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━━━ YOU BELONG UNDER MY HANDS.

𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ after seeing another man flirt with you, his wife, iori completely unravels and spends the entire night reminding you exactly who you belongs to.

✿ ◞◟) okkotsu iori 𝓍 female!reader

𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, porn with plot (?), possessive & jealous husband!iori, pussy eating, dirty talk, softdom!iori, praise kink, fingering, hair pulling, begging, multiple orgasms, squirting, unprotected sex (p in v), rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, body worship, manhandling, emotionally dependent!iori, aftercare.

the thing about okkotsu iori is that he doesn't get angry the way other people do.

there's no shouting, no throwing things, no wild gesticulations or red-faced outbursts; iori has always been the quiet type, the kind of man who simply watches and waits and absorbs everything like a sponge before deciding exactly how to move.

it's one of the very things you love about him — his stillness, the way he can sit in a crowded room and make you feel like you're the only person who exists.

but… you've also learned, over the four years of your marriage, that his stillness has a dark side.

it happens on a tuesday. a stupid, unremarkable tuesday in the middle of september when the air is starting to get that crisp edge to it and the leaves haven't quite decided to turn. you're at a coffee shop near your apartment, the one with the mismatched furniture and the indie music playing too low to identify. you come here sometimes when you need to get out of the house, when the walls of your shared space feel a little too close even though iori isn't even home.

today, though, iori is home.

he's supposed to be working remotely, tapping away at his laptop in his home office while you steal an hour to yourself. you'd softly kissed iori’s cheek on your way out, told him you'd be back soon, and he'd hummed that sweet little sound he makes when he's content.

that was forty-five minutes ago.

now you're sitting at a corner table with a lukewarm latte, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, when a guy slides into the seat just across from you without asking. he's not bad looking — tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of confident that comes from being handsome his whole life. he's smiling at you like he already knows your name, like you've already agreed to something you haven't.

"hey," he says, easy and casual. "didn't mean to intrude, but i saw you sitting here and i just had to come say something."

you blink at him, phone lowering slowly.

"oh. um, hi?"

he laughs, a little too loud for the quiet coffee shop.

"sorry, that was probably weird. i'm danny. i just—" he gestures vaguely at your face, your hair, the way the afternoon light is hitting the curve of your jaw. "you're really beautiful. like, genuinely. and i figured i'd regret it if i didn't at least try."

your first instinct is to smile politely and point to your wedding ring. it's not the first time this has happened — you're not vain about it, but you know you're pretty, and iori's ring on your finger has turned away more men than you can count.

but this guy, danny, is looking at you with such open earnestness that you feel a little bad for him.

"that's really nice of you," you say, holding up your left hand just slightly. "but i'm married."

danny's eyes flick to the ring, then back to your face, and… the guy doesn't look deterred at all.

"yeah, i see that. but it's just a compliment, right? it doesn't have to mean anything. i simply wanted to appreciate something beautiful."

it's smooth, you'll give him that. and harmless, probably. he's not being pushy or creepy, just a guy taking a shot. you relax a little, let yourself smile for real.

"well, thank you. i appreciate that."

he grins, and it's a nice grin, boyish and charming.

"can i at least buy you another latte? as a purely friendly gesture? no strings attached, promise."

you shake your head, still smiling.

"i really should be getting home soon. my husband's waiting for me as we speak."

"husband's a lucky guy," danny says, and he means it — you can tell by the way his eyes soften, a little wistful. "alright alright, i won't push. but if you ever need a coffee buddy, i'm here most tuesdays."

he slides a business card across the table — some kind of sales job, you don't really look at it — and then he's standing up, giving you one last friendly smile before walking back to his own table near the window.

you tuck the card into your pocket without thinking about it. not because you're interested, but because it feels rude to leave it on the table. you'll throw it away when you get home.

but… what you don't notice, and what you couldn't possibly notice, is the familiar figure standing just outside the coffee shop's front window.

iori had meant to surprise you. he'd finished his work early, seen the coffee shop's name on your text from earlier, and decided to walk over and walk you home; a tiny romantic gesture, the kind iori knows makes you smile. he'd been looking forward to the way your face would light up when you saw him through the glass.

but then he'd seen the guy sit down at your table.

he'd seen the guy smile at you, seen the way he leaned in like he had every right to your attention. he'd seen you smile back — not flirtatiously, not in a way that meant anything, but a smile all the same. and he'd watched the guy slide something across the table, watched you take it and put it in your pocket.

iori's hands curl into fists at his sides.

he doesn't storm in. he doesn't confront the guy or cause a scene. he stands there for a long moment, his breathing slow and even, his dark eyes fixed on the back of danny's head with an intensity that could burn holes through glass.

then iori turns around and walks home.

you find him sitting on the couch when you get back, his laptop closed on the coffee table, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. he's wearing the gray sweater you like, the one that makes his shoulders look broad and his jaw look sharp, and his dark hair is falling into his eyes the way it does when he's been running his hands through it.

"darling?" you toe off your shoes by the door, naturally dropping your keys into the bowl. "you finished early? i thought you'd still be working."

he doesn't look up.

"came to get you. you weren't there."

his voice is really flat. not angry, exactly, but… wrong. too even, too controlled, like iori is holding something back with every muscle in his body.

your stomach tightens. you know that voice.

"oh," you say carefully, walking over to the couch. "i'm sorry, i didn't know. you should have texted me."

"i saw you." now he looks up, and his eyes are darker; there's something simmering behind them, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. "with that guy."

you freeze. "iori—"

"he was flirting with you."

it's not a question. iori's jaw is tight, his knuckles white where his hands are still clasped together.

"he gave you something. you put it in your pocket."

your hand moves instinctively to your pocket, where danny's business card still sits. you'd forgotten about it.

"it's nothing," you say quickly. "some random guy, he just—he gave me his card, but i'm not going to—"

"show me."

the two words are quiet, barely a whisper, but they land like an heavy stones in still water, ripples spreading through the space between you.

you hesitate for just a second, and that second is a mistake.

iori stands up.

he's not that tall — not toweringly so — but iori has a presence that fills rooms, a quiet weight that presses against your skin when he's upset. he easily crosses the space between you in only two steps, and iori’s hand closes around your wrist, gentle but unyielding.

"show me," he says again, and this time his voice has dropped lower, rougher, something raw bleeding through the edges.

you reach into your pocket with your free hand and pull out the card. iori takes it from your fingers without looking away from your face, glances down at it for half a second, and then tears it in half, then quarters, then he walks over to the kitchen trash can and drops the pieces inside.

when he turns back to you, his expression has shifted.

it's not anger anymore; it's something hungrier, something that makes your thighs press together instinctively. his eyes drag over your body like he's seeing you for the first time, like he's cataloging every single inch of you and finding it all wanting — wanting, as in he wants it. desperately.

"iori," you try again, softer this time. "nothing happened. i didn't even want to talk to him. i told him i was married."

"i know." he's walking back toward you, and there's something in his stride that makes your heart kick up. "i know you did. i saw you show him your ring."

"then why—"

"because he looked at you."

iori stops in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with devastating gentleness. his skin is warm, slightly calloused, and the contrast between that soft touch and the storm in his gaze makes your stomach flip.

"he looked at you like he had any right," iori murmurs, and his thumb slides down to trace the curve of your lower lip. "like he could make you smile like that. like he could ever touch you."

"iori."

"and… and you smiled at him." his voice cracks, just slightly, on the last word. "you smiled at him, sweetheart. i saw it. through the window, i saw you smile at him just like you smile at me, and i wanted to—"

he cuts himself off, jaw clenching.

iori’s hand drops from your face, and he takes a step back, running both hands through his hair. his chest is rising and falling faster than it should be, and there's a flush creeping up his neck that you know isn't from embarrassment.

"i wanted to break the glass," he admits, quieter now, almost ashamed. "i wanted to walk in there and put my hands on him. make sure he knew. make sure everyone knew."

your heart aches for him, even as something warm and dark curls low in your belly.

this is who iori, your precious husband, is — not a violent man, not a cruel one, but a man who loves you so completely that the very idea of anyone else even looking at you feels like a threat to his entire world.

"i'm sorry," you say, and you mean it.

not because you did anything wrong, but because iori is hurting, and you hate that.

"i didn't mean to make you feel like that."

iori laughs, but there's no humor in it.

"you didn't do anything. you were just—you were just sitting there, being you. being so fucking beautiful that some stranger couldn't help himself. that's not your fault."

"then what are you so upset about?"

he looks at you then, truly looks at you, and his eyes are so dark they're almost black.

"because i'm selfish."

you blink. "what?"

"i'm selfish," he repeats, stepping closer again. "i don't want anyone to see you. i don't want anyone to know how beautiful you are. i want to keep you in this apartment, in our bed, where only i can look at you. where only i can touch you." his hands settle on your waist, fingers splaying across the fabric of your shirt. "does that make me a bad person?"

you shake your head, reaching up to touch his face. he leans into your palm like a starving thing, eyes fluttering half-closed.

"it makes you human," you tell him softly. "it makes you you. and i love you."

iori's breath hitches, and his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you.

"say it again."

"i love you."

"again."

"i love you, iori. only you. always you."

a sound escapes him — something between a groan and a whimper — and then he's kissing you.

it's not the soft, sweet kisses iori gives you when he's making you breakfast or saying goodbye in the morning. this kiss is completely desperate, hungry, his mouth claiming yours like he's wholly trying to erase the memory of anyone else ever having just a little of your attention.

iori’s tongue slides against your lower lip, and you open for him immediately, letting him in, letting him take whatever the hell he needs from you.

his hands move from your waist to your ass, gripping hardly, and he walks you backward until your shoulders hit the wall. the impact knocks a gasp out of you, and iori swallows it, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head so you don't bump it against the plaster.

"mine," he breathes against your mouth. "you're mine. say it."

"i'm yours."

"whose?"

"yours, iori. only yours."

iori pulls back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face makes your knees weak.

he looks wrecked already, his dark eyes glassy, his lips swollen from your kiss, his chest heaving like he's just run a marathon. there's a flush across his cheekbones, and his pupils are blown so wide there's barely any iris left.

"i'm going to fuck you now," iori says, and his voice is rough, gravelly, completely undone. "and i'm not going to stop until you can't remember anyone else's name. until the only thing you can think about is me. do you understand?"

you nod, and it's not fear that makes your hands tremble when you reach for the hem of his sweater; it's anticipation, it's the knowledge that when iori gets like this — all possessive and desperate and utterly obsessed — there's nothing in the world that feels as good as being the focus of all that intensity.

"words," he insists, catching your wrists before you can pull his sweater off. "i need words, sweetheart."

"yes," you say, and your voice comes out breathy, already so ruined. "yes, i understand. fuck me, iori. please."

iori’s grip on your wrists tightens for just a second — it was hard enough to make you feel it, but not hard enough to hurt you — and then he's releasing you and pulling his sweater over his head in one fluid movement.

you've seen iori shirtless a hundred times. you've traced the lines of his shoulders, kissed the hollow of his throat, pressed your lips to the faint scar on his ribs he got when he was twelve and clumsily fell out of a tree.

but every time feels like the first time, because every time he looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time too.

iori is lean, not bulky, but there's strength in his frame that surprises you sometimes. the kind of strength that comes from carrying heavy things and holding onto things he doesn't want to lose. his chest is smooth, a faint dusting of dark hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, and when he reaches for the button of those very jeans, you watch his forearm flex and feel your mouth go completely dry.

"you're staring," iori says, and there's the ghost of a smile on his lips now. not a happy smile — something sharper, more possessive. "you like what you see?"

"you know i do."

"then show me." he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. "take off your clothes. i want to watch."

your fingers are clumsy as you reach for the hem of your shirt.

you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement, and it makes your skin prickle with heat. you pull the shirt over your head and let it fall to the floor, and iori's breath catches when he sees your bra; a lacy black thing you'd put on this morning without thinking, not knowing he'd be seeing it like this.

"beautiful," iori murmurs. "keep going."

your hands go to the waistband of your pants.

you slowly hook your thumbs inside and push them down your hips, shimmying a little until they pool around your ankles. you step out of them, and now you're standing in front of your husband in nothing but your bra and underwear, and the way iori is looking at you makes you feel like the most desirable woman in the entire world.

"come here," iori says, and his voice has gone low again, almost dangerous.

you walk toward him, and when you're close enough, iori reaches out and hooks his finger through the front of your bra, pulling you the rest of the way. his other hand comes up to cup your breast through the lace, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch.

"this is mine," he says, squeezing gently. "all of this. every inch of you belongs to me."

"yes."

"say it."

"every inch of me belongs to you, iori."

he makes that sound again — the one between a groan and a whimper — and then he's unhooking your bra with practiced fingers, letting it fall away so your breasts are bare to him.

iori looks down at them, at the way they move with your breathing, and his expression softens for just a moment before hardening again.

"and this," iori says, dropping to his knees in front of you. his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your underwear down as they go. "this is mine too."

you slowly step out of the underwear, and iori looks up at you from between your legs, and the sight of him there — on his knees for you, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his lips parted — is almost enough to make you cum on the spot.

"iori…"

"i know, sweetheart." iori presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, then another again. "i know. i'm going to take care of you. i'm going to make you feel so good you forget your own name."

his mouth finds you then, and the first touch of his tongue against your clit makes you gasp and grab onto his shoulders for support. he's good at this — so good at this, like he's made a study of your body, like he's memorized every sound you make and every way you like to be touched.

iori licks a slow, flat stripe up your center, and your hips jerk forward involuntarily. he hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and his hands grip your thighs to hold you steady.

"you taste so good," iori murmurs against your skin. "could stay here forever. just taste you. make you cum on my tongue over and over."

"please," you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. "iori, please."

he doesn't make you wait.

iori’s mouth closes over your clit, and he sucks — gently at first, then harder when you moan and tug at his hair. his tongue flicks against the sensitive bundle of nerves in a rhythm that has you seeing stars, and when he slides one finger inside you, then two, you cry out and arch your back.

"that's it," he says, lifting his head just enough to speak.

his chin is wet, his lips glistening, and he looks so obscene like this that you almost can't look at him.

"let me hear you. i want to hear every sound you make."

he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes your vision go white, and his mouth is on you again, tongue circling your clit while his fingers pump in and out. it's too much and not enough all at once, and you can feel the pressure building low in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue.

"i'm close," you warn him, your voice breaking. "i'm so close."

iori answers by sucking harder, his fingers pressing deeper, and that's all it takes.

your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing your breath and making your knees buckle. iori holds you up, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue working you through the aftershocks until you're whimpering and pushing at his head because it's too sensitive.

he pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he looks up at you, his eyes are nearly black.

"that's one," iori says, and there's something almost cruel in his smile. "we're not done yet."

before you can respond, he's standing up and lifting you like you weigh nothing. you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, and your husband carries you to the bedroom, past the couch and the kitchen and the hallway where your wedding photos hang on the wall.

he lays you down on the bed carefully, almost reverently, and then he's crawling over you, caging you in with his body.

his jeans are still on, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh through the denim. you reach for his belt buckle, desperate to feel him, but he catches your wrists again and pins them above your head.

"not yet," iori says. "i told you i wasn't going to stop until you can't remember anyone else's name. we've barely started."

"iori, please. i need you inside me."

"beg."

the word hangs in the air between you, and you can see in his eyes that he means it. that he needs this — iori needs to hear you ask for it, needs to know that you want him just as desperately as he wants you.

"please," you whisper. "please, iori. i need your cock inside me. i need you to fill me up. i need—"

iori kisses you again, swallowing the rest of your words, and this time when he pulls back, he's fumbling with his belt with one hand, the other still holding your wrists above your head. it takes him a little second, but then his jeans are open and he's pushing them down his hips along with his boxers, and his cock springs free.

you've seen it a hundred times, too.

you've touched it, tasted it, taken it inside you more times than you can count. but every time feels like the first time, because every time you're reminded of just how much he's packing. he's thick, long enough that it always takes your breath away when he pushes inside, and right now he's hard as steel, the tip flushed and leaking.

"look at what you do to me," iori says, and his voice is wrecked. "just from tasting you. just from hearing you beg. you make me so fucking crazy, sweetheart."

he releases your wrists and reaches down to position himself at your entrance. you feel the head of his cock pressing against you, hot and insistent, and you have to fight the urge to buck your hips and take him in.

"eyes on me," iori commands, and you obey, meeting his gaze as he starts to push inside.

the first inch is always the hardest.

you're wet — so wet from his mouth and your orgasm — but he's so big that it still stretches you, still makes you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders. iori watches your face as he sinks into you, cataloging every micro-expression, every flutter of your eyelids, every parted-lip exhale.

"f-fuck," he breathes when he's fully seated, his hips flush against yours. "fuck, you feel good. you always feel so good. like you were made only for me."

you can't speak. you can barely think. he's so deep inside you that you can feel him in your throat, you can feel the pressure of him against every wall, you can feel the way your body is struggling to accommodate him.

"move," you finally manage. "please move, iori."

oh, and he does.

the first thrust is slow, deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. the second is harder. the third is harder still. and then iori is setting a rhythm that has the headboard loudly hitting the wall and the springs of the mattress creaking beneath you.

he's not tender; he's fucking you like he's trying to prove something, like he's trying to brand himself onto your insides so that no one else could ever fit. his hips snap against yours with every thrust, and the sound of it — skin on skin, wet and obscene — fills the room along with your moans.

"you like that?" iori grunts, and his hand comes down to grip your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise. "you like when i fuck you like this? when i remind you who you belong to?"

"yes," you sob. "yes, yes, yes—"

"whose are you?"

"y-yours. i'm yours."

"damn right you are."

iori shifts his angle, and suddenly he's hitting that sweet little spot inside you, the one that makes your back arch and your eyes roll back in your head.

"damn right you're mine. and that guy? the one who thought he could buy you coffee? he'll never touch you. he'll never even look at you again. because i'll fucking kill him before he even gets the chance."

you know he doesn't mean it, not literally, but in this moment, with his cock driving into you and his voice dripping with possessive fury, you almost believe him.

iori leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, and his pace doesn't slow. if anything, it gets faster, harder, more desperate. his breath is hot against your lips, and every time he exhales, he makes these little sounds; these broken, needy noises that you know he doesn't even realize he's making.

"i love you," he says, and his voice cracks. "fuck, i love you so much. i can't—i can't breathe when i think about someone else touching you. i can't think. i can't function. you're everything to me. everything."

"iori—"

"i'd burn the whole world down for you." his hips stutter for just a second, like the words are affecting him as much as the movement. "every city. every building. every person who ever looks at you wrong. i'd burn it all."

you pull his face down to yours and kiss him, trying to pour all the love you feel for him into that single point of contact.

iori moans into your mouth, and his tongue slides against yours, and for a moment the fucking slows down, and becomes something deeper and more intimate.

but only for a moment.

iori pulls back, and his expression has shifted again; there's a fire in his dark eyes now, something really wild and untamed, and when he sits up on his knees — taking you with him, your legs still wrapped tight around his waist — you realize he's not done. hell, he's not even close to done.

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest, and starts thrusting up into you from below.

it's a different angle, deeper somehow, and you cry out and cling to your husband’s shoulders as he bounces you on his cock like you weigh nothing.

"touch yourself," he says, and his voice is a command. "touch your clit. i want to feel you cum around me."

your hand shakes as you reach down between your bodies, finding your clit with trembling fingers. you're so sensitive from your first orgasm that even the lightest touch makes you jolt, but you rub slow circles the way you know he likes, and iori watches you with hooded eyes.

"that's it," iori groans. "that's so fucking hot, sweetheart. you're so hot. touching yourself while i fuck you. you have no idea what that does to me."

his thrusts get sloppier, more irregular, and you can tell he's close. but iori is holding back, you can see it in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his muscles are coiled tight beneath his skin. he's waiting for you.

"cum for me," iori almost begs. "cum on my cock, sweetheart. let go. i've got you."

your second orgasm hits you harder than the first, tearing a loud scream out of your throat that you don't even recognize as your own. your whole body convulses at the sensation, your inner walls clamping down around him like a vice, and iori's control completely shatters.

iori’s hips snap forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go, and you feel him cum inside you in hot, pulsing jets. he groans your name — not a nickname, not 'sweetheart', but your actual name — and the sound of it, raw and reverent and wrecked, makes your eyes sting with tears.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

iori is still buried inside you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breathing ragged against your skin. you can feel his heart pounding in his chest, or maybe that's yours. it's hard to tell where you end and he begins.

then he shifts, just slightly, and you feel him twitch inside you.

"iori," you say, your voice hoarse. "what are you—"

"i told you, sweetheart," he murmurs against your neck, and you can hear the smile in his voice; the sharp one, the dangerous one. "i'm not stopping."

he pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss of him, at the rush of his cum that follows. but before you can catch your breath, he's flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up, and pushing back inside you in one smooth motion.

you cry out, your fingers fisting in the sheets.

"iori, i can't—it's too much—"

"you can." iori’s voice is soft now, almost gentle, even as he starts moving inside you again. "you can take it, sweetheart. you're so good for me. so perfect. and i'm not done reminding you that you're mine."

he fucks you from behind, one hand on your hip and the other tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make your scalp tingle. the angle is different like this, and you can feel every inch of him, you can feel the way he's splitting you open and putting you back together with every thrust.

"look at you," iori breathes, and his voice is full of wonder. "taking me so well. so fucking perfect. you were made for me. made for my cock. you know that?"

you can't answer. you can only moan and push back against him, meeting his deep thrusts as best you can with your legs already shaking.

iori leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, and his mouth finds your ear;

"that guy," he says, and the word is a venomous poison on his tongue. "he'll never know what this feels like. he'll never know how warm you are inside. how tight. how you squeeze me like you never want me to leave."

"i don't," you gasp. "i never want you to leave."

"i know." he kisses the shell of your ear, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "and i never will. i'll never leave you. i'll never stop wanting you. i'll never stop needing you."

your husband’s hand slides around your body, finding your clit again, and you sob because you're so sensitive, because you've already cum twice, because you don't know how much more you can take.

but iori knows. he always knows.

"one more," he says, and his fingers move in tight circles. "just one more. and then i'll let you rest. i promise."

"i can't—"

"you can. you can do it for me. can't you?" iori’s voice is coaxing now, sweet, the same tone he uses when he's trying to convince you to try a bite of his food or watch one more episode of a show. "come on, sweetheart. one more. i know you have it in you."

you're crying now, tears streaming down your face, but you're not sad. you're not even overwhelmed, not in a bad way. you're just feeling so damn much — so much pleasure, so much love, so much of iori — that your whole body doesn't know at all what to do with all of it.

"i love you," you choke out. "iori, i love you so much."

his fingers stutter on your clit, and his hips lose their rhythm for just a second.

"say it again."

"i love you."

"again."

"i love you, i love you, i love you—"

your third orgasm is different from the first two. it's not sharp or sudden; it builds slowly, like a wave gathering strength far out at sea, and when it finally breaks over you, it takes everything with it. your vision goes white, your hearing goes muffled, your whole body goes limp, and if iori weren't holding you up, you'd collapse onto the bed.

and then something else happens — something that's only happened a handful of times before. you feel a rush of wetness, a gush of liquid that soaks the sheets beneath you, and you hear iori groan like he's been punched.

"oh, fuck," he says, and his voice is reverent. "fuck, sweetheart. did you just—"

you're too embarrassed to answer, but you don't have to.

iori pulls out of you and flips you onto your back, and then he's looking down at the mess between your legs, at the wet patch spreading across the sheets, and his face is full of wonder.

"you squirted," he says, and he sounds almost proud.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, hiding your face in your hands. "i don't know why—"

"don't apologize." iori pulls your hands away from your face, holding them in his. "don't ever apologize for that. that was the hottest thing i've ever seen."

"iori…"

"i mean it, sweetheart" he kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. "you're so beautiful. everything you do is beautiful. and i'm never letting you go."

he's still hard. you can feel him pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent, and you look down and see that he's still slick with a mixture of your fluids and his own.

"you didn't cum," you say quietly.

"i did. the first time." he shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "but i'm ready again. i'm always ready for you."

you reach down and wrap your hand around him, and iori hisses through his teeth.

"then finish," you say. "however you want."

iori's eyes darken. "however i want?"

"however you want."

he doesn't hesitate. he pushes your legs apart and settles between them, and when he pushes inside you again, you both moan at the sensation. you're so wet now, so open, that there's almost no resistance. he slides in easily, all the way to the hilt, and you feel that familiar stretch, that familiar fullness.

"so good," he groans, and he starts to move.

it was not fast this time, not that desperate. it was more slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, each one designed to make you feel every inch of him.

your husband leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss, and this one is different, too. it was way softer and sweeter, less like a claim and more like a promise.

"i'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips. "for being like this. for being so possessive. i know it's not normal."

"i don't want normal," you tell him. "i want you."

he cries out — actually cries out, a wounded sound that breaks your heart and mends it at the same time. his hips stutter, losing their rhythm, and you feel him twitch inside you.

"i'm close," iori warns. "i'm so close, sweetheart."

"cum inside me," you moans. "fill me up, iori. i want to feel it. i want to feel you."

that's all it takes; iori buries his face in your neck and cums with a broken moan, his body shuddering against yours, his hips pumping shallowly as he empties himself inside you. you feel the heat of it spreading through you, filling you up just like you asked, and you wrap your arms and legs around him and hold him as tight as you can.

for a long time, neither of you moves.

iori's weight is heavy on top of you, but you don't mind. you like the pressure, the warmth, the way his breathing slowly evens out until it's just a gentle rise and fall against your chest.

eventually, he rolls off you — but only to pull you against his side, your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

"i meant what i said," iori says quietly, his long fingers tracing lazy and soft patterns on your arm. "about not stopping. about making you forget."

"well, i haven't forgotten anything," you admit. "i still remember his name."

iori goes still beneath you.

"danny," you say, and you feel your husband’s arm tighten around you. "that was his name. danny."

"why are you telling me this?"

"because i want you to know that it doesn't matter." you tilt your head up to look at him, at his dark eyes and his worried brow and the way his jaw is clenched. "i remember his name, but i don't care about him. i don't even remember what he looks like. all i remember is you. all i ever remember is you."

the tension drains out of iori's body slowly, like water seeping out of a cracked vessel. his arm loosens around you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"i love you so much," he says. "i know i say it too much. but i mean it every time."

"you don't say it too much." you snuggle closer, throwing your leg over his. "and i love you too. even when you're crazy."

"especially when i'm crazy?"

you laugh, and the sound vibrates through both of you.

"especially when you're crazy."

iori is quiet for a moment, and then he shifts, reaching down to pull the blanket up over both of you. the sheets are ruined, and you're both sweaty and sticky and tangled together, but neither of you moves to clean up.

"i'm going to marry you again," he says suddenly.

you blink. "what?"

"tomorrow. let's get married again. just us. somewhere private. i want to say my vows again. i want to promise you everything all over again."

"iori, we're already married."

"i know." he turns his head to look at you, and his eyes are soft now, all the darkness replaced by something tender and vulnerable. "but i want to do it again. i want to keep doing it. every year. every month. every day, if you'll let me. i want to keep choosing you, over and over, until the day i die."

your throat tightens, and you have to blink back tears.

"you're so dramatic."

"i know you love it, sweetheart."

"i love you," you correct, and you kiss him softy, a promise of your own.

the apartment is quiet around you, the afternoon light fading into evening, and somewhere outside, the world is still turning. people are going to work and coming home, falling in love and falling out of it, living their ordinary lives.

but here, in this bed, wrapped in each other's arms, you and iori are building something that feels like it could last forever.

iori is hardening once again; you feel it against your thigh, insistent and warm, and when you look up at him, his eyes are dark with want once more.

"iori," you say, half-laughing. "didn't you just—"

"i told you," he says, and he rolls on top of you again, his hips settling between your thighs. "i'm not stopping."

"you said one more."

"well, i lied."

iori kisses you before you can argue, and you feel his smile against your lips, and you realize you don't care. you don't care about the ruined sheets or the soreness between your legs or the fact that you're probably going to be late for dinner.

all you care about is him.

all you've ever cared about is him.

and when iori pushes inside you once again — slowly, gentle, and so reverent — you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on, because you know this is going to be a long night.

and you wouldn't have it any other way.

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