you’re his superior or anything, even if you’ve been with the Scouts for longer than he has.

He sneaks another glance at you and to his horror, finds that your smile has faltered, your brows curled into a frown.

Did he say something wrong?

“I can’t say that I’m happy to see you,” you say bluntly.

Floch feels his face heat. “Wha--”

“Okay, let me just rephrase that,” you cut him off, holding up a hand to stop him. “I mean I’m happy to see you again, but honestly, I wish you’d just stayed with the Garrison. It’s hell out there, you know?”

He opens his mouth again to answer but finds that he doesn’t know what to say.

“Anyways, good luck tomorrow,” you continue, unbothered. “The new recruits will probably just be ordered to stay back, look after the horses and such. So, it shouldn’t be too…dangerous.”

A strange expression then passes across your face. As if you suddenly recall something, maybe your own first expedition. Floch has heard the rumours – that the Scouts had lost almost all their seasoned soldiers to a single abnormal that day. Capain Levi’s Special Ops Squad even went down, with him as the sole survivor.

You clear your throat. “Anyways…goodnight.”

And with that, you’re off.

Gone.

Probably to be with your other veteran Scout friends.

---

[Year 850] – AFTER

Floch knows.

Now, he knows.

He knows what Hell is.

He knows it, and now, he gets it. He gets why you joined the Scouts and why you stayed, why you keep going back to the death, the chaos, the pain, the misery. Because if someone doesn't do that – how can you ever change anything in this shithole of a world you call home?

It's not bravery. Really, it's selfishness. He wants to live in a world where he doesn't have to go on a suicide charge just so that his people won't be wiped out by a giant ape.

When he rode out to face that Beast, it was the second time he’d thought he would never get to see you again.

And again, he’d been wrong.

You’re standing right there, in full military attire, face blank. Wearing a medal of polished metal, so shiny that he can see his own reflection in it. He’s wearing a similar medal. It rests around his neck like a rope of mockery, heavy, like it’s trying to strangle him.

He hates it.

He wonders if you do too – yes, you’d helped get rid of the Colossal Titan, but what else had the Scouts managed to accomplish during that Expedition? The other titan shifters had escaped, two of them because Captain Levi couldn’t do his one damn job and sever their necks when he had them at literal sword point.

And not only that, but they’d also lost their God damn Commander. They’d lost Erwin Smith, in favour of a teenage boy who looked more like a chess champion than a Scout. Sure, Floch doesn’t doubt that the kid is smart, but he’s got no experience. And no charisma too, judging from the way he delegates orders as if he’s afraid of his own voice.

Of course, they also say the Scouts retook Wall Maria. He must admit that such a detail might warrant a medal.

But really…the shifters let them do that. And who’s to say they won’t be back next year, coming to break down the Walls all over again? Next week, even? Or today, while the whole military is gathered in Mitras to celebrate…what? That ten Scouts survived?

He can’t speak for the others, but for him, he knows that was pure luck. Not that he’s not grateful – he is, he really is.

No, it’s just that…does he really deserve a medal for that?

---

[Year 854]

“They don’t get it,” Floch says, for the umpteenth time, as he paces back and forth in his private quarters in the military barracks.

Surviving the Retake of Wall Maria and rising within the ranks of the Scouts do have their perks, he gotta admit, and a private bathroom is one of them.

“I know,” you say. You don’t sound impatient, even if you’ve been over this with him a hundred, maybe even a thousand times before. No, you sound like you always do – calm, unapologetic, honest.

“They’re all some naïve moralists. Don’t they see that it’s us or them? I don’t care what we have to do, but I won’t let it be us. I just won’t.” He fists his hair in frustration.

“I know,” you repeat.

Is it just him, or is your voice a tad softer than it usually is? He can hear the mattress shift as you get off his bed, walking over to stand before him. Gently, but firmly, you pry his fists open and wrap your smaller hands around his own. “Stop that, you’re going to rip your hair out,” you tell him.

Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead against yours. Your noses almost touch and he lets out a small, contented sigh. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t know when you began noticing him. If it was after he joined the Scouts. Or after he survived his encounter with the Beast Titan. Or after you became alienated with your other friends because you didn’t agree with their views on how to handle Marley. Or after he became leader of the Yeagerists and you joined as his second-in-command. 

He doesn’t know, but he’s grateful. Because at least, there’s one other person in this world who gets him.

You pull away to look at him. “Don’t be sorry. I already told you, don’t apologise for telling me what you think. I do the same thing all the time.”

He smiles a bit at that. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.”

You smile back. “And you love it.” 

He feels his breath catch in his throat. You look beautiful like this, hair slightly mussed from lying on his bed, cheeks a little flushed, lips slightly parted as you look up at him through your lashes. 

After some time, he closes his eyes and leans in again. Head tilted a little, hands moving to cup your face. Gently, unlike he is with anything else in life. 

"Harsh." Was the only response he sent back causing you to become irritated that he'd even have the audacity to say that about you when he acted that way he did.

About 10 minutes later, he texts you again.

"Can I come over.. just for 10 minutes.. I miss you."

His response pissed you off making you lock your phone and toss it to the other side of the bed, ignoring him.

As you lie there in bed, you start to doze off while watching tv only to be disturbed by a knock on your front door.

When you get up checking to see who it is, you click your tongue in annoyance, opening the door to Floch standing there with his hands in his pockets.

"In what world does me ignoring you asking about coming over mean just show up at my damn house?"

"I missed you." He says simply, shrugging his shoulders.

You stand there looking at him for moment before you start to shut the door in his face only for his hand to come up and stop it quickly.

"Really? You're gonna make me go all the way back home.. I drove all the way here just to see you.. just 10 minutes?"

You groan and swing the door back open.

"10 minutes, and if you do this shit again, I promise I'm not gonna answer it, so don't. Unless you wanna stand outside looking stupid."

He grins, not responding to the annoyed look on your face as he walks in, sitting on the couch like it's he lives there.

"What do you want? I was bout to go to sleep, Floch."

He pats the couch next to him. You hesitate, but you go sit next to him anyways, crossing your arms.

"Look.. I am sorry." He says, trying to touch your leg, but you move it away from him.

"Yeah, I've heard that before.. several times."

"I'm serious.. I miss you, baby.. come on, I know you still love me.."

You scoff and look at the tv, avoiding his gaze.

"I hate you. Actually."

He looks a little offended at first, but his expression quickly changes into a smirking one, that same annoying grin he always does before he starts talking shit.

He reaches out to grab your jaw, turning your head back to him.

"What'd you say?"

You look in his eyes for a moment, wanting to push his hand away but you don't.

"I said I hate you."

When you speak his eyes trail from yours to your lips and back up before he snatches his hand from your face.

"No, you don't." He says very matter of factly.

"Yes. I do."

"Prove it then."

"How am I suppos-"

"Push me away. Tell me to leave and I swear to you I'll leave. I'll leave you alone and never bother you again."

You look at him, and had he not said those words, you would've thought it'd be easy to tell him to leave, to have him never speak to you again. It's something in the pit of your stomach, something that stops you from being able to say those words to him.

He smirks and you quickly snap your head back to the tv, a million feelings and thoughts going through your mind.

"Exactly what I thought." He says leaning closer to you. He brings his hand up, moving your hair so he can get to your neck.

You can feel his lips just barely brushing against your skin, sending chills down your arm, down your spine.

"Every time you ignore me.. it just makes me crave you even more.." He mutters softly.

"Yeah cause you're crazy.." You say softly and he grins, planting soft kisses on your neck, satisfied that you aren't pushing him away.

"Only because of you.."

He slowly brings his hand to the hem of your shirt, his fingers pushing up the material just enough for his fingers to brush against your stomach.

"Tell me to stop." He says letting his fingers gently brush along your skin, noticing your breathing picking up just slightly.

"If you hate me.. tell me to stop."

"Stop.." you mutter out softly, sounding completely unsure. You didn't want him to but you wanted to be stronger this time.. not give him what he wants again.

"You really want me to? If you do, you know I will." He asks again, taking his hand back slowly, leaning away from you a bit.

"No.." Your voice comes out just barely above a whisper but plenty loud enough for him to hear you.

"That's my girl.." he says, leaning in again to kiss your neck, his hand moving back beneath your shirt to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"You know I love you.. stop tryna push me away, baby.." he says sucking on your neck softly.

"Mm.. then quit being a dick..." You respond, making him chuckle as he pulls away from your neck, his hand coming up to turn your face back to him before he leans in, his lips brushing against yours.

"I see you still got that smart ass mouth."

He captures your lips with his softly, slowly at first before he sucks on your bottom lip.

"You're still just as pretty as ever, too." He praises softly, bringing his hand from beneath your shirt to your thigh as you two kiss. His hand pulls your leg, making you spread them before he trails his fingers up your inner thigh to the edge of the small shorts you had on.

"I missed you so much.." He gets on his knees in front of you, his hands coming up to run up your thighs slowly.

"You're full of shit.." you say softly, eyes watching his hands move up to your shorts.

"Yeah.. be quiet and let me get these off.. let me make you feel good again.. like I used to."

You shift, letting him pull the shorts and your panties down you body, slipping the material from your legs to toss it aside on the couch.

"Don't tell me what to do.." you mutter, allowing him to push your legs open wide, your already wet pussy being put on display in front of him.

"Shh." he demands, trailing his fingers down from your clit to your soaked hole and circling them around watching your hole clench from the feel of his fingers teasing it. "Damn.."

"Mm.. I hate you." You repeat, not liking that he's still telling you to be quiet, that your body still loves his touch.

"Liar." He says, immediately shoving his fingers inside your cunt.

Your hand flies down quickly, grabbing his wrist as you whimper, trying not to let the moan slip past your lips.

"Fuck.. you see how easy that was? She let me right in.. at least one of you missed me." He says with a grin before he starts pumping his fingers slowly, paying close attention to every centimeter of your warm, squishy walls.

Your hand is still grabbing at his wrist, moans slipping past your lips as you look at his face, seeing how focused he is on your pussy.

Hearing the wet squelching only embarrasses you further, wishing your body wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing you missed him and his touch.

"Mm fuck.. I hate you.. I swear I do.." you moan out and he only smirks in return, continuing to pump his fingers, your words causing him to speed up.

"Maybe.. but your pussy loves the fuck outta me.. I mean look how she's wetting up my hand, sweetheart.. you want me to fuck you.. hm?"

You don't want to tell him yes, that annoying smirk on his face making you want to tell him no and slam the door behind him when he leaves but your mind can't stop going back to how he looks between your legs, the way his fingers feel plunging past your walls over and over again. You wish you could say no. You wish you really hated him so you could just say no.

"Yes.." you say weakly, turning to look away from him.

He lets out a soft laugh before he removes his fingers and leans in dragging his tongue over your pussy, sucking on your clit softly as his eyes look up at you.

"Mm.. you're so pretty.." he mutters against your pussy.

"Pretty face.. pretty hair... pretty body.. pretty voice.. fuck.. this pretty pussy.." he mutters in between the laps his hot tongue gives your folds.

"Mmm shit.." You moan as your fingers curl into his hair.

He pulls his lips away with a slurp and a soft pop from your clit.

"All fours.. let me show you how much I missed you.. how sorry I am.." he says, running his hand over your stomach before he stands.

You move, getting on your knees and grabbing the back of the couch as you stick your ass out towards him.

He starts to untie his sweats as he watches you leaning down to trail kisses up your back, seeing the way your back arches, pushing your ass up further in the air and he smiles against your skin, pushing the pants down his legs.

He stands back up, his hand coming up to his cock, grabbing the hard length and pumping it slowly.

"Ahh.. fuck.." he sighs deeply, his other hand rubbing and squeezing your ass.

"Look at you.. bent over for me.. arching your back just waiting for me to fuck you.. such a good little pup, aren't you?"

He teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, watching your pussy cause it to glisten with your juices.

His hand comes down on your ass hard just as he pushes himself past the ring of your opening, quickly spreading your pussy around his dick just in time for you to feel him and the sharp sting of his hand.

"Aren't you?" He hisses, asking again, already starting to fuck you at a slow pace, letting his cock almost slip all the way out before he slowly feeds it back into you, making your needy pussy cream around the base of him.

Feeling him spank you and fuck you at the same time makes you moan loudly, nodding your head in response to him.

"Ahh fuck.. yes.. yes.."

He smiles, rubbing his hand softly over the spot he had just hit on your ass.

"Good girl.. fuck you still feel so fucking good.." he moans, leaning in as his hand runs up your back, all the way up to the front for your neck and wrapping his hand around it.

He doesn't squeeze, he just holds it as his pace picks up, the sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass growing louder every time he thrusts into you.

"Fuck.. this pussy sucks me up so good.." he growls. Hearing your broken, whimpering moans doesn't do him any good as he tries not to cum so fast.

"Shit, baby.. tell me you love me.." he moans, feeling himself getting close and not being able to control it.

You moan and whine, your hands gripping the couch tight as he rams into you slowly but hard.

You shake your head no and he growls, yanking you backwards onto his cock by the grip he has on your neck.

"Say it.. now."

"Mmm.. fuck. I.. I love you.." you moan out as your pussy starts to spasm around his cock, gripping him as your juices flow down your thighs.

"Ahh fuck.." he groans loudly at the words, his own orgasm following yours as he releases his grip on your neck, pulling out to shoot a heavy load of his cum onto your ass and back with a loud string of moans.

Once you two get cleaned up, you sit on the couch again.

"You can leave now." You say looking at the tv and he scoffs.

"I'm not gonna fuck you and just leave.. I'm not that much of an asshole and I didn't come over here just to have sex.. I really did miss you." He says making you look over at him just long enough to look into his eyes and read his expression. You look back at the tv.

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah." He says, waving his hand dismissively at the words you both know you didn't mean.

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