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giveafike · 1 month ago

Note

After seeing how sweaty Ben gets when playing... I feel like I need to ask for this: Shower sex. With Ben Shelton. Do with that what you will. (I love you Azzie)

TLDR: you horny fucks on twt and tumblr asked for this; gfxBen shower sex (loosely based on get u wet - Plies!!! Wyk about that old tune!)

Word count + info: 5.5k + dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: NSFW - Minors DNI!! lwky kinda rough..mentions of a bl*wjob, unprotected s*x, somewhat forced org*sms(?), shower head....ohh good heavens!......☹️

Azzie Notes ✚: Hi!! I rewrote this so many times and it just didn't read right, idk not my best....also this is SO LONG? and lwky kinda repetitive sorry :( thank u for the reposts and likes, there's so many of us now!! :) next post will be a long story! do send in requests if u have any :p

Taglist: thank u for all ur support <33! if u wanna join the taglist, head on over here

🌙 - @le-moon-nade @anneioe @maya1the-bee @miss-d-d @hannahbanannax @mfcvbs @egevtntn @the-aizzlee @hello-missunperfect-things @joeybisbootiful @2manytabsopen

all i wanna do is... - B.T.S

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Your leg bounced as you listened to the wet thuds of clothing shed in the en suite, followed by the sharp clatter of his watch hitting the countertop. Ben had just come home from practice, his mood written all over the furrow of his brows, the tight set of his jaw. He hadn’t even kissed you hello, or given much acknowledgement at all; he just stormed in slinging his tennis bag to the floor, shaking his wet curls loose like they were irritated.

“The showers at the courts are a joke,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through his hair with a frustrated sigh. His curls were damp with sweat, sticking in places, and the muscles in his forearms flexed with the movement. “Either they don’t work, or you get hit with one sadass stream of water that’s either boiling or ice cold. I swear to God, I’m gonna start bringing my own damn toolbox, I can't stand shit like this.”

His irritation was justified, sure, but your mind was hardly focused on the plumbing issues of American tennis courts when he grabbed the hem of his skintight tank top and ripped it over his head in one smooth motion.

The sight of him knocked the breath from your lungs.

His golden skin gleamed under the dim light, a sheen of sweat highlighting every muscle, from the sharp ridges of his collarbones to the deep cuts of his abs. The shadows of his toned stomach made the outline of his v-line even more pronounced, leading your eyes lower, where the dusting of hair, his happy trail, on his lower abdomen trailed down, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts.

Your throat went dry.

And the shorts? Way too short. They rode low on his hips, the elastic barely clinging to that deep cut of his pelvis. Every breath he took made them shift just enough to tease at what was underneath.

Ben let out a sharp exhale, rolling his shoulders back like he could physically shake off his bad mood. As he moved, the scent of him hit you; sweat, salt, and something warmer, deeper. A mix of whatever faint cologne still clung to his skin and that intoxicating, sun-drenched smell that was uniquely him. It was maddening, like a drug that worked too well. You felt it in your gut, your chest, your bloodstream.

Ben was always attractive, he was your boyfriend after all, but like this, fresh from practice, muscles tensed with irritation, radiating heat and the raw, unpolished energy of a long day, it was overwhelming. Ovulation week was already making everything feel heightened, and now? It felt like a cruel joke.

He looked up then, finally noticing your silence, and his gaze dragged over you with slow deliberation.

“Yo, you listenin'?” His voice was rough, still carrying the remnants of frustration, but the way his eyes flickered down your body told you he wasn’t completely unaware of what he was doing to you.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, trying and failing to keep your eyes from dipping lower.

The way his shorts hung off his hips was a problem. A big one.

Ben scoffed, shaking his head, but his lips twitched, betraying him. He knew. “Yeah, okay.” His tone was dry, but there was amusement hidden beneath like he was enjoying this, enjoying watching you squirm.

Then he turned toward the en suite, tugging at the waistband of his shorts.

“I’m gettin' in the shower before I lose my mind.”

You weren’t sure what made the words slip out, but once they did, there was no taking them back.

“Want company?”

He froze.

For a long moment, he didn’t move; he just stood there with his fingers still hooked in his waistband. Then, slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, and the shift in his expression sent a thrill down your spine. His irritation had faded, replaced with something sharper. His eyes raked over you, not in teasing this time, but with intention.

He started at your legs, dragging up with agonising slowness, pausing at the hem of his loose t-shirt you were wearing where it barely covered the tops of your thighs. The weight of his stare made your skin feel electric like every inch of you was buzzing under the attention.

Then, that familiar, cocky smirk tugged at his lips as he narrowed his eyes. “You tryna help me unwind, baby?”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering. “Maybe.”

His smirk widened. “That so?”

With one smooth motion, he turned back, just out of your eyesight and shoved his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them without an ounce of hesitation. His confidence was almost infuriating like he knew exactly how devastating he looked. And he was right. It was unfair.

He didn’t close the bathroom door behind him. He left it ajar, letting the sound of the shower starting up drift into the room.

Then came his voice, low and knowing.

“Quit starin' and get in here then.”

Your breath caught as you stood, your body already moving before your brain could fully process the decision. The steam from the bathroom curled into the bedroom, warm and inviting, beckoning you in, laced with the clean scent of his body wash mixing with the heat of the water.

You stepped inside, toes pressing against the cool tiles, and there he was, already under the spray, head tilted back, throat exposed as the water cascaded over him. His broad shoulders flexed as he ran a hand through his curls, pushing them back, eyes shut like he was trying to let the heat melt away his frustration. Even tense and worn out, he was breathtaking. Water beaded along his skin in droplets, streams tracing over the deep lines of his abs like rivers, catching in the dip between his pecs before rolling lower, disappearing down his body. His happy trail, darkened by the water, coarser against the smoothness of his stomach, led downward, a visual anchor that made your mouth go dry.

Ben cracked an eye open when he heard you step in, his lips quirking just slightly. “Took you long enough,” he murmured, voice rough from exhaustion but still carrying that teasing edge.

You ignored his cockiness and got undressed, stepping closer until the hot water kissed your skin, mingling with the warmth already pooling in your belly. “You’re still tense,” you noted, reaching up to press your fingers into his shoulders, kneading at the tight muscles.

He let out a deep breath, his head rolling slightly. “Yeah, well, long day.” His voice was quieter now like the weight of it was finally catching up to him. “All of 'em on my ass...felt like everything I did today wasn’t good enough.”

Your hands smoothed down his arms, feeling the taut muscles shift beneath your touch. “That’s not true,” you murmured. “You’re your own worst critic.”

Ben huffed, leaning into your touch despite himself. “Might be, but today still sucked.”

You pressed up onto your toes, lips grazing his jaw before whispering, “Then let me make it better.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop you as your hands glided down his chest, fingers tracing the rivulets of water streaming over his skin. You moved slowly, deliberately, and your touch was more about comfort than seduction, for now at least. You rubbed over his shoulders, then down his arms, massaging out the lingering tension.

His head dipped lower, his forehead resting against yours. “That feels good,” he admitted, voice dropping into something softer.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Good.”

For a while, you just stood there together, the water falling in steady streams around you. You ran your hands and nails down his back, your touch firm but gentle, smoothing over the ridges of his muscles. His skin was impossibly warm beneath your fingertips, the scent of him mixing with the steam, making your head feel light.

Ben exhaled, his forehead rested against yours, and for a second, it felt like the world outside this shower didn’t exist, like there was nothing but the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of the water, and the quiet space between breaths.

Then, your hands drifted lower.

Down past his abs, trailing in soft, teasing motions, past his waist, his hips, down to where he needed attention most.

Ben sucked in a breath, his muscles tensing under your touch, and you felt the faintest tremor in his arms. His reaction sent a bolt of satisfaction through you, a quiet thrill at the way you could unravel him so easily.

“You really tryin’ to take care of me, huh?” His voice was gruff, but there was something softer beneath it, something almost vulnerable, desperate, needy.

He wasn’t just talking about this moment. He was talking about you, about the way you always knew when to push, when to soothe, when to touch him in a way that made everything else fade.

You hummed, brushing a slow, lingering kiss just below his ear. “You take care of me all the time,” you murmured. “Let me do the same for you.”

Ben let out a shaky exhale, like he wanted to fight it, wanted to keep up that stubborn front, but he didn’t. Instead, he just leaned into you, his hands finding your hips, gripping them like he needed to ground himself.

“Yeah?” His lips grazed your temple, lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. “Then don’t stop.”

His voice was lower now, heavier like all the frustration from earlier had been replaced with something entirely different. His hands slid down, fingers pressing into the curve of your waist like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull you closer or let you keep leading.

Your fingers traced down his stomach, feeling the taut muscle lines beneath your touch. You moved with purpose, slow but calculated, never breaking eye contact as your hands slid even lower.

Ben’s grip on you tightened. His jaw clenched. And when you finally, finally wrapped your hand where he needed it most, his head tipped back, a sharp breath escaping through gritted teeth. Your thumb brushed over his tip, ghosting around in swirls before pumping him halfway.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his fingers flexing against your skin. His hips twitched, just barely, like he was fighting the instinct to chase the feeling. “You really-shit-really know how to make a guy forget a bad day.”

You smiled against his throat, pressing a kiss there, revelling in the way his body responded to you, in the way he was slowly unravelling under your hands.

“Good,” you whispered, voice full of quiet satisfaction. “That’s the point.”

His head tipped forward, damp curls brushing against your forehead. His grip on your waist was firm like he was trying to ground himself, trying to hold on, but you could feel the way he was starting to lose control, his muscles tight, his breath uneven, his entire body wound up like a live wire.

You kissed a slow path from his neck down his chest, your lips warm against the slick heat of his heaving skin, tracing the ridges of muscle as you sank lower. Each press of your mouth felt plotted, unhurried, and you could feel the way it affected him, how his stomach tensed beneath your lips, how his breath stuttered just a little when you reached the deep cut of his v-line.

Ben let out a sharp exhale, fingers twitching against your hips. “Shit,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “You’re doin' this right now?”

You glanced up, meeting his gaze through the steam. His eyes were boring into yours, the teasing edge from earlier completely gone, replaced by something raw, something almost desperate.

“I said I’d make it better,” you murmured, your voice sweet, teasing. “Did you think I was lying?”

Ben cursed under his breath, his hand moving to cup your jaw, thumb grazing over your cheek. His breath was uneven now, his control slipping with every passing second. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You just smiled, pressing a kiss to his hipbone, and then-

Well. Then you stopped talking altogether.

You feel the way his body tensed beneath your touch, how his breath hitched, sharp and shallow. The steam curled around you both, thick and hazy, but all you could focus on was him, never once breaking contract as you admired the way his muscles twitched as you dragged your lips around, teasing the heat radiating from his skin, on the way his fingers curled slightly in your hair like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull you closer or stop you before he completely unravelled.

You didn’t stop.

Your hands slid up his thighs, fingers pressing into firm muscle, steadying yourself as you knelt fully between his legs, kitten-licking the pre-cum that coated his tip. Ben let out a shaky breath, his head tipping back against the shower wall, exposing the strong line of his throat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, like he couldn’t even finish the thought, couldn’t process anything except the feeling of your mouth, your hands, the unbearable slowness of it all.

You smiled against his skin, lips brushing over his head in a way that was barely a touch but still sent a full-body shudder through him. His fingers flexed in your hair, not pushing, not guiding, just holding, grounding himself.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he said again, but this time, it was almost a plea.

You finally, finally parted your lips, taking him fully in. Ben let out a sharp exhale, his fingers flexing in your damp hair, gripping just enough to steady himself but not enough to guide you, yet.

Your wet strands clung to your skin in places, dripping warm droplets along your shoulders, but he reached down, gathering your hair up, twisting it into a loose ponytail at the base of your skull. His breath hitched as he wrapped the silky strands around his fist, keeping them gathered as he rocked his hips forward, just barely. Just testing, getting you warmed up with careful pacing.

The shift sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you let out a quiet hum, tightening your lips around him in response. The sound made him groan, his head tipping back against the shower wall, exposing the strong, tensed line of his throat, a vein jutting through. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths, trying to keep himself steady, to keep control.

His grip on your hair tightened, not too forceful or demanding, just anchoring. His restraint was palpable, vibrating beneath his skin.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered, his voice rough, barely holding it together. "You really know what you're doin'."

You lay your tongue against his base in response, teasing, savouring the way his abs tensed, the way his thighs flexed beneath your hands. He rocked forward again as your cheeks hallowed, just enough to feel it, to feel the heat of your mouth enveloping him, but then he stilled. Pacing himself. Holding back. You could tell it was a challenge. You could feel it in the way his breath stuttered, in the way his fingers curled slightly against your scalp, not pushing, not rushing, just feeling, letting himself sink into the sensation, into you.

You glanced up, meeting his gaze through the haze of steam, and the sight of him stole what little breath you had left. His lips were parted, his brows drawn together in something close to frustration, his whole body taut and tense with effort. The muscles in his stomach flexed and twitched through the steam, the water tracing lazy creeks down his skin, catching in his ridges before sliding lower.

You began sinking down slow, deeper, until his grip on your hair tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as he let out a sharp breath through his nose. His hips twitched, fighting the urge to push deeper, all the way, to chase the warmth of your mouth, but he kept himself in check. Barely.

"You're makin' this real hard," he muttered, voice strained, thick with restraint.

You smiled around him, a quiet, knowing hum vibrating against his skin, and the noise made him curse, deep and low, his free hand flattening against the tiled wall like he needed the support.

He rocked forward just slightly, his breath ragged, his fingers tightening in your makeshift ponytail. Slow. Measured. Never giving in completely, but allowing himself just enough to feel it, to fall into the rhythm without losing himself entirely. You kept up, adjusting, letting him move at his own pace, letting him rock into the wet heat of your mouth with careful restraint, the bathroom echoing your lewd noises. He was holding on, but just barely. His thighs fluttered under your palms, his stomach flexed with every shallow breath, and his grip in your hair never wavered, grounding himself, feeling every slow, teasing movement.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice wrecked, barely there. "You're too fuckin' good at this."

You gargled against him, unable to do much more than that and his response was immediate; a sharp, shaky inhale, his jaw tightening, his hand flexing against the tile. The rhythm stayed slow and steady, a challenge that neither of you was willing to break first. The steam thickened, the heat between you rising, every roll of his hips calculated, every flick of your tongue designed to push him right to the edge without letting him tip over.

And you could tell it was killing him.

You dragged slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive underside, your hand rolling his balls earning you the sharp inhale he sucked through his teeth sent a shiver down your spine. His hips jerked, just barely, his restraint cracking for half a second before he reined himself back in.

His voice was a low, hushed growl, filled with strained amusement and barely contained desperation. "You tryna test me, huh?"

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence, your lips gliding along him in a way that made his breath stutter.

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, fighting to keep control. "You're trouble, y'know that?"

You let your free hand's nails scratch lightly against his thigh, the barest hint of pressure, and he let out a sharp exhale, fingers twitching in your hair. His control was slipping, but he was still holding on, still rocking into you slow, deep, full, measured, pacing himself even as his body begged for more.

And that? That was almost more satisfying than making him break completely. Watching him fight it, watching him struggle to keep control, watching the way his muscles flexed and tensed with every slow, teasing movement.

He let out another low curse, voice thick, strained. "Gonna pay you back for this, baby."

You smirked around him, your tongue curling in a way that made his whole body jerk just slightly, and his grip on your hair tightened for half a second before he let out a slow, shaky breath, forcing himself to ease up.

In one swift motion, he hauled you up onto your feet, hands gripping your hips as he pressed you against the shower door, his body still radiating heat. Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened, and then, effortlessly, he shifted, hoisting one of your legs up to his hip. The movement sent a shockwave through you, your hand pressed hard into the cool, wet tile as he held you steady against him. His hand splayed against your outer thigh, fingers pressing firm, grounding, his grip possessive in a way that made your stomach flip.

"Mm," he muttered, voice thick with something unrelenting, something lustful. "This is better."

Your breath hitched as he shifted closer, slotting himself between your legs as if he belonged there, teasing against your entrance like he had all the time in the world. The contrast of his heat against the slick pane behind you sent a full-body shiver down your spine, but it was nothing compared to the way he felt pressed up against you, solid, burning, overwhelming.

"Ben-"

"Shhh." His nose brushed against yours, his breath hot and teasing, his lips hovering just out of reach. "I got you, baby."

And then, he moved. His hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, his grip tightening on your thigh as he rocked into you in one movement. The sensation knocked the breath from your lungs, a soft, unrestrained moan slipping past your lips, your head spinning like the vapour around you. Ben exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his fingers flexing against your skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good." His voice was strained, like he was barely keeping himself together, like the way your body reacted to his was undoing him at the seams.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, nails digging into his back, sharp and pressing into the damp muscles there, desperate for something to hold onto as he moved against you again. The slow, steady friction sent sparks piercing through you, leaving you gasping, your head falling lazy. Ben took advantage of the exposed column of your throat, his mouth finding your pulse, kissing, sucking, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin until your whole body arched into him.

His control was maddening, each movement just enough to make you tremble, just enough to leave you aching, and burning, but not nearly enough to satisfy the need coiling tight in your stomach.

"Been wanting you like this all fuckin’ week," he rasped, his free hand skimming up your side, over the curve of your waist, his thumb pressing into your ribs, just under your chest. "You have no idea."

The way he said it, the raw, desperate edge in his voice, sent a shudder through you.

"You-" Your breath hitched as he rocked against you again, this time harder, rougher. "You could've just said something."

Ben huffed a quiet laugh against your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw. "Yeah? Like you wouldn't have been all smug about it."

Your fingers tangled in his damp curls, tugging just enough to make him grunt. "I still might be."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips parted, his breathing uneven. His eyes, molten, locked onto yours with a heat that sent a rush of anticipation curling low in your stomach.

"Yeah?" His smirk was lazy, cocky, but his grip on your thigh was anything but relaxed. "You still feel like teasing me, baby?"

Before you could answer, he shifted his stance, hoisting you up just slightly higher, pressing you harder against the wall, and then he rolled his hips again, deep but at a quicker pace, pulling a sharp gasp from you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders. "God, Ben-"

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "That’s what I thought."

The water cascaded over both of you, moisture curling around your bodies, but all you could feel was him, the strength in the way he held you up, the heat of his mouth leaving open kisses all over, marking and tainting your skin, the way he moved against you like he had nowhere else to be like he wanted to take his time driving you absolutely insane.

Your nails dug into his back, fingers slipping against overheated skin as you clung to him. "Ben, I need more-"

"Patience," he murmured, voice thick with amusement and something darker, something almost cruel in the way he teased. His mouth found the spot just beneath your ear, tongue flicking out to taste the damp heat of your skin.

You whimpered, arching against him. "You're torturing me."

Ben exhaled a quiet laugh against your throat. "Nah," he rasped, as he pressed you more firmly into the wall. "Torture would be stopping."

You barely had time to process the words before he moved again, this time harder, deeper, making your breath stutter, making your hands fist against his back as pleasure crackled through you like a live wire.

The steam curled around you both, the hot water sliding down your bodies, but Ben was the only thing you could focus on, the strength in the way he held you, the heat of his skin against yours, the maddening, teasing rhythm he kept like he had all the time in the world.

And then, he switched it up. Without warning, he pulled back slightly, just enough to reach behind him, fingers curling around the detachable showerhead. A slow, wicked smile tugged at his lips as he tested the water pressure, adjusting it with a flick of his wrist.

He met your gaze, dark eyes gleaming with something dangerously smug. "Relax, baby," he murmured, dragging the warm spray of water over your stomach, teasing. "Told you, I got you."

The sensation sent a ripple of anticipation down your spine. The steady pulse of water skimmed lower, making your thighs tense around his waist. Your breath hitched as the warmth kissed over your hips, and Ben watched you like a hawk, tracking every little reaction, every shudder, every sharp intake of breath.

And then, he angled it just right.

The first direct pulse of water sent a sharp, unrestrained moan tumbling from your lips, your back arching off the tile. Ben groaned at the sight and feeling of you tightening around him, his biceps flexing as he held you still.

"Shit-" Your fingers dug into his arms, your body jerking at the sensation. The steady, pulsing stream of water was unlike anything else, the heat, the pressure, and the way Ben controlled it, controlled you.

"There you go," he murmured, low and rough, pressing a kiss to your temple. "That’s it, baby."

Your eyes fluttered shut as the pleasure built, sharp and consuming, twisting tighter and tighter inside you. Ben kept watching, utterly transfixed, his expression wrecked with need.

"Look at you," he whispered, dragging the showerhead lower, adjusting the angle just slightly, and rolling his hips to get you accustomed. "Fuck, you’re so-" He cut himself off with a harsh exhale like he was barely keeping it together.

Your body jerked again, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. "Ben, I'm-"

"I know, baby," he murmured, his free hand gripping your thigh even tighter like he needed to hold you steady like he needed to ground himself just as much as you did. "Let go for me."

The coil inside you snapped.

Your whole body tightened, nails digging in sharp, pleasure slamming through you like a tidal wave, drowning you in heat and sensation. His name tore from your lips, wrecked and desperate.

Ben didn't let up, not for one bit. You were going to ride this out for him.

Even as your body trembled against him, even as the last waves of your release pulsed through you, leaving you gasping, he kept the showerhead firmly in place and increased his own pace. The relentless stream of heat, of sensation, had you jolting against him, a sharp gasp escaping as the oversensitivity hit.

Your voice was barely a breath, half-plea, half-shocked disbelief.

He held you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted. His gaze flicked up to your face, and there was something devastatingly intent in the way he watched you, like he was committing every reaction, every tremor, every broken sound to memory.

"You’re not done," he murmured, voice rough, edged with dark amusement. His lips ghosted over your lips, his breath hot against your skin. "Not even close."

The water pulsed again, a little sharper this time, and your entire body arched against him. Your fingers fisted against his shoulders, nails digging in, but he didn’t waver. If anything, he just stayed watching, learning, pushing you back up that peak before you even had time to recover.

His smirk was almost lazy, but his eyes, dark, locked onto you, brimming with something dangerously possessive, told a different story. "You wanted to help me unwind, baby," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone, sucking just enough to leave a mark. "But look at you. Can barely stand."

You shuddered, fingers slipping against his damp skin as you tried to ground yourself, tried to hold onto something, anything, as he kept pushing inside, kept dragging you over the edge again.

It hit even harder this time, the tension snapping with a force that had your entire body going taut before breaking apart in his arms. A sharp, choked cry escaped as your nails raked down his back, your body jerking, spasming, every nerve ending set alight with overwhelming, unbearable pleasure.

Ben groaned at the feeling of you shaking against him, his fingers flexing against your thigh. "That’s two," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he was counting.

Your breath was wrecked, your mind hazy, but his words sent another shiver down your spine.

Two?

Before you could even process it, before you could even think about catching your breath, the water shifted again.

A strangled moan ripped from your throat, your hands flying to grip his biceps, anything to hold onto as the overstimulation hit you full force. Your body twitched, hypersensitive, pleasure twisting so sharply it almost ached.

"Too much-" The words barely formed, but Ben only hummed against your neck, his lips pressing there is something almost soothing. Almost.

"You can take it," he murmured, voice steady, controlled, completely in contrast to the way your body was falling apart in his hands. "You always do."

And you did. Again. And again.

By the time he finally, finally relented, your body was completely lax against him, boneless, every last drop of tension wrung from you. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, your breath uneven, your fingers still curled weakly against his skin.

Ben exhaled, rough and ragged, the teasing edge in his voice gone, replaced with something raw, something hungry.

"Fuck," he muttered, his head tipping back, his hands tightening on your waist, gripping like he was barely holding himself together.

His self-control had been impressive, and relentless. But now? It was gone.

Now, it was his turn.

And he wasn’t going to take it slow. You were slick enough and prepped enough to take him properly. The combination sent a violent shudder through your body, a strangled moan breaking from your lips as your back arched against the cold pane.

Ben groaned at the reaction, his forehead pressing into yours, his breath ragged and heavy. He hushed you with a kiss, swallowing your moan as he jolted his hips again, his free hand pressing into your waist, holding you still so you had no choice but to take every inch of him, every pulse of sensation.

He thrust harder, deeper, the rhythm desperate now, almost frenzied, sporadic, as he chased your pleasure right alongside his own. The warm spray of water still pulsed against you, sending electric waves straight to your core, amplifying everything, making every drag of him inside you feel impossibly intense.

Your body jerked in his grip, completely at his mercy, and Ben was watching, watching the way you came undone, the way your lips parted in pleasure, the way your hands fisted against his shoulders as you had nowhere else to hold onto.

His mouth found your ear, voice rough and unsteady. “Give it to me, baby.” A sharp thrust. “Come on.” Another flick of the showerhead. “Let me feel you.”

The pressure inside you snapped like a final rubber band.

Your whole body locked up as pleasure crashed over you in waves, sharp and unrelenting, rippling through every nerve in your body. Your nails dug into his back, your thighs clenching around his hips as his name ripped from your throat.

Ben cursed, his jaw clenching tight as he buried himself deep, chasing after you, lost in the way your body pulsed and trembled around him.

“Fuck, baby-” His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your skin as his own release slammed into him, his grip flexing against your thigh, his whole body shuddering as he lost himself completely.

The only sounds left were the heavy breaths between you, the steady patter of the shower, and the hum of aftershocks still rolling through both of your bodies.

Ben let out a slow, shaky exhale, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes still dark, still hazy with the remnants of pleasure.

"Fuck," His grip on you turned to bruise, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he groaned, the deep, broken sound sending another shiver through you.

His body trembled against yours, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release, finally letting go, finally shuddering with you. For a long moment, the only sound was your combined breathing, rough and uneven, the water still cascading over you both, the showerhead slipping from Ben’s grasp as he pressed his forehead against yours.

His arms stayed locked around you, his hands smoothing over your damp skin, grounding you, holding you close even as both of you slowly came back down to earth.

Then, finally, he let out a breathless laugh, his lips brushing against your cheek.

"Okay," he muttered, voice still rough. "I take it back."

You blinked, still dazed. "What?"

Ben pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk lazy, satisfied.

"The showers at the courts might suck," he murmured, dragging his nose along your jaw. "But this? Best damn shower I’ve ever had."

You laughed, weakly swatting at his arm. "You’re ridiculous."

#azzie asks #ben shelton #benshelton #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton smut #atp tennis

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giveafike · 2 months ago

Note

So uhm.. what are the chances of a follow up of "is it new years yet?" 👀👀

TLDR: part 2 to is it new years yet? recc to read that FIRST before reading this :)

Word count + info: 4.8k + dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Cussing.

Azzie Notes ✚: happy valentines day, my loves! So cute to build onto a seasonal special with ANOTHER seasonal special. Hope this lives up to the first part, anon! Loosely reminds me of Valentine by Laufey. Whether you're spending today alone, with family, with friends or with loved ones (or something in between all that) spend it loving the little bits and pieces of the day!

Taglist: thank u for ur support! if u wanna join the taglist, head on over here

🌙 - @le-moon-nade @anneioe @maya1the-bee @miss-d-d @hannahbanannax @mfcvbs @egevtntn @the-aizzlee @hello-missunperfect-things @joeybisbootiful @2manytabsopen 🌕 - @starlitf0x

blinked & suddenly, I had a valentine - B.T.S

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You chew your lip, scrolling through your camera roll for a photo that looks effortless but nonchalant. Something casual, mellow, like you didn’t spend way too long overthinking it. Which, obviously, you did. You were back in Florida, so you knew you would add a location tag - you were in a trendy little café downtown, where you and your friends were celebrating an early Galentine’s.

The air smells like espresso and overpriced pastries, your table cluttered with half-eaten croissants and empty mimosa glasses. Laughter and chaotic debate fill the space, but your focus is elsewhere. Specifically, on your phone. And, more specifically, on him.

You and Ben have been texting after New Year's Eve, or well, had been texting. At first, it was easy; inside jokes, dumb memes, conversations that left butterflies in the pit of your stomach and a dumb smile on your face, the kind of late-night conversations that left you curled up and eager for more. But then his tour picked up, college welcomed you back with a smack in the face that hit you like a truck, and the messages became… sparse. Shorter. Drier. Less fun. Now, checking in feels less like catching up and more like pestering. You already know how he’s doing, his last match was all over your feed. But that’s not the same, and you hate that it matters so much. You missed the way he’d send you random voice notes mid-practice or from his car drives, his voice slightly breathless as he joked about being worked to death. Or the way he’d text you after posting a clip of his sessions, asking if you’d seen his “epic comeback” (his words, not yours).

But lately? Crickets. You knew he was back here, in Florida, but you couldn't bring yourself to reach out, something about it felt like begging, especially during a week like Valentine's week.

You sigh, finally settling on a photo of your latte, some attempt at a heart in the foam that looks more like a deflated kidney. Whatever. You add a location tag and caption: Nothing says love like overpriced coffee and talking shit with your best friends <3.

Before you can second-guess it, you post. Your phone barely touches the table before you get side-eyed.

“Alright, who’s got you checking your phone like you’re waiting on exam results?”

You scoff, reaching for a croissant. “No one.”

A pointed silence follows. “So you’re just emotionally invested in your Instagram engagement now?”

Another voice chippers in. “Is it Ben?”

Your dramatic eye-roll gives you away immediately. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh my God, he ghosted you.”

You nearly choke. “He did not! We’ve just… been busy.”

“So he part-time ghosted you,” she corrects.

“He’s on tour, I’m drowning in school, it’s not that deep, we're busy people,” you argue, but even you don’t sound convinced.

“Right. And that’s why you’ve been on your phone all morning like a middle-aged woman tracking her kid’s live location?”

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I hate you both.”

“No, you miss him,” Liv singsongs, and you blindly throw a sugar packet at her.

Then, your phone buzzes.

You glance at the screen, expecting a notification from your emails. But it’s from Instagram already.

Your phone vibrates, but you ignore it. Then another buzz. The kind that isn’t a text, but an Instagram notification. You glance, just for a second.

Ben Shelton liked your story.

Your stomach does a stupid little flip. Because of course he saw it. Of course he engaged with it just enough to let you know he saw it, but not enough to actually text.

You lock your phone and flip it over.

“Wow...You put your phone face-down. That’s serious.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I’m putting it on Do Not Disturb because I’m not doing this today.”

“Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts.”

And honestly? It lasts longer than you expect.

Shopping and side-errands keep you busy. There’s a chaotic half-hour where you all try on the dumbest Valentine-themed products and clothes you can find, one of your friends strutting out of a dressing room in the ugliest fur coat imaginable, another trying to convince everyone that this is the year they finally pull off red leather pants. You nearly cry-laugh in the middle of the store.

By the time you sit down for a late lunch-early dinner with the rest of your friends after their classes and shifts, the energy is still high. Pasta is being passed around, drinks are clinking, and someone is dramatically rehashing a dating horror story from last semester. Your phone stays buried in your bag.

Until-

“You know, you haven’t checked your phone in, like, hours.”

You blink. “Yeah? And?”

“And... I think you should.”

There’s a sudden hush at the table, eyes darting expectingly. It’s suspicious as hell.

You hesitate, but finally, dig your phone out. You tap the screen, unlocking it. A flood of notifications. Instagram likes, a missed call from your mom, a “lmk if you’re alive” text from your uni group chat. And then-

A text from him. Sent hours ago.

Ben: Crazy Galentine’s in FL? Bold choice. You holding up without me?

Your stomach flips. Again. You hate that it keeps doing that.

Someone is already trying to peek over your shoulder. “Oh my God. I knew it!”

You angle your phone away. “Mind your business.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“You’re blushing!!”

You close your eyes. Inhale, exhale, then start typing.

You: Holding up just fine, thanks. But this croissant’s got more personality than you’ve shown in weeks.

His reply is instant.

Ben: Ouch. Guess I’ll have to step up my game. What are you doing for the actual Valentine’s Day?

Your friends let out a scream so high-pitched that the next table turns to stare. You have to lean over to clamp a hand over her mouth. The reactions are so grandeur, you’d think they just got proposed to over text.

“HE’S ASKING YOU OUT!”

Your brain short-circuits. “Or, hear me out now, he’s just making conversation.”

Your phone gets snatched from your hands before you can hesitate.

“Nope. Not letting you overthink this.” She types something and tosses it back.

“What the fuck-”

You: Why? You got plans for me?

Your stomach knots as you watch the typing bubble pop up. Then disappear. Then pop up again. It does this for a few beats.

Ben: Maybe I do. You still free for me?

The smiles around the table are like you won the lottery itself, while you're being shaken and cheered around.

And you? You’re so fucking done for. The colour drains out of your face, mouth agape. Your head is in your hands. Gripping your hair at the roots. You’re barely processing the conversation around you, the clinking glasses, the exaggerated cheers.

“She’s frozen. She’s actually in shock.”

“This is so big. Like, national emergency big. Potential WAG in the making right now"

“She’s been single on Valentine’s Day since God knows when, so yeah, this is huge.”

You groan, tilting your head back. “Stop! You guys are so dramatic.”

“We’re just invested.”

You peek at your phone again, heart doing that stupid fucking thing where it stutters in your chest. The text stares back at you.

Ben: Maybe I do. You still free for me?

You exhale, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. You should probably answer. Like a normal person. But your brain is running on pure static.

What do you even say?

Yeah, totally free to publicly humiliate myself on a date?

Sorry, I can’t, I’m busy hyperventilating into my hands?

No. You need to be cool. Nonchalant. Demure.

You tap out a reply.

You: Yes. I’ll text you later, yeah?

It sends. And immediately, the second-guessing starts. Does that sound uninterested? Dismissive? Did you just ruin everything?

Your phone vibrates again.

Ben: Ye, of course. Don’t wanna interrupt your Galentine’s 👯

Another one, almost instantly:

Ben: Text me when you get home

Your face is so hot it could combust. You shove your phone down onto the table with a clatter. “Okay. Done. It’s over.”

But the excitement around you only amplifies.

“You have to reply later.”

“Obviously.” You scoff, playing it off.

“Wait.” A pause. “What are you wearing?”

The question lands like a grenade in your brain.

Oh. Fuck.

You have nothing. Nothing.

The horror must be evident on your face because gasps are let out. “Oh my God. She doesn’t have an outfit.”

The realisation spreads like wildfire.

“You cannot pull up in one of your boring sweaters.”

“Or those beat up shoes you refuse to throw out.”

“We need a game plan.”

And before you know it, someone is yanking out their phone, another is calling out malls, checking store hours.

“There is one tiny mall still open, but we have, like, an hour before they close. We have to go. Now.”

It’s ridiculous. It’s unnecessary. It’s cutting it so fucking close. But here you were dragged to the car while the rest of your table closed off dinner and paid the tabs.

"Get in, loser. We're going shopping."

"Did you just-"

"Yes, I Mean Girls-ed you. Get in! You're not driving, you drank and well last time you drove was New Year-"

"Ok no need to reopen old wounds." You scowl.

You barely have time to process before you’re shoved into the passenger seat, another friend slamming the back door shut behind them. The car peels out of the parking lot like you’re on the run from the law, not just sprinting to find a decent date outfit before the mall locks its doors.

"This is absolutely unhinged," you mutter, gripping the handle as your friend takes a sharp turn.

"You waited years for this. If you think I’m letting you pull up in some tragic little sweater and jeans combo, you’re out of your mind."

“I have good sweaters!"

"No. You do not."

The drive is a chaotic mess of bad playlist choices and a very heated discussion about what vibe you should be going for. Sexy-but-classy? Effortlessly cool? Girl-next-door-but-hot?

Your other friend, scrolling furiously, holds up a photo of some influencer in a red dress. "This."

You glance. "I am not wearing that."

"It’s literally Valentine’s Day, it’s themed-"

"I don’t care if it’s Cupid-approved, I am not rolling up looking like a walking heart emoji."

"Fine. What about-"

"Not the fucking leather pants, either."

Your friend groans, tossing their phone onto their lap. "You’re the worst."

The mall comes into view just as the GPS announces, "Your destination will be closing in 45 minutes."

"Oh, we have to haul ass."

And haul ass, you do.

The second you step into the store, your friend takes immediate command. "You- go find shoes. You- see if they have any decent dresses. You- well, just…try not to panic."

"Very helpful, thanks," you deadpan.

"You're welcome!"

The next thirty minutes are a blur of colour, unenthusiastic employees, fabric, and absolute mayhem. It feels like a Disney movie. You’re shoved into a dressing room with a handful of outfits, half of which are so out of your comfort zone that you genuinely wonder if your friends are trying to prank you.

One friend flings open the curtain. "Show us!"

"No."

A chorus of complaints erupts.

"Come on."

"This is a team effort."

You groan, reluctantly stepping out. "I look stupid."

Your friend gasps. "You look hot."

Another nods in approval. "Yeah, Ben is gonna die."

You cross your arms, looking in the mirror, smoothing over the dress. "I don’t know…"

"Trust me. When he sees you? He’s done for."

You turn back to the mirror. Okay… Maybe it’s not the worst. Maybe…you actually like it.

Maybe…this is real. Maybe it had just been a while since you last wore a dress, got dolled up for a date. And maybe, for the first time, you’re kind of excited for what happens next.

When you finally make it home, you’re wrecked. The shopping bags dig into your wrists, your feet ache, and the only thing standing between you and a glorious face-plant into your bed is the sheer force of will it takes to dump everything onto your chair instead of the floor.

You’re halfway to unconsciousness, sprawled out, limbs all over the place, when your phone buzzes.

u better text ben before u pass out lol

You groan into your pillow.

Your brain is already half-asleep, but fine. You’ll send a quick text, something chill, something casual.

You roll onto your side, grab your phone, and unlock it, squinting at the screen through the exhaustion. Ben’s last text is still sitting there, waiting for a reply.

Ben: Text me when you get home

You exhale, tapping the message.

You: I'm home now

Except. That’s not what happens.

Because your finger slips.

And instead of typing, you misfire straight into calling him. Your heart drops.

“Oh, fuck-”

You try to hit end, but it’s too late. The call screen pops up. His name. The dial tone. Your brain malfunctions.

And then-

Click.

"Hello?"

You black out. Not really. But it feels like it.

There’s a pause, and then Ben lets out a confused laugh. "Uh… you good?"

"I-" You bolt upright like that somehow helps. "That wasn’t on purpose."

He snickers. "Yeah, no kidding. You butt-dial me or something?"

"No!" You wince. "I mean- well, kind of. I was trying to text you, but I misclicked, and now-" You groan, rubbing your face. "Now we’re talking, I guess."

"Well, I'm not complaining." His voice is warm, amused. "But I gotta admit, didn't expect to hear from you this soon."

Your stomach flips. "Yeah, well, neither did I."

There’s a slight pause. Not awkward, just… there. A beat of something unspoken. Ben exhales. "So. Crazy Galentine’s, huh? You still survivin'?"

"Barely." You slump back against your pillows. "You know how dangerous last-minute shopping can get. I think I saw my life flash before my eyes 20 minutes in."

"Tragic way to go."

"I know." You grin. "How about you? Survive your Florida homecoming after your first two tournaments?"

"Hangin' in there." He sounds a little distracted, then there’s a muffled thud, like he’s just flopped onto a bed. "Was starting to think I scared you off."

"What?" Your brows furrow. "Why would you think that?"

"I don’t know, you kinda went ghost on me for a bit. Thought maybe you were over it."

Your pulse stutters. "Over what?"

Ben pauses. "You tell me."

And there it is.

That thing. The thing that’s been sitting between you for weeks.

You chew your lip, shifting slightly. "I wasn’t over anything. I just… didn’t wanna bug you."

"Bug me?" He scoffs. "You think I don't wanna hear from you?"

"You were busy! I saw all the interviews and clips. I figured, I don’t know-" You exhale. "I didn’t wanna be that person."

"What person?"

"The one forcing a conversation when the other person clearly has a million other things going on."

There’s a beat of silence. Then Ben lets out a soft laugh, one of those exasperated, are you serious? kind of laughs. "You’re an idiot, man."

"Excuse me?"

"You think I wouldn’t make time for you?" His voice is lower now, softer. "Come on. We both know that’s bullshit."

You swallow. "I-"

"I like talking to you." The words are simple. Easy. "And if I’ve been dry lately, it’s not ‘cause I don’t want to. It’s ‘cause I suck at this. The whole, like… keeping up with someone while traveling thing. But I don’t want you thinking I don’t care."

Your chest does something stupid. Tightens. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

You let that sit for a second.

And then, because your brain is the way it is, you mutter, "Still think the croissant had more personality than you these last few weeks."

Ben laughs, this full, real laugh that makes your face heat. "Alright, alright, I deserved that one."

"You did."

"Guess I’ll have to make it up to you, huh?"

Your stomach flips. "Guess so."

There’s a pause, and you can hear his smirk through the phone. "So. What are you wearing for our date?"

"Woah... That’s a very bold question, Benjamin."

He chuckles, you can hear the smile in his voice. "Just trying to see if I'll be matchin' or not."

"I assume you're not planning on wearing the same dress as me, so don't worry," you say quickly. "And I’m not telling you."

"Why not?"

"Because you’ll just have to wait and see."

He groans dramatically. "Ugh, torture."

You laugh. "You’ll live."

"Debatable."

There’s another pause. A softer one. "You gonna sleep soon?" he asks.

"I should," you admit. "But this is nice."

Ben hums. "Yeah. It is."

Your eyelids feel heavy now, exhaustion creeping back in. You sink deeper into your blankets. "Okay. I’m really hanging up this time."

"Sure you are."

"Ben."

"Alright, alright. Sleep tight, Valentine."

You barely process the words before he hangs up. You’re left staring at your screen, warmth curling in your chest, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to sleep after that.

Somehow you manage to still your beating heart and fluttering stomach. The next day starts with a few good luck messages from your friends.

Hope you’re ready for your date, miss WAG Valentine’s girl 😏

Don’t overthink it. Just have fun. And don’t let him see you panic

If you cancel, I swear to God, I will show up at your house and force you out myself

You roll your eyes but smile. Then, the rest of the day is eerily quiet. For the first time in weeks, you’re alone. No bustling friend group, no plans. Just you, your apartment, and a long list of things you should be doing.

Laundry, dishes, some half-assed studying and catch up coursework. You sit at your desk, trying to focus, but your brain keeps drifting, back to last night, back to Ben’s voice in your ear, low and easy. You replay pieces of the conversation without meaning to.

And then-

Buzz.

Ben: Yo, what’s your address?

Your stomach jolts. You sit up straighter, rereading it twice, as if the words might suddenly change.

Ben: Don’t worry, not pulling up unannounced. Just need it for later.

You exhale, shaking your head as you type it out.

You: You got a time for me, or is this a surprise too?

Ben: 7

You glance at the clock. It’s barely noon.

You: Copy that. See you then.

Ben: Looking forward to it.

You lock your phone and let out a slow breath.

That gives you hours. Yet, somehow, after a good nap, those hours fly. By the time you start getting ready, the nerves settle in fast. Makeup first. Then hair. The whole process feels foreign, like muscle memory you haven’t used in forever.

And then, the dress. You slip it on carefully, smoothing it down, adjusting where needed. Then, the shoes.When you finally step back and look at yourself in the mirror, you freeze.

For the first time in so long, you actually got up for something. You spent years busying yourself and rejecting any chance of romance, nothing was really worth it - not worth stressing yourself over a sleezy "situationship", but now it sinks in. You actually put in the effort. And looking at yourself now, standing there, hair done, makeup set, dress hugging your figure. You almost don’t recognize yourself, it's almost weird.

Your stomach flutters.

Excitement. Nerves. Anticipation.

And then,

Ding-dong.

Your breath catches.

You hesitate for only a second before making your way to the door. A final deep breath, then you open it.

And there he is.

Ben stands there in a crisp shirt, nice pants, clean. But your eyes barely register the fit because in his hands,

Roses.

Bright, fresh, wrapped neatly.His gaze flicks over you, and something in his expression shifts. His lips part slightly, but for a moment, he doesn’t speak. Just takes you in.

"Wow." His voice is softer than usual. "You look… damn."

And witht that, it all feels worth it, all perfect. Your face heats. "Shut up."

"No, seriously." He grins, holding the flowers out. "These might be pretty, but you definitely win."

You bite your lip, taking them carefully. "Smooth."

“You clean up nice too y'know,” you tease, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how jittery you feel.

He smirks. “I should’ve brought my A-game.”

“This isn’t your A-game?” you quip, reaching for the flowers, setting them down to the side.

“Nah, this is like… my B+. I had to hold back. Didn’t want to peak too early.”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. “So,” you start, turning back to him. “What’s the plan? We’re not exactly in a walk-in-and-blend-in situation.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning. “Yeah, I figured unless you wanted to spend the night dodging cameras, we’d keep it private. So, you trust me?”

You arch a brow. “That depends. Are you kidnapping me?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a first date if I was,” he says, leading you outside. “Though, technically, our first date was you hitting my car.”

“That was not a date.”

“I met you. I got your number. We flirted.” He shrugs. “Sounds like a meet-cute to me.”

You roll your eyes but your smitten smile betrays you. “So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He winks. "You ready?"

You glance back at your apartment, nerves buzzing under your skin. Then, you look back at him, at the way he’s standing there, all easy and comfortable like this isn’t the first real date you two have ever had, nor the only date you have planned. He seems so confident, sincere and honest, like this was meant to happen. He holds out a hand for you, no pressure, just a simple invite. You take it, holding his large, warm hand in yours.

Fifteen minutes later, you do see. And it’s… kind of perfect.

Ben pulls up to a quiet, tucked-away spot by the water. The sky is painted in soft purples and blues, the last remnants of daylight fading. There’s a blanket in the trunk, takeout in a bag, and music playing softly from his phone.

“You planned a picnic?” You raise a brow, surprised.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Figured you wouldn’t want to spend the whole night inside, but also didn’t want to spend it dodging people with iPhones.”

You glance up at him, then at the setup. “This is actually… really sweet.”

Ben smirks. “What, thought I’d just take you to a drive-thru and call it a night?”

“I mean, I did hit your car. Thought you might hold a grudge.”

“Oh, I do,” he says, opening the basket and setting up. “But I’m playing the long game.”

You both settle onto the blanket, the scent of warm food filling the air. The conversation is easy, mostly teasing at first. He asks about your classes, your friends, you ask about his training, and somehow you end up talking about the first time you met.

“I still don’t know how you managed to hit a parked car,” Ben says, shaking his head.

“It was a tight spot, let it goooo"

“Should've hit the Tesla, in my opinion.”

“Okay, well, maybe I was distracted.”

“By what? Your own bad driving?”

You swat at him, laughing. “By trying to keep the car calm, genius.”

Ben grins, leaning back on his elbows. “And yet, here we are.”

Here you are. Sitting next to him, by the water, the air warm and balmy, the food mostly gone, but the conversation still going. It feels like you both have been waiting for this. And now that it’s here, neither of you is in a rush to leave. You lean back on your hands, looking up at the sky. The stars are sharp tonight, scattered like someone spilled glitter across the darkness. It feels peaceful, so different from how you felt earlier, standing in front of your mirror, stomach twisting with nerves. Now, it’s easy, natural.

Ben watches you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. “You know, I did want to text you more.”

His voice is softer now, a little more honest. You glance over, catching the way his brows pull together slightly, like he’s been thinking about this for a while. “Yeah?” you ask. “Why didn’t you?”

He exhales, looking up at the starry sky before answering. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to do the half-assed, ‘hey, wyd’ texts when I was exhausted or distracted. I didn’t want it to feel like… an obligation. But I don’t know. I think I got in my own head. Like, I’d think about it, but then I’d talk myself out of it. Tell myself you were busy, or I was busy, or-”

“That it was too late,” you finish for him. You nod slowly as you meet his eyes. “I get that, I think I did the same thing.”

“I also didn’t want to, like…” He pauses. “I don’t know. Screw this up before it even started.”

You tilt your head. “And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”

Ben meets your gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I was hoping we’d figure that out.”

Your heart does that annoying little flip again, but you play it cool. “Well, if it’s anything like your tennis game, I expect a lot of effort.”

Ben scoffs. “You wound me.”

You smirk, bumping your knee against his. “We’ll see.”

A comfortable silence settles between you. It’s strange, really, how something so simple, just reaching out, had felt so difficult before. But now, sitting here next to him, it seems ridiculous that either of you hesitated at all.

You tilt your head, studying him. “Did you ever think I wasn’t interested?”

Ben’s lips press together in thought. “No… I mean, I hoped that wasn’t the case. But I also knew you weren’t just gonna sit around waiting for me to finally get my shit together.”

You smile. “Well, you got it together eventually.”

“I did,” he says, nudging your foot lightly with his. “And I’d like some credit for that, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can say anything else, something streaks across the sky.

Your breath catches. “Oh my go-”

Ben follows your gaze, and for a second, neither of you says anything as you watch the shooting star burn its path across the night before disappearing into the dark.

Your heart is still racing when you turn back to him. “That was my first one.”

“Ever?”

You nod. “I always missed them before. I’d be looking the wrong way, or I’d blink, or someone would swear they saw one, but I never did.”

He grins. “Guess you got lucky.”

You glance back up, like you’re trying to will another one to appear, but the sky is still. When you look at Ben again, he’s already looking at you.

“I think I already was,” you say, quieter now.

His expression changes just slightly, his amusement giving way to something softer. The space between you doesn’t feel quite as wide anymore. His gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything except sit there, watching you, waiting. And maybe it’s because of the way your stomach feels light, or the way the night feels infinite, or because you’ve both spent too much time holding back, but this time, you close the space, taking the leap, the step forward. Maybe, you did miss him, maybe Cupid finally struck - whatever excuse it was, nothing you could say or do would convey as much as you felt other than his lips on yours.

It’s not rushed, not some grand, sweeping moment. It’s slow, hesitant, like making sure this is real. Like neither of you want to mess it up. Ben exhales softly against your lips, his fingers twitching like he’s deciding what to do with them before settling lightly against your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in the faintest touch, before holding your face. The kiss deepens just slightly, his nose bumping against yours, his other hand resting warm against your knee, holding you as though he was scared you might fade right then and there.

And then, just as naturally, you both pull back. Not far. Just enough to breathe.

You open your eyes to find him already looking at you, his smile small, almost like he’s trying to hold it back.

“What?” you whisper.

Ben shakes his head, his gummy smile wide and bright. “I... I'm just so happy, so glad we're here.”

Something about the way he says it, so simple but so honest, makes your throat feel tight. You barely resist the urge to look away. Instead, you huff out a soft, shaky breath, trying to mask how much that made your chest ache in the best way. “Yeah. Me too.”

His smile is small but real, and for a second, neither of you move. The warmth of his fingers still lingers against your jaw, your wrist. Then, finally, you lean back, the moment settling between you like something fragile but steady.

You think you’re gonna like seeing more lucky shooting stars.

#azzie asks #ben shelton #benshelton #ben shelton x reader #atp tennis

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