giveafike

[giveafike]

hey, can you write a Ben Shelton oneshot based on Doja Cat's song Casual but with a sweet ending, with yn being a professional tennis player and his mixed doubles maybe

TLDR: Casual - Doja Cat inspired doublestennisplayer! reader x Ben! speaking of doubles, Ben seemed to have a good run with Bopanna 😭 i thought this would be the most fitting one to share with you all :)

Word count + info: 4.1k + dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: lyrics added in between plot! Kind of angsty, alcohol mention, slightly suggestive towards the end (i can't help myself)

Azzie Notes ✚: LONG time no see my loves! Sorry to leave you for so long, I've unfortunately had very little creative power or time to write consistently so it's all been veryyyy touch and go :( But I've got some stuff going now, can't wait to complete and share!! I've been on twitter mostly or at work/at home studying or doing coursework :/

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

🌕 - @starlitf0x <3 🌙 - @le-moon-nade @anneioe @maya1the-bee @miss-d-d @hannahbanannax @mfcvbs @egevtntn @the-aizzlee @hello-missunperfect-things @joeybisbootiful @2manytabsopen @luckylzclerc @cassiesmuse @ineedafictionalman <3

leave me alone - B.T.S

————————————————————————

Tennis is second nature to you; a sanctuary where instinct overrules thought, where the rhythm of the game drowns out the noise of everything else. It’s cathartic, almost meditative, the kind of release that pulls the tension from your shoulders and replaces it with something electric, something alive.

Exhibitions were a different beast, though. Less pressure, more showmanship. It's a stage to entertain rather than survive, but you have got to juggle both. But tonight, under the floodlights of the court, with a packed chattering, excited stadium watching, the thrill felt just as potent. Winning still mattered, especially when you were playing doubles alongside someone like Ben Shelton.

You hadn’t expected to be partnered with him, no, not at all. The tension between you and Ben had always been touch and go, an undercurrent in passing moments, a lingering glance during a dinner, a teasing remark that would make you double-take and leave you wondering if there was more beneath the surface. It's always like this with him But when your usual doubles partner pulled out at the last minute, the tournament organisers stepped in with an easy solution: Ben Shelton.

He had agreed without hesitation, no doubt. That familiar, cocky grin tugged at his lips as he jokingly teased, “Why not? Could be some fun.”

It was casual, effortless for him like he hadn’t noticed the way your breath caught for half a second before you nodded. But you had noticed, you caught yourself and shook yourself back into place. And now, here you were, on the court with him under the floodlights, the tension simmering hotter than ever.

At first, you hesitated. You never played alongside Ben in this kind of way before, with so many eyes watching, waiting to analyse your dynamic. You were different players, your game was built on precision and discipline, his on raw athleticism and intuition. You weren’t sure it would work. And yet, match after match, you had fallen into an unspoken rhythm. There was something about the way he moved, the way he reacted, the way he grinned at you after a ridiculous shot like he knew you’d be there to back him up.

The thrill of it only multiplies when you have a partner on the court, someone who moves in sync with you, a presence you can rely on without words.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Right now, it’s impossible to ignore the weight of Ben’s presence beside you. The match has been fun and easy-going, full of ridiculous shots and even more ridiculous banter. Unlike a regular tournament, there’s no need for hushed whispers behind cupped hands to discuss strategy, you and Ben have no game plan beyond vibes, and somehow, that worked out.

“Y’know,” Ben drawls, shifting his racket from one hand to the other, “if I’d known playin’ with you would be this easy, I’d have been your partner sooner.” His thick accent makes the words come out slower and smoother like he’s making a lazy promise.

You scoff, adjusting your grip on your racket. “Easy? I’m carrying you, Shelton.”

He smirks, his boyish, brown eyes twinkling. “Oh yeah? Your back looks fine.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart skips when he taps your foot with his own, a small, unnecessary touch that lingers longer than it should. The ball is in play before you can come up with a retort, forcing you to focus, but the charge between you doesn’t dissipate, it just weaves into the game, into the rhythm of your movements, until it’s hard to tell where the thrill of competition ends and something else begins.

The final point is fast and decisive. Ben’s showmanly overhead smash seals the win, and before you can react, his arms are around you, lifting you in a hug, slightly off the ground in an adrenaline-fueled hug. The world tilts for a second, his laughter vibrating against your skin.

“Hell of a way to close it out, huh?” he says, voice warm against your ear before setting you down.

You shake your head, grinning up at him. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you have your moment.”

The on-court interviewer approaches, and you both straighten up as the camera zooms in.

“That was some incredible teamwork out there,” the interviewer starts, mic moving between you two. “What’s the secret?”

Ben doesn’t miss a beat. “Good chemistry.” His eyes flicker to you, amusement dancing there. “She keeps me on my toes.”

You arch a brow. “I think it’s more brain than brawn that got us here.”

The crowd laughs, and Ben places a hand over his heart, feigning offence. “Wow. And here I was, about to say you’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”

Your stomach flutters despite yourself, but you smirk. “You better say that.”

“So, no plans to split up this team anytime soon?” the interviewer presses.

Ben shoots you a sideways glance, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I dunno… think we make a pretty good duo, tight?”

There’s something in his voice, something playful but edged with something deeper. Your skin buzzes, heat curling in your chest, but you keep your cool.

You tap your racket against his. “As long as you can keep up, Shelton.”

The interview wraps up, the energy high as you wave to the crowd. The applause fades behind you, replaced by the low hum of behind-the-scenes noise; zippers, sneaker soles on concrete, murmured radio chatter and conversation. You and Ben fall into step down the tunnel, your footsteps echoing. The space is wide, but somehow, not wide enough.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Neither do you.

You fumble with your water bottle from your bag, twist the cap too tightly, and then curse under your breath as it sticks. Beside you, Ben doesn’t look, but you catch the subtle twitch of his mouth.

“Solid teamwork out there,” he says eventually, voice light.

You nod. “Felt smooth.”

There’s a beat. Then,

“Could’ve been worse,” his voice casual. “Thought we might trip over each other the whole time.”

You glance over at him. “You saying I’m bad at doubles?”

“Mmm, tha's not what I said.”

You hum under your breath, unconvinced. “You were late to net coverage, like, twice. Just saying.”

“Once,” he corrects. “And I made up for it. You didn’t seem too mad.”

You raise an eyebrow, catching a glance at him. “Should I have been?

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Nah. But you’re hard to read sometimes.”

That catches you off guard, not because it’s pointed, but because of the way he says it. Like he’s still trying to figure it out. Figure you out. Not your game. You.

You look forward again, the hallway stretching ahead of you. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he says, a little too quickly. “Just… makes you interesting.”

The word interesting lands differently. It’s not the kind of compliment someone throws out carelessly, but it’s vague enough that you can’t pin it down, either. It’s harmless. Just a comment. But something about the way he says it, almost soft, makes your stomach dip, just slightly. You grip your water bottle tighter. You tell yourself not to read into it. You do anyway.

You try to deflect. “Well, you didn’t do too bad for a last-minute sub.”

His mouth quirks. “High praise.”

“You want a medal?”

“Nah.” He scratches the back of his neck, gaze still ahead. “Just didn’t wanna mess up your rhythm.”

That makes you look at him again. He doesn’t return it. Just keeps walking looking head-on, like he hadn’t just said something weirdly… thoughtful.

You falter for half a step. “You didn’t,” you say, a touch too quickly. “Mess it up, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That silence creeps in again. Not awkward. Just thick with something you can’t name.

Then,

“Oh, before you go,” he says, like the thought just came to him. “There’s a thing tonight. Rooftop, players only thing. You going?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Haven’t decided.”

“Right,” he says. A pause. “Just saying...y'know. If you’re there.”

You blink. “If I’m there… what?”

He scratches his jaw, not looking at you. “Uh, nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him for a second longer, waiting for him to finish the thought. But he doesn’t. Just keeps walking.

And then she appears.

“Ben!” A female voice, breezy, extroverted, confident, familiar. You glance up and spot one of the tournament brand reps approaching, all big smile and blown-out hair. “That was so fun to watch. I swear, you were just, what’s the word? Explosive.”

Ben laughs, already switching gears, that easy charisma flicking on like a light. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They fall into step on his other side, her hand brushing his arm as she leans in to say something else, and he grins. Not at you. At her. You slow down instinctively, just a half step, giving them space without really meaning to.

He doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything. She’s got him laughing now, that rich, boyish kind that always seems to draw people in. He doesn’t even look back.

You swallow and walk to the locker room. You weren’t expecting anything. You tell yourself that. You weren’t. He’s your doubles partner. For this one exhibition. That’s all. Still, the silence feels different now. Like a door that had just started to open. And then slammed shut again.

By the time you’re back at the hotel, you don't even register the last few moments since you’ve left the grounds. The bag dropped at your feet. Hoodie was still damp at the collar from your shower. You're sitting on the edge of the bed, groggy, hair dripping, the city beyond the window stretched in a light golden haze, but it barely registers.

You didn’t want to go to this stupid party. You keep saying that. You repeat it like it’ll make it true. Like you didn’t hear his voice earlier, low and easy, almost shy: “You’ll be there, right?” And you had shrugged. Said maybe. Said you’d think about it. But you already knew.

You hate how he makes things feel perfect in person. Like it’s not a game. Like it could be more than what it is. He holds your gaze a little too long, or his small comments like how you look when you’re not trying; was that about the game? About you? And then the next moment, he’s all fist bumps and “Good match, partner." Like he didn’t make your heart pound.

You’re not trying to pressure him. That’s the truth. You just want something that makes sense; something sweet. A man who knows what he wants and doesn’t say sweet shit just to fill silence in small talk, or is charismatic with no emotion or intention behind it. You need someone who can stand and fight for you, not just show up when it’s easy.

Your phone buzzes. It’s not him. Of course it’s not. It never is when you need it to be.

You stretch out across the bed, bare legs tangled in the sheets, and let the quiet wrap around you. You’ve been patient. Tried not to want too much. But every time he holds you a little longer, you wonder: Is it casual? Or is he just scared of taking it further? Or worse, was it all in your head?

You drag yourself upright and pull open your suitcase with a sigh that feels heavier than it should. You grab the dress you told yourself you weren’t going to wear. The one you packed just in case. You smooth it out like that might fix the knots in your chest, the ones you’ve been ignoring since the first time you laid eye on him, entering this weird back-and-forth, push-and-pull tango.

You’re not dissing his freedom. That’s never been your problem. You like that he’s easy to be around, to talk to. Fun. Wild in an unpredictable way sometimes. But there’s a difference between being free and acting like you’re for everybody. And if he wants to mess around, dedicate himself to some random women for the night, hell, he should just stay with them then.

You glance at the clock. The rooftop party isn’t for another hour and a half. Still time to back out. Still time to wash off this feeling. Still, time to lie to yourself and call it chillin’. Say it’s just another Friday night, Tecate in hand, surrounded by people you don’t care about pretending you don’t care about him.

But you’re tired. Not the kind of tired a nap can fix. The kind that comes from wanting something simple and getting everything but. From being told this isn’t serious by someone who makes everything feel so goddamn serious when he’s looking at you.

He says one thing, but the next? He acts so different.

So yeah, you’re going. You’re gonna show up. Not for the music. Not for the drinks. Not even for the view. You just need to see if he’ll stand still when he sees you walk in, or if he’ll look away and keep you wondering.

Because at this point, you're not asking for promises. You're just asking for clarity.

And so, you walk in with your shoulders squared and chin high, not because you feel confident, but because you refuse to let him see anything else.

The rooftop party spills golden light and half-spilled cocktails. Neon outlines against the now dark sky, strung lights glinting like stars, a DJ tucked in the corner mixing a smooth beat. It smells like perfume and a little too much cologne, like the kind of night someone writes a song about and pretends it never happened after.

You don’t even make it ten steps before you spot him.

Ben’s leaned back against the bar like it’s a throne and he’s the reckless kind of royalty. He’s got that smile on, the one that’s a little too casual and easy, like it was rehearsed. There’s a drink in his hand and a girl on his arm, or maybe she thinks she is. There are other people too, but you're more zoned in on the way she’s laughing too loud and standing too close. You take in the way his hand brushes her lower back as he shifts, the casual lean of his shoulder toward hers, like the moment belongs to them.

Maybe it does.

You force yourself not to care. Smile at someone you vaguely recognise from juniors, and say something bright and empty. The dress hugs your waist, your heels click with purpose, and your face says you’re untouchable even if your stomach says otherwise in the way it twists.

You drink to keep yourself from looking back. Something dry and sharp with gin that bites at your teeth. One becomes two, then three, then a few more. You circle the party like you own it, like you don’t notice how your voice is a little louder than it needs to be. How every story you tell is just a little more animated. How every new guy you talk to gets just a bit more of your undivided attention.

You catch glimpses of Ben through the noise, in hopes maybe he'll look your way but he is still over there, still magnetic, still letting people orbit him like he doesn’t know any better. Or maybe he does. Maybe that’s what he wants. And god, if that’s who he is, if he’s that guy, that cliché, that player who lets his gaze linger on whatever gyrates near his peripheral, then you want no part of it.

“If he's a player,” you murmur to a girl next to you, barely audible over the music, “then I don’t think I’ll play with him.”

The girl laughs, slurring her words as she raises her glass. “Sooo true!! Wait..who?”

You clink hers with yours, throwing a hand to dismiss her question but your eyes are already darting back, traitorous and soft like a desperate puppy. Hoping, deep down, that he’s not. That he’s not that guy. That he’s not gonna be another almost. That he’s not going to leave you questioning your own worth in the mirror later.

Then, he moves. Your eyes dart back to your company instead of gawking at him. Out of your peripheral, you see him push off the bar. He excuses himself with that soft charm, and your breath catches without permission.

He’s coming toward you.

And you’re drunk. Dizzy, teetering in your heels. The music’s swirling around your head like fog, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of your heartbeat, of how hot your skin feels, of how quickly your mask might slip.

“Hey, didn't think you'd stay,” he says, quiet, once he’s close. Too close. You smell cologne and regret.

You tip your head, smirk messy and sharp. “Oh, so now you wanna talk?”

He looks at you for a beat, eyes squinted, then past you, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re alone. “Thought you were busy.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you lie. “But I also didn’t think you were gonna spend all night playing mix-and-match with whatever’s got lashes and an invite.”

His brow furrows again. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” you say, voice thick with heat. “Didn’t look very inclusive from where I was standing.”

Ben steps closer. Close enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact. His voice lowers, almost teasing, but underneath it, there’s a thread of tension.

“You been watching me, huh?”

Your stomach flips and tightens into a tight coil as you scoff, sipping from your drink like it’s armour. “If I was, it was only to confirm a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe you’re not who I thought you were,” you say. “Maybe you’re just good at pretending.”

Ben breathes in sharp. “What if I’ve been doing the same?”

Your eyebrows lift. “Pretending?”

“No,” he says, gaze flicking down to your lips. “Watching.”

Another twist and flip. There’s silence. Just the pulse of the bass and the press of his stare and your heart in your throat.

You blink slow, biting back every fragile piece of hope clawing its way forward, confidence taking over instead. “Well, if you’ve been watching,” you murmur, “you’d know waitin' around isn't me - being shy just isn't my style.”

His jaw flexes, something unreadable tightening behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, “I figured that out real quick.”

The tension’s stretching, drawn like a bowstring between your chests. People are still dancing around you, bodies brushing past, music thumping like a second heartbeat, but none of it seems to matter. Not when he’s looking at you like this, like he’s just now realising you’re not something he can brush off. Not anymore.

You take a step back. Just one. Just enough to break the tension, to breathe.

“So what now, Ben? You watching me for sport or just keeping score?”

He follows. Of course he follows. “No,” he says, tone dipping low, almost dangerous. “I watch because you don’t know what you do to people. What you do to me.”

You laugh then, sharp and unexpected, but there’s no humour in it. “Don’t gaslight me. You've been too busy for me all night! With the way you were with that girl earlier?”

“She grabbed me.”

“And you let her.”

That silences him. His mouth presses into a line, and for a second, he looks like he might say something honest. Something that matters. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he scrubs a hand through his curls, a tell. I didn’t mean to touch her like that,” Ben says, softer now. “Didn’t mean to make you feel like you were...less. And listen, I didn’t think you were coming. You brushed me off earlier, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you were that fragile to just find a quick replacement to entertain you.” You shake your head and swallow hard. “God. I didn’t come here for this. I came to have a good time.”

“You think I’m having a good time?” he says, voice rising just enough to give him away. “You think any of this feels good, seeing you walk around like you couldn't care less about me?”

"Maybe I don't. Maybe I don't want to be casual."

You don’t realise you’re trembling until the words leave your mouth. Until you catch your reflection in the chrome of a drink tray, shoulders stiff, lip bitten raw. The word sits heavy between you; casual. You’re not used to this version of him; this Ben is vulnerable. And it's almost worse.

You inhale slow. “If this is just some tour fling for you, I’d rather walk away before it turns into something I’ll regret.”

For a second, it feels like the whole room holds its breath. Ben doesn't say anything.

Not right away. His mouth opens, then closes again. And you watch him hesitate, eyes darting to yours, lips parted like he wants to reach for the right words but comes up empty.

And that? That hurts more than if he’d just rejected you then and there.

You laugh then, sharp and unexpected, but there’s no humour in it. “Right,” you mutter. “Thanks, Ben.”

You turn, heels scraping the floor, weaving your way toward the drunken bodies and out from the rooftop garden. It takes a few seconds for your legs to find their balance again, and when you push into the bathroom, single occupancy, thankfully, you don’t expect to breathe again, but the door shuts and you finally let it out.

Your palms press into the counter. The mirror stares back, unkind and unforgiving in the lighting. You look like the kind of girl you always swore you wouldn’t become, lipstick blotched, eyes too glossy with heavy drops ready to fall, anger masking something softer underneath.

And the worst part? You basically just told him how you feel. Not directly. Not in those little words. But between the lines, subliminally in the way your voice cracked. You admitted to watching him, wanting him to be more - and while it wasn't poetry, it was a part of you most hidden, split out into the night sky. And now you’re in here alone with the weight of it settling in your chest like an anchor.

You hear it before you feel it. The door clicks. Then creaks open.

You whirl around. “Occupied!-”

But you don’t get to finish.

Ben closes the door behind himself. His hand slaps over the lock with a sharp click, and then he just… stares. Like he doesn’t know how to begin.

You’re breathless. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Seriously.” His voice is lower now. He’s not playing.

You cross your arms, leaning back against the counter like armour. “You following girls into bathrooms now? That your move?”

He flinches, biting back a small amused smile before a serious tone washes over him. “Well...no, I- I don't do this,” he says, stepping forward. “And you’re not ‘girls.��� Don’t ever lump yourself in with them.”

Your laugh comes out half a sob. “Then what the hell am I, Ben?”

Silence. His gaze drops. Then lifts again.

“You’re the reason I haven’t looked at anyone else for longer than a second since I've met you"

Your heart skips. Fumbles.

“I didn’t come to the party for her, or for anyone else. I came because I... I thought you might. You said maybe and I couldn't regret it so..”

He’s in front of you now, barely inches away, eyes darting from your face to the floor, hands twitching like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed. You’re burning. Inside and out.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” you whisper. “Why let me think I was just imagining all of it?”

His jaw tenses. “Because it scared the shit out of me. I couldn't follow up on stuff without feelin' like maybe I'd be coming on strong or somethin'.”

That cracks something inside you.

He exhales, stepping in, finally letting his hands find your hips like they’ve been trying to all night. “But if you're done pretending,” he murmurs, “I am too.”

He leans in. Pauses. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You reach for his face instead, and his lips find yours with all the tension of a hundred what-ifs and almosts exploding at once. It’s not fragile, gentle or delicate. It’s desperate. He hoists you up onto the sink, fingers gripping your sides, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. He takes one hand off to quickly turn the lock which clicks behind him, and when his hands find your waist again, it's with a certainty that wasn’t there before.

He was a man ready to stand and fight for what he needed. Maybe it isn't casual anymore, maybe Ben is trying to spend his life with you.

[giveafike]

ur ben fics are the only reason im alive 😞😞😞 literally keep up the good work!! (surprise.. im the anon who re read all 13 fics from ur advent calendar..) ITS TOO GOOD OK ❤️❤️❤️

I LAUVVV YOU!!!!!! also leclerc? I’m trying to learn f1 but the lore is so intense

[giveafike]

Hii i love all of your ben fics, they are super cute :)) Have you thought of writing about other tennis players?

Who would you like? Come dm! Maybe I might who knows 👀👀👀

[giveafike]

I think you manifested snow for Florida btw, words are so powerful, your mind 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

I AM PSYCHIC 🪬 (delusional)

[giveafike]

can u pls do more ben shelton x tennis player gf

I’ve got a LONG story about a tennis player x Ben (multiple parts) coming soon!!!!!! Hint she’s a woman of colourrrr eeeeeeeeeeeeeee I’m excited

[giveafike]

omg pls more ben smut the shower one was chefs kiss😘

you’re lucky my ovulation week lined up with my free time that’s all I’ll say

[giveafike]

Hi !!! I’m usually very quiet on here but I just wanted to say that your fics about Ben are *chief’s kiss*

I love it so much, you’re really talented and I never loose interest in reading your work. I’m always waiting for your next work (I literally check ur account everyday to see if u uploaded anything).

Keep doing this, because you’re so talented, I really mean it.

Much love xx - 🧸

You’re such cutie I love u 🧸 - Saturday, midnight (GMT) 😋🎾

[giveafike]

hiii girl i love ur ben fics!! i don’t wanna rush u, but is there gonna be a new fic soon? i’m going through ben withdrawssss

Mhmmmm 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[giveafike]

did u quit🥹💔

I’ve been working secretly on a few things hehehe sorry I’ve been swamped!

I’ve been going back and forth from work (I handed in a 2 weeks notice into one of my jobs hehe) + uni work and too tired to edit, so I’ve been on Twitter/X but…. I’ve got stuff to share soon 😝

[giveafike]

It is so sad to see a lot of writers experiencing burn out at the moment.

We create and create and create trying to keep up with our own demands or pressure from readers but no one can leave comments or reblogs. Smdh.

This site is gonna die without engagement yall. Comments and reblogs are air beneath a writers wing. They cant fly on cold, dead air.

Don't matter if the fic is "old", or hasn't been updated, or already has 50 comments, or you feel silly, leave one. Reblog. How did you find the post in the first place? Someone you know reblogged it.

Leave comments. "Enjoyed this, this was great, omg my chest, *long analysis*, whatever. Fandom is a community and it thrives on sharing ideas. Instead of taking your thoughts to the group chat, comment under the fic! Have discussions under the fic! Stop excluding the author from being able to engage in this labor or love they produced.

[giveafike]

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

————————————————————————

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."

[giveafike]

im so serious i pray to your stories. need a million more from you LIKE RIGHT NOW <3

On the way!!

[giveafike]

The Ben story was so so cute, now i have something to think about on this lonely valentine's day 🥹🥰 (same anon who asked for the update on the new year's special) 💋💋 it made my day, hope you have a nice one 🫶🏻

You’re adorable anon I love that I could give you a gift as your valentine this year 🤍 🤭🥰

[giveafike]

hi!! i reread ur ben advent calendar cause its just tew good. Ur so talented, i loveee ur writing. Keep it up!!

You reread all 13??!!!? You’re crazy and I love and NEED you so bad anon what a sweetheart 🙈🤍🧎‍♀️

[giveafike]

queen pls update more ben fics im inlove with ur works🙁🙁❤️❤️

[giveafike]

I need you to know that I just entered my ben era and I’ve been reading and re-reading all of your fics every night like they’re the bible. ily queen

This KILLSSS me pls im so honoured and touched to be the one that made your bible 🙂‍↕️🤍 I love u most anon!

[giveafike]

omg finally!!!! I LOVE UR NEW BEN FIC IVE BEEN WAITINGGYY

who cheered!! I know I say this every time but I will try to post one or two more next week too🤭 there is also SO many of you guys here now…you make it scary lwky 😭