#invincible

“Dude let’s go to Comic Con this weekend! I got tickets”

he likes taking care of you. in and out of the bedroom. it doesn’t matter if it’s a small or big action—it never fails to make your face heat up, the way he coos whenever you avoid eye contact. he makes you feel loved, which isn’t something you’re too use to.

but with him, you’re going to have to.

especially when he’s pressing kisses to your tear stained cheeks, scarred hands squishing your waist and playing soft skin. three orgasms in, and he’s tapping your twitchy clit with the tip, face flushed and expression happy as ever. it get on your nerves—he had you shaking and twitching, and has the nerve to comment on how pretty you are.

“you’re doing so well,” he hums, and his eyes flick down to your hips. the couch is definitely ruined. he’ll clean it later when you’re napping. “i think you’re ready.”

he’s been holding off for a while now. you know that for a fact; you’ve seen the goddamn dick print whenever he walked around in nothing but his sweats, hair messy and mussed from sleep and toothbrush hanging from his mouth. you’ve felt it whenever he just ‘wanted to feel you’—and would proceed to grind and moan against you like you were a deity.

and while you aren’t one to be embarrassed so easily (lie), you flush and glance down, visibly shuddering.

“that is not. going to fit.”

and the way he giggles at you? you’re fucking dead.

“i hate you—mmh! i hate you, i hate you-”

“you’re so cute.” he moans right into your ear, hips stuttering as he tries to catch his breath. the sounds coming from your body that were a result of him pushing back in, making your eyes roll, were outright pathetic. if you were in your right mind, you’d be ashamed of yourself.

well, you were ashamed, but your brain had turned into mush by now. you couldn’t put much thought into it when your boyfriend was rearranging your guts, and you swear you hear angels singing when he presses his weight down and stays there.

“haah . . . i told you i would make it fit.”

it would be easier to hate him if his smile wasn’t so bright—so pleased and loving as he watches your eyes roll back when you cum.