Summary: Sex is usually rough with your boyfriend, but he takes aftercare just as seriously.
♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, no smut, descriptions of rough sex, lots of pet names, lots of praise, bathing + washing your hair, brief kissing, body worship, your boyfriend loves you, fluff, just cute stuff, reader-insert, no mentions of y/n, reader is 21+.
wc: 2.7k | : yes, I love writing freaky stuff, but this soft cute stuff makes my heart melt and makes me feel lonelier than any smut can </3 enjoy!!
It was over when he looked down at you: tear-stained cheeks and tender, puffy lips, clumping lashes, and a mix of spit, his and yours, coating your lips, and a soft string snapping back onto his when he pulled his head back. You were completely blissed-out, a mess of limbs and sweat beneath him, your hair fanned out and knotted from the grip he had on it when you were on all fours.
Now he’s lifting a hand to cradle your cheek, a gentle thumb rubbing beneath your eye, collecting the drops that run down your face, and his eyes have softened–he didn’t look like a predator circling it’s prey; he looked down at you, a line of concern between his brows when he realized all you could is whine and mumble, an inaudible string of sounds. He was rough, and he knew that.
“All done, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he whispers, still buried inside you, and all you can do is whine, your head tipped back. “Shh… I got you, baby, relax f’me,” he reassures, leaning down to kiss your jaw.
He leaves the chaste kiss and lifts a hand, pushing back the sweaty strands on your face and forehead, wanting to see how truly out of it you were. All drooly and soft, and he grins, glancing down at the way your thighs are still hanging open, spread out, and his other hand holds the side of it.
“Gonna pull out, baby,” he warns you, kissing your temple. “Know it can be overwhelming for you,” he whispers, mumbling against your hairline now as he massages your thigh.
You whine and shake your head, biting down on your lip, not wanting to lose that connection. He was buried in there, completely stuffing you, finishing in you more times than you remember–it was warm and full, a perfect pressure you didn’t want to lose just yet, but you knew it had to happen.
“One little movement, yeah?” he reassures you, carefully gliding out, and you whimper at the feeling. “There we go, sweet girl, all out,” he mumbles, pulling away from you, standing up straighter, and he feels your muscles relax.
You squirm against the bedsheets, and he goes down to kiss your jaw again, soothing the sting of the loss. It felt like you were empty, that he took a part of you with him, but his kisses are calming, balm that goes on top of the feeling. You mumble something inaudible, and he grins.
“Yeah? Feel okay, baby?” he asks, gazing down at you; your shirt off, bare breasts soft, nipples still stiff, and he reaches down to cup one. “I got you… gonna clean you up, don’t worry.”
He massages your breast, and you whimper, your back arching, and he knows he should stop now; you’re far too sensitive for any teasing. He slides his hand down away from your gentle swell, down your ribs, and to flatten over your stomach.
“Miss being in here already,” he mumbles, staring down at your abdomen, his thumb rubbing just above your navel. “All warm, perfect for me,” he coos, and you stare up at him with those heavy eyes, nodding.
The bedroom is quiet, and he lets it linger; no moaning and grunting, not the sound of skin on skin, just the drizzle of rain against the window, the hum of the air conditioning, and your soft breaths trying to keep up with your body adjusting.
He slowly pulls away from your body, running his hands along your tired thighs in the process, and then he’s moving to put back on his own sweatpants. You're whimpering quietly on the mattress, lifting a lazy hand to rub your eyes, and he looks over, shushing you.
“Hey… hey, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he whispers, staring down at your body–all soft curves- and he can’t believe the times you complain about how you look–he can only stare down at you in admiration, every dip and divet, every corner and crease, the parts you whine about the most.
“I know, a little achy, aren’t you?” he asks quietly, looking over his shoulder at the bathroom. “I’m gonna get a towel, yeah? Clean you up, and run you a bath, baby,” he reassures you, gently patting your stomach as he turns away from you.
There’s a sting between your thighs, a gentle ache only he leaves behind after going at it for hours; mouths, lips, hands, all over you, your body taking and taking, and he’s the first to make sure that you’re okay afterwards. It’s never skipped–he thinks it’s more important than the sex itself.
“Here you go,” he whispers, walking back into the bedroom with a damp, warm towel, and you can hear the bath running, heating up. “Just gonna clean up your thighs, doll, all messy,” he smiles, and you hesitantly nod.
Your boyfriend finds you on the bed again and he steps between your parted thighs. He sighs quietly; you’re all red and raw between your legs, and he knows how sensitive and tender you are afterwards. He’s extra gentle when he presses the cloth on your thighs first, wiping away the sticky mess.
“Being a good girl for me, holding still,” he praises as he wipes it up, only lightly pressing into your inner thighs. “Feeling okay?” he asks, eyes flicking up to you.
You nod again, biting your lip as the cloth drifts further up your thighs. You know it’s a part of the cleaning process, but it still makes you squirm, your hips twitching at the touch.
“I know you’re sensitive, I know,” he coos, moving the warm towel up further until he’s dabbing at your folds, being beyond gentle. “Shhh… just helping you, baby, don’t squirm,” he lightly scolds, holding your hips still.
You squirm around a little, and he shakes his head, moving the cloth up and down to dry the mess. He watches you move, your knees bending slightly, hips lifting, and he knows how sensitive it must be; his mouth was there for what felt like hours, sucking and prodding, and then he came and came, and your body was writhing in pleasure. And now here he is, being sweet, slow, keeping you grounded.
“Look, baby… all done, all finished.” he nods and slowly puts the cloth aside, sliding his hands down to rub your thighs. “Bath is almost done–can wash your hair for you, yeah?” he ticks his head to the side, and you just mumble something to him.
He leans down a little, scooping his arms beneath your armpits, helping you sit up, and he realizes just how limp you are, how it’s all deadweight in his arms. He kisses your forehead, sighing quietly at the mess he made. He loves it, more than anything.
“Sleepy girl,” he coos quietly, pulling you closer, and you slump your head onto his shoulder. “Gotta wash this pretty body too, can’t be all messy when you’re sleeping.”
The walk to the bathroom is all wobbles and clumsy feet tripping over each other, and he’s careful and slow, ensuring you make it there safely. He had already put a few of your favourite scents into the bubbly water, letting the sweet aroma fill the air, and he’s helping you sink in the filled tub. He kneels right beside you, rubbing his hand over your forehead and down the back of your hair.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks quietly, and you look at him, those sweet, tear-stained eyes looking at him.
“Mhm,” you mumble, and he smiles, pushing your sweaty hair behind your ear.
“Yeah? Still stinging a little?” he asks more, ensuring that you’re completely okay.
“No… no, not really,” you shake your head, feeling the warm water soothing the slight rawness, and you shift in the tub, the bubbles moving with you.
“Took me good, baby,” he tells you, leaning close to kiss your cheek. “Felt good? Felt safe?” he mumbles, always asking you these questions afterwards–he knows it gets rough sometimes, both of you losing sight of reality, but he’s right there afterwards, kissing away the pain.
“Mhm… felt really good,” you nod and stare at him, noticing the way his gaze rakes over your body, staring at the hand prints and the bruises blooming. This is why this part was essential.
“Cried your eyes out,” he lightly teases, and you bite your lip, sniffling. “Overwhelming?”
“Really overwhelming,” you correct him with a tiny nod, the water swaying when you adjust your legs.
“I know,” he whispers, still running his hands through your hair. “But look at you? Did so well, proud of you,” he praises some more, and you smile shyly, feeling his hand resting at the nape of your neck.
“You are?” you mumble shyly when you lift your head, and he looks at you like you’ve said the stupidest thing ever. Of course he is.
“Yeah, baby, of course,” he shakes his head, leaning closer to the tub. “Sounded pretty, looked pretty,” he adds on, and you smile, his hand coming up to stroke through your hair again.
“Thank you,” you mumble shyly, and he can’t help but smile at the thankful words–thanking him for having sex with you, for calling you pretty. You’re too sweet.
“All sweaty,” he comments on your hair, then leans over and grabs a small cup. “How about we wash that hair, yeah?” he suggests, a hand turning the faucet, letting clean, fresh water pour into the cup.
He shields your eyes with one hand while the other carefully pours warm water over your hair, rinsing. You close your eyes, letting his fingers occasionally rake through the strands. He’s so gentle and slow, the touch careful and precise, and he whispers soft praises to you. He’s keeping you safe, leaning closer.
“Pass me the shampoo, baby,” he orders softly, and you reach over the ledge, grab the little bottle, and hand it to him. “Perfect, thank you.”
He squirts some into his hand, lightly rubbing his palms together before reaching over and beginning to shampoo. He sits up a bit more, his fingertips massaging your head as he inhales the scent–vanilla and coconut–and you close your eyes again, sighing in relief. He’s purposely giving you a light massage.
“This is why you always smell so good,” he comments with a grin, glancing at the label.
“Mhm…” you mumble, nodding, almost falling asleep from how good it feels.
“Gonna rinse now, baby,” he guides you through it, turning on the faucet again to get clean water; he repeats the process and shields your eyes, rinsing out the shampoo for you.
“Conditioner, angel,” he calls lightly, and you pass it to him again.
It’s repeated once more; long fingers raking through your hair, massaging your head, moving over you gently, lathering the silky strands. It feels good, and you almost lean a bit too forward, and he chuckles at just how sleepy this is all making you.
Once the conditioner is washed out, he grabs a washcloth, squirts on some of your favourite body wash, and doesn’t hesitate to rub it over your shoulders and arms, even leaning over the tub to rub your legs and thighs under the water on purpose. You almost want to cry at how caring he is, the time he’s taking, and he’s moving over you with so much skill and focus.
“All done, my girl,” he whispers, ringing out the cloth, and he’s standing to his feet. “Gonna get you some comfy pjs, okay? White underwear and my t-shirt–that sounds good?” he offers, and you nod, sitting in the water still.
He disappears but reappears just as quickly; your cotton boyshorts and the oversized band tee that smells just like him in hand. He leaves them folded on the counter, then reaches for the towel, extending his hand so you can step onto the bathmat.
“C’mere, doll,” he whispers as he sits on the edge of the tub instead, and you stand in between his thighs, all while he dries your body; he pats your thighs and stomach, your arms and legs, your hips, and waist. All gentle and soft.
Your body is dry to the touch, and before he puts on that cupcake lotion you love so much, he gently grabs your hips and pulls your bare body between his legs. He wants to kiss you a bit, just before the soft cream seals off your body for the rest of the night.
“Love this body so much,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your stomach. “Love you so much, baby,” he mumbles, peppering the softest kisses to your hips, kissing all around, leaving those damp marks everywhere.
“I love you too,” you whisper, nodding, feeling just how much he’s worshipping you right now.
“Love your hips,” he murmurs, kissing them. “Your waist… stomach,” he adds on, kissing each part he names aloud until he hears the soft giggles from you. “Love my girl.”
After his kissing spree, he leans back a little and gestures towards the counter before muttering: “Your lotion, sweetheart.”
Your bare feet pad across the tiles, and he watches you walk, all bare and soft, covered in bruises and marks, but unbelievably sweet. He can only watch in awe.
“Thank you, baby,” he says, immediately putting some of the lotion into his palm and rubbing it over your stomach first, then over your hips and waist.
“Feeling okay still?” he asks, looking up at you from his seat. “Body a little sore, doll?”
“A little,” you admit, his sticky, lotion-covered hands moving down to your thighs.
“That’s okay, gonna get you some water when we’re done,” he reassures, moving down the rest of your legs.
Your boyfriend stands up to his full height and finishes the process on your arms and shoulders, getting each inch covered in the sweet scent, ensuring you're moisturized–he’s heard you complaining about dry skin and feeling gross, and that’s the last thing he wants you to feel like.
He takes your hand and moves you towards the counter and mirror in the bathroom, reaching for your pjs, and he kneels slightly, taking the underwear and spreading it open with his fingers, urging your feet to step into each hole.
“One step, baby, come on,” he mutters and pats the back of your calf, and you slowly step into them, and he helps them up your body, giving your butt a soft smack when they cling to you. You both grin, and the shirt comes on next after he asks you to lift your arms.
Before he starts working on your hair, he grabs the cream you always put on before bed and doesn’t hesitate to apply it to you too. Even if you’re missing a few steps, it’s enough for your sleepy self, and you close your eyes as his rough fingers swipe it across your face, gently massaging it into your skin. He can’t help but just stare at you; closed eyes and plump lips. He sneaks a chaste kiss on your mouth when he finishes.
“My sweet baby,” he can only coo when you stare at him with that glistening skin, smelling like a piece of dessert. “Need to do something about this pretty hair,” he comments, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around.
He doesn’t mind brushing and drying your hair for you, running his fingers through it, forgetting most hair steps–you don’t mind; you just want to get into bed and sleep away that gentle ache, all in the safety of his thick, muscular arms.
Your hand is held in his when the two of you walk into the bedroom again, and he flicks off the bathroom light, the rain still heavy outside, and it’s a quiet, soothing sound. He lets go to mess around with the towel that was beneath you earlier, tossing it in the hamper just outside of the bedroom, ensuring the bed is perfectly cleared for the two of you.
He ignores the water bottle on the nightstand and instead gets you a fresh glass, cold with a harsh bite when you sip it, but it feels good on your strained throat, and he’s ushering you into bed. He’s immediately wrapping himself around you, engulfing your frame with his arms, nuzzling and nestling into you.
“How you feeling, doll?” he whispers, and you’re both just cuddling beneath the blankets, feeling his warmth, his gentle fingers running along your arm. “Good? Need anything?”
You shake your head, and turn into him, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.
“I got you,” he whispers again, kissing the side of your head. “I love you.”
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