he’s gentle with everything else.

you’ve seen the way he speaks to strangers, always polite. the way he kneels to tie your shoe, grabs your favorite snack without you asking, rubs little circles into your back when you’re falling asleep. he listens when you talk—really listens, like every word out of your mouth deserves to be framed and hung on a wall. he laughs quietly, never raises his voice. his touch, out there in the world, is always featherlight.

but in here? he’s rough. brutal, even.

“look at me,” he snaps, voice low, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs as he pushes them back, forces them wider. “you’re gonna take all of it, yeah? you’re gonna be a good fucking girl for me.”

and you do—because he asked. because it’s him. your sweet boy with the soft hands and soft voice and the meanest cock you’ve ever taken in your life.

he’s big. thick enough to stretch you open slow, then cruel enough to bottom out in one sharp thrust that makes you cry out like you’ve been slapped. your back arches, breath knocked from your lungs, eyes wide and wet, but he just grins.

“that’s it, baby,” he pants, one hand clamped tight around your waist to hold you still while he grinds deeper, like he’s trying to live inside you. “so fuckin’ tight—god, you’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

you don’t. but it’s too much. your body trembles under him, already overstimulated, raw at the edges, and he knows it. he uses it, tilts his hips just right, drives into that sore, swollen spot with vicious rhythm, punching broken moans out of your throat.

“cry all you want,” he growls, dragging your face toward his, lips brushing yours. “you’re still gonna take it. you begged for this, remember?”

your legs are shaking. one hand grips the sheets like they might anchor you to earth, the other claws helplessly at his back, searching for something solid while he fucks you like he hates you.

but his eyes—god, his eyes—they never stop looking at you. even when he’s splitting you open, when he’s got one hand wrapped around your throat and the other pushing your knees back until you can’t move at all, he’s looking at you with love. with reverence. like he’d still carry you to the bath after, even if you came on his cock until your voice gave out.

“you’re mine,” he whispers, voice suddenly softer even as his hips snap harder. “you’ll always be mine.”

and afterward, when your limbs won’t stop trembling and your body’s aching in the best kind of way, he pulls you close, presses kisses to your shoulder, brushes the hair from your face and smiles like he didn’t just fuck the living soul out of you.

“i’ll run you a bath,” he murmurs. “you did so good for me. such a good girl.”