katsuki would have you in missionary, giving you deep strokes on purpose to make you feel each and every prominent vein on his hard cock. his strokes would soon be sloppy and uncoordinated as he lost himself in your pussy.
“mmnghh, katsuki pull outttuhhh” you gasped when he gained some reminisce of control and angled his tip up to jab where you needed him the most “needa p-pee-ughh!” a weak hand reached down to push at his stomach to no avail.
katsuki took this opportunity to torment you, bringing his warm palm down to press on your low stomach. “ooohhohoo, baby..” he chuckles, “lemme have it”.
a toothy grin on his flushed face as he watches your face turn into one of surprise, his free hand holding your waist still as he continues to feed you deep strokes.
a/n: just food for thought (i’m so sorry for this)
previous item on the menu: fucking your bully’s younger brother, choso, as revenge
Being near Katsuki in the summer months was just a series of weird events. One minute he’d be glossy, shining under the sun as he dripped in caramel scented sweat– the next he’d be angry, sticky and crackling from some kind of unexplained quirk accident. Well, it wasn;t unexplained per se, but still odd.
A prime example of the latter was at night; your AC was doing little to nothing to battle the heat, pathetically blowing out spurts of cold air between lukewarm waves. For you alone, this would’ve been something you could’ve dealt with, but with Katsuki by your side? It was hell.
The big baby insisted on being near you at all times, his arm thrown over your waist, leg looped into yours as he snored in your ear and… popped? “Mngh” You muffled, burying your face into the pillow as you attempted (and failed) to roll away from your boyfriend, he was deadweight, sweaty palms heating up even further against your skin—
It was unbearable.
With all the strength you could muster, you swung your arm in his direction, just managing to smack your closed fist onto his bare shoulderblade. Katsuki stirred, groaning before falling silent, straight asleep. You cursed, repeating the action, this time with your open palm. The sound of your hand hitting his made a gross plap noise. You pulled a face as the blonde peeped open an eye.
“Stop hittin’ me” he grumbled as he tried to pull you impossibly closer to him. You made a noise of disgust, patting his shoulder again.
“Get off.” You ordered quietly, hearing yet another pop-crackle of his small sweat beads. “You’re really fucking hot and you keep — I dunno — exploding.” You continued to pat him, waiting for Katsuki to move his arm. He scoffed, other eye now opening, both staring at you with a look of vague annoyance.
“Fine.” He gritted, moving his entire body away from you and sliding further to the end of the bed, right against the edge of his side. Unimpressed, you stared at him as he turned his back on you, skin snapping like pop rocks in pale bursts of orange.
You scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”
Katsuki’s head turned to look at you. “What, is this not good enough? Do ya want me to sleep on the couch?” he barked back, somehow managing to keep his voice quiet.
You sighed, reaching your arm toward him once you were comfortable, your fingers just grazed his back, sliding through the obscene amount of sweat. “You’re so dramatic. And sweaty, Jesus Christ.” Despite the mild complaint you left your hand there, somehow, his back was the only part of him that wasn't sparking away.
“Whatever. Cooler now?” He asked, still with his back turned to you. You hummed with thanks, turning your head from your star-fish position on the bed only to hear the tell-tale signs that Katsuki was once again, dead asleep.
With a giggle you looked back up at the ceiling, letting your eyes flutter shut as you relished in the sounds of Katsuki’s snoring and his incessant crackling. Thank God he moved, you were sure you’d be cooked half to death by now if he hadn’t.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Diary entry: i'm so hot. Art by hvoika076
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you'd think as a boyfriend katsuki bakugo would grab your ass or some shit like that, no, this man deliberately smacks the back of your head whenever he passes you.
it depends on the day but sometimes it's a tap, or just a shove. if it irritates you or not, he won't stop unless you directly confront him.
he does it sparingly, however. only if he's passing by, not if he's coming towards you.
he just really dotes on your face slash head, though. he'll tap your forehead whenever you're not getting it, boop your nose with a shit-eating grin, grab your attention by poking the back of your head.
he'll rest his chin on the top of your head when he's tired ( preferring it over your shoulder most days ), kiss the top of your head whenever he's saying goodbye, place his hand on the top of your head and turn you to face him so he can kiss you.
thinking of katsuki sleeping, one of his arms lazily thrown over you while you rest.
he doesn't snore nor make a single noise, breathing even and quiet as a mouse.
yet even one rustle of the curtains is enough to make him aware, instinct after long years of being a pro hero
he's always run warm, a kink to his quirk. often being upset in the warmer months when you're too hot and his warmth does nothing but make it worse yet you still give in
ok enjoy that sorry i fell asleep for like five minutes and woke up and thought of this
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count—10.4K, onlyfans!contentcreatorcouple!, vacation!, originalblackfem!reader, boyfriend!erenyeager, bubblyslightlybimbo!femreader, gymrat!eren, gymrat!femreader, southerncoded!femreader, southerncoded!eren, aggressive!eren, dominant!eren, gruff!eren, sweet!eren, submissive!eren, size kink!, pet names!baby!bunny!, sofa!sex, face slapping!, riding, doggy style, slightly aggressive sex!, dick sucking!, squirting!, creaming!, condomless sex, talks of relationship issues, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— happy belated birthday, dada. inspired by a twitter video i seen. it’ll be linked, nasties.
pt 4 of na na.
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…piscesbimbobunny has made a new post!
click ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა to open.
˚ ⋆❀ 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏. ₎ა✮⋆˙𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ 🐚
DEEP, ROSY AND PINK. That was the only way to describe the intense flush of your freckled cheeks, startled by the tan of your skin that went from caramel to earthy brown in days of soaking love from the sun. Being here was a dream—one that you couldn’t bring yourself to wake up from. Not yet.
A vintage filter flickers to life, bathing the screen in golden St. Lucian sunlight that spills through the open balcony of your Mediterranean oasis. The space feels like a dream—terra-cotta tiles underfoot, cream-colored brick walls draped in ivy and trailing flowers, an indoor waterfall trickling softly in the background. The bedroom is an open sanctuary, sheer white curtains billowing around a wooden four-poster bed, its canopy draped lazily over rumpled white sheets.
And there, in the center of it all—him.
Lying sprawled on his back, deep in sleep, his massive frame takes up nearly the entire bed. Dark brown hair—almost black in the shadows, but warm bronze where the sun catches it—fans out across the pillow like spilled ink. The tattoos covering his arm and creeping up his neck stand out starkly against sun-kissed skin, muscular chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. Even in rest, there’s something commanding about him—the natural scowl of his brows, the sharp cut of his jawline, to his full lips slightly parted.
You zoom in slowly, your voice a hushed, adoring whisper—
“Look at you… ‘So handsome.”
The camera lingers on his face—the faint freckles dusting his nose, his lashes brushing his cheeks, down to the stubborn set of his expression even in sleep. You bite back a giggle, leaning closer.
“Baby…?”
No response. Not even a twitch.
Another soft laugh escapes you as you adjust the frame, capturing the way morning light paints him in gold.
“Out cold,” you murmur, fondness dripping from every syllable.
The scene holds—just for a moment—before the camera shifts, panning over the tropical paradise outside, the sound of waves crashing in the distance.
A burgues script title card flashes:
My love letter to you.
The camera catches the delicate flicker of your French-tipped toes as you peel yourself from the bed—moving like a ghost to not disturb him. The lens follows your path through the sprawling villa, gliding over terracotta floors kissed by sunlight, past open-air archways draped in bougainvillea, until you find the perfect spot—a plush, low-slung sofa nestled between an indoor garden and the infinity pool’s edge.
You angle the camera carefully across from you, and there you are.
The sun has painted your skin richer—your freckles somehow more pronounced, scattered like constellations across your cheeks and nose. A faint pink tinge dusts the high points of your face—part sunburn, part blush from pure contentment. Your hair is a masterpiece—long, full French curl braids cascading over shoulders, blending seamlessly with loose ringlets that catch the light like spun gold. They frame your round face perfectly—accentuating full, arched brows, dark cat-like lashes, and lips so plush and pink they look perpetually bitten.
Your neon orange bikini top—streaked with deep pink swirls—clings to your heavy, voluptuous curves, the ruching at the sides straining just slightly from the weight of your breasts. An anklet and sandals in matching pink rest nearby, abandoned for comfort. Your wrists jingle with charm bracelets as you fold yourself onto the sofa, knees tucked under you like a daydream given human form.
You are sinful innocence incarnate—a doll with a devil’s smirk and an angel’s glow.
A delicate hand lifts, waving at the camera as your voice comes out smooth, sweet—yet laced with something deeper.
“Hi, babies. It’s…been a while.”
The camera drinks you in—this vision of sun-soaked serenity—before you finally take a breath and lean forward, ready to tell your story.
But first—a wicked little grin curls at the corner of your mouth.
“Let’s catch up.”
The vintage filter softens your features like a sun faded Polaroid as you tuck a loose curl behind your ear, exhaling with a wistful smile.
“So—You're probably wondering where we've been."
The lens lingers on your face—nostalgia flickering in your dark eyes as you glance past the camera, like you can still see the walls of your old New Orleans shotgun house behind it. That cozy, creole haven with its peeling paint and humming ceiling fans, where the scent of jasmine and Eren’s cooking curled through every room. Home.
“Six months changes things," you murmur, “And, well...life happened."
A breath.
“‘Ren’s meal prep business blew up."
The confession comes with a giggle, like even now it still feels surreal. The Seoul deal had landed like a lightning strike—some high-end Korean health conglomerate offering stupid money for exclusive rights to his keto chicken bowls and Creole-spiced shrimp packs.
“You saw the anniversary live, right? The one where—" You bite your lip,“—Yeah. Anyway. Two days later, they slid into his email with a contract thicker than his arm.”
But? The logistics were brutal. Endless flights between NOLA and Incheon, you both exhausted, missing each other achingly in the stretches between. You mimic Eren’s signature scowl, deepening your voice—
“'Either come with me or I’m burnin’ the passport, Bunny.'"
The move to Korea had been a whirlwind—thrilling at first. Neon-lit streets, steaming bowls of tteokbokki at 3AM, Eren’s hands possessive on your waist as he showed you his Seoul between meetings. But then...
Your smile falters.
“It got lonely."
No Sunday gumbo with your momma. No impromptu BBQs with your cousins spilling onto the porch. Just the two of you in a sleek high-rise, struggling with subway maps and missing the warmth of your people.
“We were happy, but—hollow?"
You press a hand to your sternum, like you can still feel the echo of it.
You then exhale softly, curling your fingers around the edge of the sofa as you confess, “We needed a break—And ‘Ren’s birthday was the perfect excuse to escape."
The waves crash lazily in the background as you tilt your head, sunlight catching the gold hoops in your ears.
“St. Lucia was his dream. Warm water, no schedules, no ’corporate meetings’—" You roll your eyes playfully, but the lightness doesn’t quite reach the tension in your shoulders.
Then, quieter—
“But...he hasn’t been handling twenty-nine the way I thought he would?”
You bite your lip, eyes flickering toward the bedroom where he still sleeps.
“He keeps saying shit like—" You deepen your voice into another gruff imitation of him, “'Damn, Bunny. I’m gettin’ old. Need to settle down before my knees give out.'"
You shake your head, “It’s not just jokes, though. He’s been different. Obsessing over timelines, talking about legacy.”
Your fingers trace idle patterns on your thigh, avoiding the camera’s gaze for a second.
“And then one night, he just—" You swallow hard, “…He said he wanted a baby.”
You curl into yourself slightly, arms wrapping around your middle as if bracing for impact.
“I mean...we always talked about it. But..." you shrug helplessly, "You guys know I don’t plan on doing this—" You gesture vaguely at the camera, “Once we’re married with kids. And I love that you guys have been with us through everything. But..."
A shaky breath.
“I never expected it to be now, you know?”
The air between you and the lens feels thick—charged with something unspoken. Then, abruptly, you straighten, blinking away the wetness in your eyes as a slow, secretive smile tugs at your lips.
“Before I bring myself to tears—well, just watch."
The burgues script appears again.
ST. LUCIA THROUGH YOUR EYES.
A montage flickers to life—each frame saturated with golden sunlight and laughter, the ocean breeze tangling in your hair as St. Lucia unfolds around you both like a dream.
The first day. ‘You in a sheer, plum wrap dress that clings to every curve, standing barefoot on the villa’s terrace as Eren’s hands slide around your waist from behind. His lips brush your shoulder—“My pretty fuckin’ Bunny,” before he nips at your earlobe, making you giggle and swat at him.
That night. A low-lit restaurant nestled right on the beach, lanterns casting a honeyed glow over your faces. You’re seated at a candlelit table, the ocean breeze tousling the loose waves of your dark hair. The camera catches you mid-laugh—a plunging white dress clinging to every dangerous curve of your body, the neckline dipping just low enough to tease the swell of your heavy tits.
You flash a mischievous grin at the lens, dragging your fingertip through the frosting of the miniature birthday cake the staff brought out—“For my birthday boy,” before sucking the sweetness off your finger with an exaggerated pop.
The camera pans to Eren.
Oh, God.
A crisp white button-up clings to his muscular frame like a second skin, his sleeves rolled up to expose those tattooed forearms. His dark hair is slicked back in a low bun—jawline sharp enough to cut glass—green eyes glinting with something between hunger and amusement as he watches you.
Without breaking eye contact with the camera, he leans in—dragging his tongue between your lips, stealing the last traces of frosting straight from your mouth.
You let out a breathy giggle, cheeks flushing as he pulls back with a smirk—“‘Shit tastes better on you."
The second week. A bustling street market. You wear a sage green crochet bikini top and high-waisted denim shorts, sandals dangling from one hand as Eren feeds you bites of spiced plantains off his fork. His thumb swipes sauce from your bottom lip, then slowly licks it off, eyes locked on yours while vendors wolf whistle in the background under your flushed squeaking for him to stop.
That afternoon? A lively, sun-drenched outdoor hair salon tucked under a canopy of palm leaves and strung with colorful beads that clink softly in the breeze. You’re perched on a low wooden stool, surrounded by four St. Lucian aunties—their hands moving in a hypnotic blur as they section, twist, and fold your thick, dark curls into an intricate masterpiece.
Eren’s deep chuckle rumbles behind the camera—“Look at my baby, lookin’ like prettier than the ocean.”
You go to stick your tongue out at him, but that’s when one of the women chides you gently in Kwéyòl—“Hold still, darling!”—before dissolving into warm laughter with the others. The rhythmic swish-swish of hair being braided fills the air, fingers tugging just enough to make you pout.
Another day. The rainforest. ‘You in a khaki mini-skirt and a tied-up tank, shrieking as your sandal slips on a mossy rock—only for Eren to catch you mid-fall, his biceps flexing as he hauls you upright with a growl.
“Watch ‘your feet, woman. You break an ankle, I’m carryin’ you everywhere from now on.”
That evening. A local elder—"Banana Man," as you dubbed him—grinned toothlessly as he guided Eren’s hands around a machete, teaching him to split a ripe banana stalk. Eren listens intently, nodding, repeating phrases in rough-but-earnest Creole while you beam beside him, fingers laced through his free hand in support.
And finally? Sunset. The beach. You in a flowy, butter-yellow sundress, bare feet sinking into warm sand as the Banana Man and another woman chuckles, handing you both each a piece of freshly-cut fruit.
Behind you, you hear the woman fussing at Eren in the same melodic dialect, “Ou pral koupe dwèt ou yo!,” You’ll chop your fingers off!—her tone exasperated but fond.
You bite back a giggle, still focused on your own fruit, not daring to glance over.
"Are you givin' her a hard time?" you call out, voice lilting with amusement.
Eren’s response is soft, almost too casual—
“Not at all, baby."
A pause. Then—
“…Might need some help from you, though."
You roll your eyes playfully, turning with a grin—
And the world stops.
Because there he is.
On one knee.
The machete abandoned beside him, replaced by a velvet box cradled in his trembling hands. His face—usually so composed, so controlled—is raw with emotion, eyes glistening under the sunset.
"Mwen vle ou pou tout rès vi mwen," he rasps—I want you for the rest of my life.
A sob tears from your throat before you can stop it. Your hands fly to your mouth, the piece of fruit tumbling forgotten into the sand as your knees nearly give out.
“Wi—YES—oh my GOD!"
You're in his arms before he can even finish, nearly knocking him over as you collapse against his chest, babbling yes in every language you know—Creole, English, everything—between desperate kisses and tearful laughter.
The camera cuts back to you now—sunlight catching the glint of tears still clinging to your lashes as you hold up your left hand, the diamond glinting like captured starlight. Heavy. Perfect. His.
“We're getting married!” you whisper yell, voice trembling with a giddy, breathless laugh—but it fades too fast.
"...Haven’t been able to get pregnant, though."
A shaky breath. The words taste like salt and something sharper.
“We tried. A couple times. And then...weknew."
Your throat works around the weight of it.
“‘Doctor ran tests. There's—" A tiny, broken noise, “A lot."
Your gaze drops to your lap, where your other hand fists in the fabric of your slip.
“Eren…has given up so much for our content. Let the world into us. But—"
A tear splashes onto your knee. Then another. You don't even notice until your voice cracks.
“All he wants now is privacy. His wife. A baby.”
You swipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, laughing wetly—“And I couldn’t even—"
The sentence dies.
For a long moment, there's just the sound of the ocean and your unsteady breathing. Then, so quiet the mic barely catches it—
"It felt like I failed him."
Your laughter wavers—thin and watery—as tears streak hot down your cheeks. You swipe at them with trembling fingertips, shaking your head as you murmur, “Sorry, sorry,” to the empty air.
Your voice steadies, even as the tears keep falling.
“But we’re here, in St.Lucia. And I get to spend the rest of my life with the man I love.”
You tilt your face up toward the sunlight, closing your eyes for just a second—
But that’s when the sound of heavy footsteps on tile makes your breath catch.
And there he is.
The camera doesn’t catch his face—just the sheer mass of him, silhouetted against the morning light. Long dark hair, streaked with gold where the sun touches it. Broad shoulders, tattoos creeping up the side of his neck. His bare chest is a canvas of sun-kissed skin, scattered with moles and faint freckles.
But you see all of him—the deep green of his eyes, hazel flecks burning under heavy brows. The natural frown etched into his features, lips full and pink, parted as he rasps—
“Why the hell ain’t you in bed?”
His voice is sleep-rough, edged with concern.
“…’Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, “Got dressed.”
Silence.
His thumb suddenly grazes your cheek, catching a stray tear. His touch is rough but tender, tilting your face up toward him as he grunts—
“‘You good?”
His hand dwarfs your face, fingers tipping your chin up further. You blink up at him through damp lashes, lips curling into a soft smile despite the lingering tears.
“‘Was just talkin' to our little family," you say, thumb brushing the camera lens gently—“They miss you."
“I miss you in bed," he counters, voice a low, sleep-rough rumble that sends heat prickling up your neck.
A breathless giggle escapes you as you glance at the time.
“Baby, it’s barely noon.”
Your fingers catch his wrist, tugging lightly—“Come sit with me?"
He hesitates—then shakes his head, jaw tightening slightly.
“I’ll ‘show face in a bit," he grunts, “‘Gotta shower first."
“And then you’ll come?"
"Mhm."
The affirmation is gruff, but his grip on your chin tightens as he suddenly leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss—tongue dragging slow over your bottom lip before pulling away with a wet pop.
And then, he’s gone.
You sigh playfully, shaking your head with a knowing smile as you watch him stalk off—"That's him in a good mood," you murmur, rolling your eyes affectionately before your expression shifts—mischief sparking in your gaze.
“Well, what he doesn't know is I've got a little surprise.”
You bite your bottom lip, fingers tapping against your thigh.
"For him... and you guys."
A sly wink, “You know I can't come on here without giving y'all the other part of our channel."
With that, you hop up from the sofa—bare feet padding silently across the sun-warmed terracotta floors as you tiptoe through the sprawling Mediterranean villa.
The outdoor shower comes into view—a stunning mosaic of turquoise and deep cobalt tiles, sunlight dappling through the latticework. The sound of rushing water meets your ears first, then—
Him.
Eren stands fully nude beneath the spray—a masterpiece of masculine power carved in ink and muscle. Water sluices down the hard planes of his tattooed chest, his biceps flexing as he runs a hand through his dark, wet hair—pushing it back just enough to reveal the sharp cut of his jaw, the sinful curve of his mouth. Droplets cling to his long lashes, framing those deep green eyes as he tips his head back, throat working as the water cascades over him.
His body is ridiculous—abs like forged steel, thick thighs taut with restrained strength. And then—there. Between his legs, heavy and full even at rest, his cock hangs thick against his thigh, the flushed tip glistening under the water.
You carefully prop the camera up, angling it perfectly to capture the outdoor shower's decadent scene before slipping the sheer coverup from your shoulders—letting it pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. Your neon orange bikini clings to every curve as you step under the arched entrance, hips swaying with playful purpose as you approach his towering frame.
The moment your arms slide around his waist—lips pressing a teasing kiss to the small of his water-slick back—his entire body tenses. Then, slowly, he turns.
One large hand cups your chin, tilting your face up as he looms over you—those hunter-green eyes dark with warning.
“Du kleine Unruhestifterin," he murmurs, voice rough.
You little troublemaker.
His tongue lolls out lazily—a silent command. You obey instantly, your own tongue slipping past your lips to meet his. The slide of them together pulls a shudder from you, your eyes rolling back as he deepens the kiss with a growl—claiming your mouth like he owns it. Because he does.
When you finally pull away—giving his bottom lip one last tug between your teeth—the noise he makes is pure animal. A deep, possessive grunt that sends heat spiraling through your core. You giggle, high and breathless, licking the taste of him from your lips.
“Be nice," you whisper, fluttering your lashes up at him—equal parts angel and devil.
His fingers thread through your French curls, gently cradling your head as he tucks your giggles against his chest—the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Then, finally, he turns his gaze toward the camera—voice a low, affectionate rumble.
“She’s always been good at persuadin’ me.”
You drape your arms around his neck, pressing your body flush against his as your giggles bubble up—tits bouncing against him playfully.
“‘You happy now? You love all our babies?" you chirp.
His response is a deep, vibrating ”Mhm," as his hands slide down to grip your hips possessively. You snuggle closer, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder with a satisfied hum, breathing in his scent—sandalwood, something distinctly him.
But while you're nestled against him like a content kitten, Eren has other plans. His lips quirk in that cocky half-smile as he mouths “I lied," directly at the camera—his wink full of mischief before he nuzzles back into you, knowing damn well what he just did.
The camera now cuts to a sprawling deep green sofa bed in a sun drenched corner of the villa, where you're sprawled out in nothing but a skimpy gold bikini—back arched, hips tilted, ass up—your skin glistening under the Caribbean light.
You pout dramatically at the lens, running your hands over your thighs.
“Ugh, I swear I won’t get a full tan here!” you whine, twisting to show the untouched skin of your inner thighs—your fingers tracing the faint tan lines with exaggerated frustration.
Before you can continue your lament, a sharp smack! echoes through the room—Eren’s palm landing firmly on your ass, making the flesh jiggle.
”Move," he rumbles, already nudging you aside—his natural dominance taking over as he manspreads onto the sofa bed like he owns it. His tattoos flex under the golden light, one thick thigh nudging yours apart as he settles in.
Your lips purse into an exaggerated pout, eyes fluttering up at him with faux hurt.
“You're being mean.”
Eren's stares. His index finger then crooks, wagging you closer with that effortless, commanding ease that always makes your stomach flip. You slide toward him, hips swaying playfully, until his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you into a searing kiss—quick but deep, his tongue swiping possessively over yours before pulling away with a wet smack.
“Tut mir leid, Schatz," he rumbles—I'm sorry, baby—his rough German apology curling around your ears like smoke.
You grin at the camera, freckles standing out against your brown skin as you rub your hands up and down Eren’s tattooed forearms.
“Guess what we have?" you chirp, excitement bubbling in your tone.
Eren arches a brow, his deep voice dry.
“Fan mail?"
"Fan mail!" you squeak, immediately digging into the pretty stack of envelopes beside you—tied together with a silk ribbon. You pluck one out, scanning it before correcting, “Fan question, actually."
Clearing your throat, you read aloud—
“'I love you both so much—your dynamic, the way you tease each other, how passionate you are...Awe!” You pause, pressing a hand to your chest, touched.
“'Okay, okay—so, I'm kind of shy asking this, but I'm in a relationship, and my boyfriend loves when I ride him, but I...don't really know what to do? Any tips?'"
Your lips curl into a sly grin as you shift your hips against Eren’s thigh, fingers drumming playfully on his chest.
“So, let’s talk about cowgirl—fun fact, it actually dates waaaay back," you purr, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“…Some historians trace it to ancient tantric texts, others say it was practically sacred in certain cultures—but let’s be real," your curls sway as you tilt your head, “The real magic? ‘How many ways you can make this classic feel brand new."
Eren’s palm thwaps your ass lightly—a silent get on with it.
“There are several—yes, several—ways to ride," you announce, holding up the corresponding number of fingers, “And lucky for you..." You pat Eren’s thigh like he’s your favorite piece of gym equipment—“..I’ve got the perfect demonstrator right here."
His grunt is half-amused, half-exasperated as you swing a leg over him, straddling his lap playfully.
“Consider this your full tutorial.”
Your posture shifts instantly—shoulders rolling back, lips parting with slow intention as your gaze locks onto Eren’s. The camera catches the way his pupils dilate just slightly when you run your tongue along your mouth, your voice dropping into that tone—the one that’s equal parts instructor and temptress.
“Lesson one," you purr, fingertips skating up his chest, “Start with him comfortable. Relaxed."
Your hips roll in a lazy circle against his lap, the heat between your thighs already unmistakable.
“And obviously...hard. That’s the goal."
You nip at his earlobe, breathing a giggle against his skin when his grip tightens on your waist.
“Baby," you murmur, dragging your tongue along the shell of his ear, “How’re you enjoying St. Lucia?”
Eren’s jaw flexes—the only tell he’ll give you—but you feel him hardening beneath you, the thick ridge of him pressing insistently against your core. Your laugh is velvet-wrapped mischief as you grind down harder, relishing the way his breath hitches.
“Mmm, that’s the reaction we want."
Your fingers glide over the bulging curves of his biceps, kneading the taut muscle with deliberate appreciation.
“Aren’t you having fun with me?" you coo, batting your lashes up at him through the dark fringe of them.
Eren’s eyes—always tracking you—darken further, his voice scraping low from his chest.
“You know how I feel bein’ here.”
“Good boy,” you softly praise, lips curling into that wicked little smile—the one that makes his jaw twitch. Your hands slide down to rub slow, teasing circles over his thick thighs, fingertips ghosting dangerously close to where he really wants them.
“Thank you for being so...communicative.”
Then, with a sinuous shift of your hips, you arch deeper into his lap—your gaze flicking back to the camera.
“Now, tell me—does our birthday boy deserve something…special today?"
The camera catches Eren perfectly—his dark hair pulled into a loose bun, those few stubborn tendrils escaping to frame his glaring, predatory expression. He’s pure power sprawled beneath you—legs spread wide, chest rising with each controlled breath—watching, waiting, like he’s deciding whether to make a move or let you play longer.
Then—your hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants.
A sharp inhale. A quick tug.
“Oh.”
Your gasp is high, breathy, practically whiny as your big, round eyes drink him in—his cock springing free, thick, flushed and already leaking just from your teasing.
“Look at you," you mewl, voice dripping with honeyed reverence—like he’s something sacred, "’All for me?"
Eren’s smirk is barely there—just a twitch of those sinful lips—before his hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to his.
“Always."
Your gaze flicks back to the camera with that signature mix of sweet and sinful—letting them in on the moment before your attention returns to him.
“Make him ready for you first," you instruct—your lips parting slightly, tongue swiping along your bottom lip as if already tasting him.
Eren's eyes darken, his grip tightening on your thigh.
“’You thirsty?” he rasps.
You nod eagerly, biting down on your plush lip with those big, pleading eyes.
He doesn't hesitate. His calloused fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up as he spits directly into your open mouth—a thick, wet string of saliva that lands heavy on your tongue.
“Mmm—" You swallow instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as his palm cracks against your cheek.
“Zeig’s ihnen," he growls—Show them.
And oh, you do.
Your tongue drags slow and filthy from the thick base of him all the way up—a long, indulgent lick that leaves a glistening trail along his length. The taste of him—pure Eren—floods your senses as you swirl your tongue around his swollen tip, savoring the bead of precum that leaks onto your taste buds.
Then—your lips part wider, sinking down onto him inch by inch until he’s pressed against the back of your throat. The sound—wet, filthy, obscene—fills the room as your nose brushes against his pelvis, swallowing around him with deliberate patience.
Eren’s groan is low and rough, fingers tightening in your hair as he mutters something in German—praise or a curse, you can’t tell—but the way his hips twitch upward tells you everything you need to know.
“Good fuckin’ girl.”
Your movements grow desperate, hungry—swollen lips struggling to stretch around his impossible girth, every inch of him throbbing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and force yourself deeper. The sounds you make—tiny, choked mewls turning into breathless whimpers—only spur him on. His cock hits the back of your throat, again and again, the slick slap of skin against skin filling the air as you drool around him, spit dripping messily down your chin.
When you finally pull away—gasping, lips shiny and ruined—you whine at the loss, your fingers immediately wrapping around what your mouth couldn’t take. Both hands jerk him off in tight, twisting strokes—your tongue darting out to swirl around his leaking tip, collecting the thick beads of precum and licking them up like a starving little thing.
Eren’s voice is ragged, his German words rough and guttural—“So verdammt gierig..."
“So greedy..." you translate breathlessly, giggling around his cock like it’s something adorable, something sweet, despite the filth dripping from your chin. Then? You’re practically bobbing your palms around his dick, going even lower than before.
Eren’s thighs tense, muscles straining beneath ink-stained skin as he curses, fingers tightening in your curls.
“Fuck—" His head tilts back, jaw clenched, as he uses your palms—hips lifting off the bed to fuck up into your hand with sharp, punishing thrusts. You mewl once more as your mouth follows back onto his tip—sucking, sucking down. The camera catches it all—his dominance, your submission, the sinful wetness of every thrust as you put your mouth back on him—until finally, with a growl that rumbles through your bones, he yanks you off with a filthy pop.
“Enough."
Your lips are parted, panting, still aching for him—but his grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“You want to ride?" He rasps, “‘Come fuckin’ ride me.”
“Mm, baby—“ you mewl, “This is a tutorial, shouldn’t we—“
Eren’s response is interrupting—his thick fingers hooking into the flimsy fabric of your bikini bottoms, yanking them aside with a roughness that makes your breath hitch. The sudden slap of his palm against your pussy—sharp, mean—has your hips jerking forward with it.
“Keep goin’ then," he growls, fingers beginning to rub rough circles over your swollen clit, his other hand gripping your ass cheek tight enough to bruise.
“Talk.”
Your body shudders, thighs trembling as you struggle to stay composed—your giggles turning into more breathless whimpers, your voice wavering but still playful as you turn back to the camera.
“O—Okay, so—once he’s ready," you stutter, cheeks flushed deep bronze, “You just—ah!—sink down on him—slow, okay?” You bite your lip, "Especially if—mmf!—if you’ve got someone as big as my 'Ren—“
Eren grunts, dragging the slick, flushed head of his cock through your dripping folds—letting the camera catch the obscene wetness coating him before he smacks your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint.
“Ain’t nobody as big as me," he snarls, voice thick with arrogance—his grip tightening on your waist as he lines himself up, the heavy tip of him pressing teasingly against your entrance.
“Bring it to me.”
Your hand reaches back, fingers curling into the flesh of his thigh as you lock eyes with the camera—your lips parting around a shaky exhale as you begin to sink down onto him.
Eren’s grip shifts suddenly—his calloused fingers seizing your jaw, forcing your face to stay angled toward the lens as he tugs you down with relentless pressure. The stretch is unreal—your walls clenching around his thick cock inch by inch as your breath hitches in your throat.
Your eyes roll back—voice slurring as you try to keep instructing through the haze of pleasure, "Y—You wanna—mmf—take all of it—"
Eren’s his hips jerk up hard, forcing another inch inside—his voice thick with arrogance, “You feelin’ me?”
You whimper, hands gripping his thighs as you force yourself down, your slick walls yielding around him until your ass meets his hips—fully seated. Your face twists—lips parted in a silent moan, eyes squeezing shut before fluttering open to find him instead of the camera.
And then—God—your folds spurt a fresh rush of cream against him, your body betraying you completely as you lose all semblance of control, trembling in his lap.
“Look at you,” he rasps, “Actin’ like a big fuckin’ girl, little one.”
Your arms snake around his neck, clinging to him as you press a soft, pleading kiss to his lips—whispering against them in Creole, just for him—“Lèt mwen mennen, chéri..."
Let me lead, baby…
Eren hesitates—his dark eyes searching yours—before he exhales sharply through his nose. He pulls back just enough to guide your palms onto his chest, lips pressing against your ring, to both of your palms in turn—a silent permission—before his arms drop to his sides, muscles taut with restraint.
“‘Go ‘head.”
Your voice then lilts sweetly, hips rolling in slow, teasing circles against his lap.
“Okay, so first—warm up," you murmur, fingers threading through the loose tendrils of his dark hair, tugging just enough to make his jaw clench.
“You wanna start slow," you breathe, eyelashes fluttering—though your breath hitches when he twitches inside you, thick and impatient.
“It's all about—mm—connection..."
You whine a little—high-pitched, adorable—your folds clutching desperately at his cock with every tiny shift.
“T—Take your time adjusting," you instruct shakily, though it sounds more like you're reminding yourself—your thighs trembling as you rise up until just the tip of him remains, then sink back down with a breathy sigh.
Eren's hands flex against the sofa—his nostrils flaring as he watches you, taunting him with your lazy pace. But he lets you lead, just like you asked—even if his teeth grind together when your nails scrape against his scalp.
“‘Feel good, baby?”
Eren just growls, his hips jerking up just enough to make your entire body twitch.
“Quit playin’."
Your lips press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose—soft, sweet—and he retaliates by bumping his nose against yours in return, making you giggle breathlessly.
“Okay,” you whisper, “First three positions—think of ‘em like gears,” you explain, hips rolling in slow, indulgent circles—your thighs flexing as you shift upward, grinding rather than bouncing.
“First gear—easy, sensual, all about the tease.”
You demonstrate, your back arching beautifully as you rock against him—your gaze locked onto his, heavy-lidded and dripping with intent, “It’s more for your pleasure, but—”
One of your hands lifts, twirling a loose curl around your finger—your French braids cascading over your shoulders, the scent of vanilla and sunshine clinging to them.
“You keep his attention by making him watch.”
Your other hand slides up your own body—fingers trailing over your collarbone before you hook them into the ties of your bikini top. With a flick, the fabric falls away—your heavy breasts bouncing free, nipples peaked and begging for touch.
Eren’s nostrils flare, but he stays still—letting you lead, even as his cock twitches deep inside you.
“Second gear—”
Your breath hitches as you shift again, riding him with more purpose—your hips undulating in slow, delicious waves.
“Third gear—”
And then you grind, your clit rubbing firmly against the base of him with every movement. A rush of pleasure floods your senses—your walls fluttering around him as you struggle to keep your voice steady.
“Th—This one—” You swallow hard, your words slurring slightly, “Might—mmf—hit your spots—“
“Yeah?”
Eren suddenly rasps—arrogant, smug—his fingers flexing against your hips but still refusing to help.
A desperate little whimper escapes your lips—“Y—Yeah”—as your hips roll faster, grinding against him like a toy wound too tight, chasing that sweet, throbbing pleasure building low in your belly.
Eren stays perfectly still beneath you—just watching with those eyes, his low voice taunting as he growls,
“C'mon, baby. Keep goin’.”
Your breath catches—a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your head falls back, braids cascading over your shoulders. But Eren’s fingers snap up, wrapping around your throat in a firm grip, forcing your gaze back to him.
“Nah, nah—eyes on me," he rasps, thumb brushing your pulse point—“‘Want you to see me watchin’ you.”
Tears well in your eyes—spilling over as your climax crashes into you with a sob, your cream gushing around him, coating his balls in slick heat.
Eren tsks—his grip tightening on your ass cheek, tugging your grinding hips right where he wants them as he murmurs low in German,
"So schön... so verdammt schön für mich…”
So beautiful... so fuckin’ beautiful for me…
Your hips slow to a sensual sway, chest rising and falling with each breath as your curls tumble over your shoulders, framing your breasts like a dark halo. You glance down at Eren through your lashes, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing—but the second your arms wrap around his neck, you let out a soft, shy giggle, turning toward the camera with a sheepish smile.
“Oops—" you murmur, voice dripping with playful sweetness, “Didn’t mean to get so...carried away."
Eren huffs out a rough chuckle, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses between your breasts—“I love watchin’ you like that. Love watchin’ you cum like that."
You bite your lip, suppressing another giggle before looking back at the camera—your expression shifting back into instructor mode, though your voice is still breathy from pleasure.
“See? The three gears—always gonna get you there," you sigh, fingers threading lazily through Eren’s hair—“And trust me... your man’s gonna love it."
Your lips curl into a lazy, satisfied smile as you glance at the camera, breath still uneven.
“Not done yet though,” you hum—“‘Might feel a little sore after that first round, so this is when you just...sit in it. Warm each other up all over again."
Your fingers trail down to nudge Eren's chin, tipping his face up toward you—your eyes softening as you whisper, "’Love you, yeah?"
He doesn't answer with words—just tugs your mouth down to his in a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding together with unhurried heat. His hands roam over your back, fingers pressing possessively into the curve of your hips as you shift slightly—your folds grinding lazily along the swollen tip of him, drawing a low groan from his chest.
Then, with a breathless shudder, you sink back down onto him—your lips parting against his in a silent gasp as he fills you completely. The kiss deepens, languid and intoxicating, until you finally pull back—turning toward the camera with flushed cheeks.
“This one—" you pant, rocking up and down in slow, shallow motions, “—We call the lazy cowgirl. No rush, no pressure... just breathing together before the next round."
Your hips roll in smooth, rhythmic waves—your tongue dragging teasingly along Eren's neck as you murmur against his pulse, “Keep it playful now... this one's for him."
Your hands glide over the sculpted planes of his biceps and shoulders, fingertips tracing the ink-dark tattoos as you murmur, “You’re too handsome, baby—" between slow, rocking motions. Eren grunts through the praise, dragging you into a deep, appreciative kiss—but you feel it, the way his restraint starts crumbling, the sharp catch of his breath against your lips betraying how badly he wants to take control.
You tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder, braids spilling like silk over his skin as you peer behind you—watching the sinuous arch of your spine, the hypnotic sway of your hips as you move atop him.
“Okay," you exhale once more, pulling back just enough to meet the camera's gaze—your voice dripping with playful mischief, “Next positions are where it gets fun—pleasurable for both of you."
A giggle bubbles up as you admit, “It’s a silly name, but—we call this one the shakedown.”
And then you show it—your ass lifting slightly before shaking in slow, deliberate twists atop him, the motion making your folds clench around his cock in a way that has his fingers digging into your thighs.
A harsh smack echoes through the room—Eren’s palm cracking against your ass cheek, leaving a stinging flush in its wake. You gasp, but don't stop—grinding down harder as he spanks you again, and again, each sharp slap punctuated by his guttural groans.
“Fuck—" he grits out, grip bruising as he watches your body jolt with every strike.
You whimper through it, trembling—but your voice is a pure sultry tease as you murmur to the camera, “Your man's gonna love how this looks…’gonna turn him on completely.”
Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his naught as you continue rolling your hips in slow, decadent circles—French curls cascading like dark silk over his shoulders, tickling his chest as you tilt your head.
“Baby...you still with me?" you tease, breathless laughter lacing your words as you nudge his temple with your nose, "’You’ve been a little quiet…”
Eren’s response is a rough blend of English and German, his voice thick with barely-restrained hunger as his palm cracks against your ass again—harder this time—forcing a sweet little “Mmph!" from your lips as you jolt forward, your mouth brushing his.
“Scheiße—" he growls, gripping your waist as his other hand lands another stinging slap—“Du siehst so verdammt gut aus—"
You look so fuckin’ good.
His words dissolve into a shuddering groan as your walls clench around him, your body squeezing him in a slick, greedy rhythm. You bite your bottom lip, catching the camera’s gaze with a sultry grin—your voice dropping to a low, instructional purr.
“Next one’s called...the swirl.”
And then you demonstrate—your hips twisting in slow, hypnotic spirals, muscles fluttering tight around him in a way that wrings a filthy, wet sound from where you’re joined. Eren’s grip turns vicious—his cock throbbing inside you as your folds suck him deeper with every sinuous roll.
“Goddamn, Bunny. Just like that. Shit.”
His head is tilting back, groaning as he drags the words out.
Your breath hitches, but you keep going—grinding down in relentless circles, your body milking him with every motion as the camera captures every obscene shlick of your arousal coating him. Your hips continue their sinuous swirl, fingertips skimming the hard planes of his chest before crawling up to cradle the back of his neck possessively.
“This is your chance to dominate.”
Eren's head stays tilted back, his hunter-green eyes locked onto yours—jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitch. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his cock twitching as your folds clench in another deliberate, milking squeeze.
“Hell—" he grunts out, fingers digging into your hips, “That feels too fuckin’ good.”
“Yeah?"
“Yeah.”
And you smile, rolling your hips in another filthy, slower, perfect circle.
Your gaze locks onto the camera as you plant your feet firmly on the sofa—tightening your thighs around his hips as your fingers drag lower, tracing the hard ridges of his abs with deliberate admiration.
"And this—" you breathe, “—Is probably your man’s favorite. The expert cowgirl. Where you let him use you to his strength... his advantage."
Your eyes flick down to Eren, lashes fluttering as you coo, “My man’s so strong—‘can fuck me any way he wants to."*
The second those words leave your lips, Eren’s grip shifts—his hands sliding beneath your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as he takes control, tugging you down onto his cock with a slow, purposeful bounce.
“This—ooh!—this’ll also hit your spots if you let it—"
You gasp, your words fracturing as his tip drags directly over that spongey sweet spot inside you. Your eyes roll slightly—a giggle bubbling up as you try to suppress the shiver of pleasure that ripples through you.
"That’s it," he rasps, his grip tightening as he drives you down harder, faster.
“Take it. Take it. Squeezin’ me just fuckin’ right.”
Your thighs tremble—your folds fluttering around him as he uses you exactly how he wants, his cock pistoning into that perfect, blissful spot with every snap of his hips.
“Eren—" you whimper, your control slipping—your body melting under the weight of his dominance.
“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Feel it.”
Your fingers slide helplessly over the thick ridges of his biceps beneath you—and that’s when a real, broken whimper claws its way out of your throat, voice trembling as you gasp,
“F—Feels too—mmph!—too good—"
Eren’s response is a rough, impatient tch—his grip tightening as he growls, “You ain’t been enjoyin’ yourself enough. Hold onto me.”
At those words? Your head lolls back, your body going pliant against him as he pounds you—his powerful thighs driving you up and down his cock in slow, devastating bounces that leave your vision hazy. Your nails dig into his forearms—your whine pitching higher, dissolving into a slurred “Mmmphfuh—!" as your words fail you completely.
“I c—can’t think.”
And that’s when you see it—that untamed, rough-edged side of him that follows him everywhere. The country boy who doesn’t ask, just takes—who fucks you with the same effortless dominance he carries in every other part of his life. His hands slide up to your waist, fingers bruising as he lifts you—then drops you back onto his cock with a filthy, wet slap, his hips driving up to meet you.
“Don’t gotta think," he rasps—voice dark, mean with desire.
“Just keep takin’ it.”
Eren's hands lock around your hips like steel bands—his thick cock splitting you open with every brutal, upward thrust. This ain't riding anymore. This is him fucking you—claiming you—his deep southern drawl rumbling against your ear as he takes over your lesson with rough, possessive authority.
“Last one, baby. My fuckin' favorite—the Noise Complaint.”
And God, you understand why he named it that the second his powerful thighs flex beneath you. His grip is absolute—those big, rough hands lifting your entire body with terrifying ease before slamming you back down onto his cock in slow, devastating drops. The sound is obscene—a wet, rhythmic clap of skin-on-skin that echoes off the walls, punctuated by your broken little “Ah! Ah! Ah!" with every bounce.
It’s everything that defines him—raw, unfiltered, dominance, that arrogance dialed to eleven. Clap after clap after clap—skin slapping against skin in a rhythm so loud it dares the neighbors to complain.
“Hear that?" Eren growls, “That’s the shit I wanna hear.”
You're sobbing now—pathetic, high-pitched whines of “E—Eren!" tumbling from your swollen lips as your body betrays you, clamping down on him in helpless pleasure.
“Take your reward for bein' such a good fuckin’ teacher.”
Your fingers clutch at his forearms, desperation creeping into your voice as you whimper, “Baby, please—‘wanna cum in my favorite position...”
“‘Thought it was my birthday, huh?”
But you give him those eyes—the ones that always make him cave—your lower lip trembling as you hiccup, “Please?"
It’s almost adorable—the way you beg, your tits bouncing with every ragged breath, those big, pleading eyes. How could he say no?
“Face first, ass up—now.”
You scramble to obey—arching your back sexily, pressing your flushed face into the sofa cushions as you present yourself for him. The contrast is stark—your small frame dwarfed beneath his towering body, your curves trembling as you wait.
Eren’s gaze flickers to the camera—“‘She knows how she submits in this position," he rumbles, gripping his cock at the base as he watches your folds drip for him. He drags the thick head of his dick against you, taunting you as he growls—
“Only givin’ it to you if you take all of me—no fussin’."
You bite your lip—your fingers clenching the cushions—before spreading yourself wider for him, your voice a sweet, breathless whimper.
“Won’t fuss... ‘promise."
His thick thumb presses down on the small of your back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch as he spreads your folds wider with his free hand.
“All of it," he grunts—and then he sinks into you all at once, his heavy cock stretching you to the limit in one relentless push.
You groan—a high, desperate whimper tearing from your throat as your pussy makes a wet pfft sound around him. He doesn’t let you adjust—just tugs halfway out before slamming back in, the sudden stretch making you sob adorably into the cushions.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Over and over—until the pleasure borders on discomfort, his thick shaft dragging against your walls with brutal precision.
“Fuck," Eren curses—his voice rough as he starts bouncing you on his cock, your hips gripped tight in his hands.
“Always so fuckin’ tight.”
His groans deepen—low, drawn-out, almost pained—as your slickness coats him completely.
“Goddamn, you’re drownin’ me—“ he pants, hips stuttering as your pussy squelches around him with every thrust. He’s not even lifting you anymore—just pounding into you over and over, your cries turning into sweet, broken sobs as you drag his name out pitifully, “E—Erennn.”
His breath comes jagged—his own control slipping—as he mutters again, “Fuck—you’re so wet—"
And then—with one final, punishing thrust—he buries himself fully inside you, his hips flush against your ass.
That’s when he moans—really moans—his voice slurring.
“Fuhhhhckkk.”
You whimper back—slurring messily, your words barely coherent as you press your forehead into the cushions.
His thrusts slow as he angles his hips just right, grinding the thick head of his cock against that spot once more.
“C'mon," he growls, voice rough with urgency, his grip tightening on your hip—“Get it out. Wanna feel you drench me—make a fuckin' mess."
He yanks himself out, his cock glistening with your slick as he fists himself hard, head tipping back with a jagged groan.
The sudden emptiness makes you whine—but before you can protest, his palm cracks against your ass hard, the sharp sting forcing another sob from your lips.
“Rub that clit," he orders, his voice dark with command—“Don't stop 'til you squirt all over me."
Your thighs tremble violently as your fingers fly to your swollen clit, circling desperately—your entire body tensing as pleasure coils too tight, too much—
"’Ren—‘M—gonna—!" you wail, your voice breaking into a sweet, shattered sob.
He groans—filthy and approving—his strokes on his own cock speeding up as he watches you unravel.
“I know,” he rasps, his green eyes burning with lust.
“Do it. Cover me."
Your back arches violently as your climax explodes out of you—a gushing, uncontrollable flood that soaks his thighs, the sofa, everything—your pussy pulsing around nothing as you scream his name.
Eren growls, his own release hitting him just as hard—thick ropes of cum painting your trembling ass as he groans through gritted teeth.
“Good fuckin’ job, Bunny.”
Your body shudders as the last waves of your climax begin to ebb—but then, without warning, a different kind of release crashes over you. Soft, warm tears spill down your cheeks, catching you by surprise that you quickly wipe your face. It’s not just pleasure anymore—it’s something deeper, more needed, like your body finally surrenders to the intensity of everything you just felt.
Eren notices immediately.
“C'mere," he murmurs, his voice suddenly tender as he pulls you against him, ignoring the mess between you both. His large hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing away your tears as he tucks you into the safety of his chest.
His fingers slide into your braids, stroking gently—his lips pressing against your temple in slow, soothing kisses as he whispers, “You did so fuckin’ good."
You cling to him, your breath hitching as the last tremors of emotion—and pleasure—rush through you. His warmth, his scent, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all grounds you, wrapping you in a cocoon of safety.
“I got you,” he rumbles, “Always do.”
Your body melts into him, boneless and spent as you curl your arms around his neck and tuck your face against his skin—hiding from the camera’s gaze, suddenly shy despite everything you’ve just shared. Eren chuckles—a deep, knowing sound—his fingers tracing idle circles against your lower back.
“‘Never done that before,” he muses, voice rough with amusement—but there’s no teasing in it. Just warmth.
You don’t answer—just nuzzle deeper into him, your breaths slow and steady against his chest. And like always, he adjusts—his knees bending slightly to give you what you need, his frame curling around yours protectively.
But then—his phone rings.
Eren tenses—his head lifting with a frustrated suck to his teeth—but before he can dismiss it, you murmur, “Might be your Korean investors, baby… take it."
He exhales through his nose.
"Fuckin’ timin’.”
His lips linger against your temple—warm and rough—before he rises from the sofa, his towering frame momentarily blocking the camera’s view. You curl your knees to your chest, still glistening with sweat, your wide, round eyes tracing his every movement—the way his muscles shift beneath his tattooed skin, the way his damp hair clings to the back of his neck.
“Got me on international fuckin’ hold," he grumbles, glancing back at you with a smirk.
A weak, breathless smile tugs at your lips.
But then your gaze sharpens, studying him—the way dominance radiates off him even now, the handsomeness etched into every sharp angle of his face—and something tender swells in your chest.
"Need me to translate when they pick up?" you offer softly, tilting your head.
His green eyes narrow—defensive.
“What you tryin’ to say?"
“That my Korean’s better than yours."
He grabs your discarded top off the floor, entirely dismissing your insult—“Put this on," he orders, tossing it toward you.
You catch it lazily, shrugging.
“Not like they didn’t just watch me—"
“Bunny."
His voice drops—a warning.
You sigh dramatically but relent, sliding the fabric over your head as he steps closer. His fingers brush your nipples through the material—rough, possessive—before he cups your chin, kissing you briefly, firmly.
A command, not a request.
You don’t kiss back—just nod with another sigh, letting him suck your bottom lip once more before he pulls away, already striding out of frame.
You tie the strings of your top back into place, smoothing the fabric down with a soft, playful smile toward the camera—your cheeks still flushed, curls tousled from Eren’s hands.
“Hope y’all enjoyed fanmail," you hum, "It’s always fun answering your questions.”
Behind you, Eren’s deep voice rumbles in Korean—Yes, I understand. I’ll contact you after reviewing the contract again.
You glance over just in time to see him staring directly at you—chin lifted, green eyes gleaming with challenge—as he over-enunciates each syllable, chest puffed with pride.
You roll your eyes hard, fighting a grin as you turn back to the camera and whisper, “He’s been studying as you can tell.”
For the next few minutes, you chat sweetly with the camera—rambling about random things, laughing as you adjust the camera angle—until Eren reappears, a rare, broad grin splitting his face.
“They doubled the investment,” he announces, voice thick with satisfaction.
Your hands clap together, “That’s huge, baby! I knew they’d love you.”
“Let’s celebrate,” he rumbles, already striding toward the kitchen—“‘You hungry?"
You nod eagerly, rubbing your arms as you follow his movements—watching as he pulls open the fridge, muscles flexing under the dim kitchen lights.
“Could make spicy pork stir-fry," he muses, glancing at you—“Or that creamy garlic shrimp you like. Maybe both."
You rest your head on your knees, watching him move through the kitchen with that effortless, masculine grace.
“Whatever your heart desires, birthday boy."
His shoulders tense slightly—the way they always do when he’s deep in thought, jaw locked tight. You notice it instantly.
“Mon chéri," you say softly in Creole, voice a gentle hum beneath the sizzle of the pan—"Défroncé to mâchoire—li plen de tension."
Unclench your jaw—it’s full of tension.
“‘Force of habit.”
“You’d think you were always unhappy,” you warily murmur—which he hears of course.
Eren pauses.
“Why wouldn’t I be happy here with you?" he counters gruffly, not looking up—but you hear it, the defensiveness.
“‘Just wanna pick your brain," you admit, tracing idle circles on your knee—“Feels like if I don’t...I lose you a little."
Eren stills. Then, finally, he turns—his green eyes meeting yours, really meeting them, as he sets the knife down.
“Alright," he rumbles, “Pick, then.”
You let out a slow sigh, chewing your bottom lip as you search for the right words—your fingers twisting together in your lap.
“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a while now,” you start, “After everything—the chaos, the traveling, the proposal,” Your lips curl into a soft smile at the memory—"I’m so happy here, ‘Ren. It’s everything I never knew I needed. But..."
Your throat tightens—because the unspoken thing hangs between you, heavy and undeniable.
“…I just need to know you’re happy too," you finally say, fingers pressing into your knees—“That nothing’s...disappointed you.
Eren’s expression darkens—not in anger, but in fierce disagreement as he steps closer, crowding your space, his rough palms cupping your face.
“Listen t’ me," he rumbles, “There’s nothin’ more I could ask for. You—this—us—" His thumb swipes at your mouth, “You’re my fuckin’ world, woman.”
You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes as you exhale softly—nodding as you whisper, “Okay."
His hands grip your hips roughly, lifting you just enough to smack your ass—the sharp crack making your body jump as he growls, “Let's have some fun, yeah?"
A soft laugh bubbles up in your throat, but before you can respond, he’s already moving—grabbing a glass, rummaging through the fridge.
“Want me to make you a drink?" he offers, half-turned toward you, already reaching for a bottle of rum.
You shake your head, “You're an amazing cook, baby—not the best bartender. ‘M fine."
“Oh?" His head snaps towards you, “So now my drinks ain’t good enough?"
He turns back towards the fridge grabbing fresh fruit, mint, and crushed ice.
“Gonna’ make you eat those words," he mutters—but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips.
You grab the camera, following him into the kitchen with quiet steps—propping it up at the perfect angle to capture this moment. The lens frames him perfectly—his broad shoulders, the way his muscles flex as he bends into the fridge, rummaging for ingredients. You press yourself against his back, molding your body into the warmth of his frame, breathing him in.
Eren chuckles—a low, rumbling sound—before reaching his arm back, large hand cradling your head gently. He tilts his face toward yours, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss.
"Love you too," he murmurs against your mouth before pulling away, returning to his mission—citrus fruit in hand, determined to prove his bartending skills.
“I’m really okay without a drink," you say softly.
Eren immediately shoots you a frown.
“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a month," he points out, voice dripping with faux sadness—“And you haven’t drank with me in two whole weeks. What’s goin’ on, huh? I thought you loved me?”
“Pregnant women can’t drink, baby."
Eren freezes.
His hands still—mid-squeeze of a lime—juice dripping forgotten onto the counter.
Slowly, he turns—his green eyes locking onto yours, darker than you’ve ever seen them.
“Bunny," he says—just that—his voice a growl, rough with shock.
You nod—shuddering out a nervous giggle—your fingers twisting together.
“…Yeah."
And then—his hands are on you, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as his forehead presses to yours—his breath uneven.
“Fuck," he rasps—and for the first time in years, Eren Yeager sounds shaken.
“How long?" he rasps, voice rough with emotion.
You bite your lip, exhaling shakily.
“Remember... when we first got here?” you murmur, brushing your thumbs over his wrists, “I cried because I wanted dragonfruit—and you scoured the whole island trying to find one?"
A slow realization flickers in his eyes—because you don’t crave things like that. Not randomly. Not desperately.
“…I knew something was off then," you admit softly, “Took a test a few days later...and I—" Your voice cracks slightly, “I didn’t believe it. ‘Thought I was seeing things. So I waited. ‘Took another one. And another."
Eren’s jaw clenches—his breathing uneven—but you can see it in his eyes, the way his mind races, piecing together every moment, every mood swing, every sign.
“I’m sorry," you whimper, pressing your forehead harder against his, “I was so scared it was a false positive—‘didn’t want you to get your hopes up just for it to be nothing."
His grip shifts—one hand sliding down to press against your stomach, his palm huge against you, like he’s already trying to feel what’s growing there.
“When the doctors told me I was possibly infertile…it terrified me—not just because of what it meant for us, but because... I realized how much I wanted this. How much I wanted your baby."
A tear slips free, trailing down your cheek as you continue, words spilling out in a fragile rush—
“But Korea’s so far from home, ‘Ren. All our family’s back in New Orleans, and I—" Your breath hitches, “I want my momma through this. I want her with me when I’m scared, when I don’t know what’s happening to my body. I wanna be home. But I also don’t wanna be away from you—not for a single second of this.”
Your throat tightens, another wave of fear crashing over you—
“And our supporters... our careers... I’m scared of shutting ourselves away from the love we’ve built. I just don’t wanna feel alone—“
“Stop," he orders, voice raw with conviction, “Stop worryin’—right fuckin’ now. You hear me?"
His grip tightens, eyes burning into yours—
“I’d burn down whole goddamn countries for you. For this baby. You wanna go home? We’re goin’.You want your momma? I’ll carry her ass to Korea myself. You scared of bein’ alone? Not happenin’—not as long as I’m breathin’."
A shuddering little cry escapes you—but Eren doesn’t let you crumble. He crushes you to his chest, his heartbeat thundering against your ear as he rasps—
“You’re mine. This baby’s mine. Not distance, careers, not anythin’ will stop me from takin’ care of you.”
You mewl “I love you" against his lips in a tearful, trembling kiss—his mouth crashing into yours with a devotion so deep, it vibrates through your entire body. The heat of his hands cradling your face—every touch radiates pure, unfiltered love.
Pulling back slightly, you turn your watery gaze toward the camera, your damp lashes fluttering as Eren ducks his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply—like he’s memorizing your scent, grounding himself in you.
“We’re having a baby," you beam, voice thick with emotion, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.
Eren lifts his head, eyes locking onto the camera—determined, possessive—before he gruffly murmurs, “Y’all been with us through everything. ‘No way we go through this without you. Expect more content—a lot more."
Your breath catches—“You sure?" you whisper, searching his face.
He nods without hesitation, “‘Only want you happy, Bunny.”
And then—without warning—you launch yourself into him, legs wrapping around his waist as you giggle, “We’re having a babyyy!”
Eren grunts as he catches you effortlessly, a playful growl rumbling in his chest as he clutches your body tight—“Let’s go see if we can get you pregnant twice.”
Your laughter echoes as he carries you down the hallway—your limbs tangled around him—and with one last breathless “Bye!" from you, the screen flickers, dissolving into static as the camera shuts off in a nostalgic fade.
MY GOSHHHHHHHHHH GIVE THIS WOMAN AN AWARD !!!! this was by far my FAVVVVV eren fic of yours. stunning, beautifully well done. SMUT A1, DIALOGUE A2, their chemistry, their love, the proposal that made me CRY, her fear of being infertile and not giving him the baby he wanted JUST TO BE PREGNANT ANYWAYS OMG I LOVE THEMMMMM.
husband katsuki is sooooo incredibly whipped for his wife his greed sickens me... you wake up in a DEATH GRIP every morning its actually a nightmare in the summer heat but you cant say anything cause its just toooo cute the way his brow immediately furrows and he pouts in his sleep the moment he feels you try to wriggle out of the hold he has on you... he expects a kiss goodbye even if he's just going to the store thats a five minute walk from your place and is SHAMELESS about it if you forget... big strong pro hero dynamight mumbling "gimme kiss" at the door before grabbing you by the ass and pulling you closer... #needthat
⤷ masterlist ♡ more of katsuki
more of husband! katsuki: clingy - in which katsuki's clinginess results in a failed birthday surprise
MAGNETIC — jock boyfriend!yuuji series masterlist.
⊹ ᡣ𐭩 — about. the theory of magnetism states that opposite poles attract one another, while the same poles repel. the same case can be made for laws of romantic attraction, where weird girls attract jock boys. or the story in which the all star jock yuuji itadori bags himself a weird girlfriend.
⊹ ᡣ𐭩 — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, sfw, smut, fluff, angst, non-canon compliant, college!au, characters are aged up to 20s, not in chronological order, collection of fics / drabbles, fem / weird girl!reader, jock bf!yuuji. each work will have its own separate warnings.
⊹ ᡣ𐭩 — notes. this masterlist has been a long time coming ! i’m so in love with this series and i hope you guys do too !! i can’t wait to explore the rest of it with you all hehe - m.list ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹
current status: open 4 suggestions! | last updated: 19/07/26!
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ — ONE-SHOTS !
chapter one - the first time i laid eyes on you !
before that day, you thought that you knew everything there was to know about the infamous yuuji itadori. you thought that he was cocky, that he was full of himself, that he was a fuck boy - but after that day, after meeting him, you realise how wrong you truly were. | fluff.
bonus chapter - he ate that thing !
to note, not in timeline order - for weeks, your favourite jock boyfriend has been dying to know what its like to have his girlfriend sit on his face. its haunted his every waking moment, during classes, games and even practises! so after a little pep-talk, you decide to make his dreams come true. | mature.
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ — ENTRIES !
one - touch ; mature.
reasons why the all-star jock boyfriend always has to be touching his pretty, ‘weird’ girlfriend.
two - shyness ; fluff.
the all-star jock reassures his girlfriend.
three - team jersey ; fluff and suggestive.
the all star jock asks his freaky girlfriend to start wearing his jersey to games. it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? since she’s always asking to live in his skin and all.
four - growth ; fluff.
the jock boyfriend is proud of how far his shy girlfriend has come.
five - pockets ; fluff.
jock boyfriend loves how many pockets his girlfriend has.
six - pleasure prioritised ; mature.
just some scenarios of an incredibly strong jock boyfriend pleasing his girlfriend in different ways.
seven - poor practice ; mature.
the jock boyfriend has a shitty practice, luckily his adoring weird girlfriend is there to make him feel better.
eight - just the tip ; mature.
our favourite jock takes his special girlfriend’s virginity. well…kind of.
nine - first meetings ; fluff.
a scenario in which the campus’ favourite jock lays eyes on his future freaky girlfriend for the first time.
ten - babies, lots of them ‘em ; mature.
the all star jock has an intense breeding kink that leads him to confess the plans he has for he and his weird girlfriend’s future.
eleven - makeout sesh ; suggestive.
the jock boyfriend convinces his girlfriend that making out is always more fun than studying.
twelve - training pays off ; mature.
the all star jock spend weeks preparing his sweet, weird girlfriend to take every single inch of him. and once she’s finally able to, yuuji itadori realises that training really does pay off.
thirteen - can’t stop won’t stop ; mature.
our favourite jock boyfriend hates being away from his nerdy girlfriend. of course its because he misses her company but it's mostly because yuuji gets so pent up, so sensitive that he can't say no to her. even when he really should.
fourteen - one hand wonder ; mature
the campus' favourite jock is more than just skilled at sport. he's good with his hands too. whether its one or both at a time. he decides to show off these talents after a long day of being relentlesslt teased by his freaky little girlfriend.
fifteen - the pouring rain ; mature, angst.
the best player on the team never loses, at least that's what he thought, up until losing her. whether its for good or not, remains uncertain. or the one in which yuuji itadori's girlfriend puts a pause on their relationship, where you fail to resist him one last time.
through rumours and campus chatter, one might find that jujutsu tech’s favourite jock is a renowned ass eater. his girlfriend, as shy as she might be, is desperate to test this theory out for herself.
synopsis: waking up in a prison cell wasn’t the interplanetary welcome you were expecting. this hero they’ve sent to question you is the most welcomed distraction though.
info: hey! this is heavily inspired by SUPERGIRL! if you haven’t seen it, it’s still easy to read. me and aali watched it and whilst the credits were rolling i told her this idea. different to what i usually write but i enjoyed :) this is probably going to be a one shot.
bakugou katsuki hates this part of his job. he finds it incredibly boring, uneventful and somewhat like those detective movies his mother watches in the evening. he’s not a detective or a police officer, he’s a pro hero built for the streets, fighting real villains. not in the foreign governmental holding cell with the purpose of asking questions, while the person in it has anti-quirk handcuffs on. so fucking boring. at least take the handcuffs off them, give him a real challenge.
bakugou barges into the cell, shoulder first into the iron heavy windowless door and the first thing he does is sigh. he crosses his arms across his chest and he flicks his eyes over the room. grey brick walls, square room, a metal toilet in the corner and a thin mattress on the floor. it’s the same as every other high risk room in this prison.
minus you, the woman he’s supposed to be talking to. bakugou frowns, a low unimpressed huh leaving his throat. he was told he’d be dealing with an alien here but from what he can see of you, hugging your arms to your chest on the floor, head resting on your knees… you look human. like him. two arms, two legs. he needs to check your face when you look up but otherwise, there’s nothing particularly alien-like about you and bakugou’s met many aliens before.
apparently you haven’t spoken to anyone in three days. police have tried, detectives and doctors. they decided he’d be the next step in case you end up being violent.
“fuck, how does it go?” he mutters to himself, shutting the squeaking door behind him. “hate this shit.”
you don’t move at the sound of his voice but your handcuffs glow green around your wrists. you’re in the same orange jumpsuits as everyone else in this building. bakugou’s a fan of the colour.
“my name is dynamight, i’m a hero here on earth. i’ve gotta ask you a couple questions ‘cause protocol and shit. we dunno who you are, why you’re here or what you can do. the quicker we get this done, the quicker we both can go home.”
it’s the mention of home that gets your attention. you lift your head up off your legs and you turn to face the man who’s taking up more space than necessary in your cell.
as bakugou gasps, you snigger.
what the hell is this guy wearing? those wings by his head? are the height of those boots to compensate for something else?
you’re definitely human looking. two sparkly eyes, a nose in the centre of your face. nobody told him the alien was beautiful. fucking stunning.
he wants to go home now, he’s not prepared to be speaking to a woman like you after a ten hour shift. fuck, he doesn’t think he ever would be.
bakugou clears his throat. he stands up straight and tightens his arms across his chest.
“you’re very… fuck, anyway,” he’s so goddamn embarrassing.
you start laughing, these light buttery giggles that feel like they’re breathing air into bakugou’s lungs. your eyes brighten, you even lean back on the wall like you’re taking a better look at him. he feels your eyes travel from his boots to the top of his head.
thank god this man has a pretty face, or at least he would if he stopped frowning because this outfit he’s wearing looks stupid. does anyone else on this planet dress like this?
you’re laughing… and it feels like it’s at him instead of with him. he knows he didn’t say anything funny.
“do you not know english? they always say i need to speak english for this shit.” he grunts, scratching his head.
damn, he’s finding it hard to even look at you directly. the orange compliments you, makes your skin glow, makes you— stay focused.
“i doubt you’re gonna know any japanese. d’you understand me now?” he tries and he sees the frown on your face. confusion.
“ah, so you understand english. you just don’t want to talk to me.” he punctuates by jabbing his thumb into his chest and then leaning on the wall behind him.
you roll your eyes, which only gets bakugou grinning, then he calms down. he doesn’t need to be reacting like he won the lottery over a reaction from you.
“what’s your name?”
nothing. you blankly stare at his face.
“why are you here?”
nothing.
“c’mon just say somethin’ so i have somethin’ to say to them outside. then you get to go back home.”
you swallow, resting your head in your palm.
“this is an odd planet. a traveller lands and you immediately arrest them, deprive them of sunlight and dignity,” you nod your head towards the toilet in the corner of the room, “treating me like a criminal.”
you’ve got an accent. one he can’t place from anywhere specific on earth. it sounds almost melodic, easy to understand and very clear.
“so the alien talks,” dynamight, you think he introduced himself as earlier, says amused, “you fell from the sky, at a speed none of us has seen before. it was so fast, not even our meteorologists caught it. then you came out of this metal-like sphere that isn’t quite metal, they’re still workin’ that out, in a coma. not to mention you set alight the fields you landed in, causing a wildfire through acres and acres of land.”
bakugou squints at you, “you can see why we’d have a fuck load of questions, right?”
you look away from him. fuck. you were told the earth on this planet would have been able to handle your ship, not that you’d start a wildfire.
“i didn’t… i didn’t hurt anyone, did i?”
bakugou’s quick to shake his head, “no, the farmer ushered out all the animals in time. though you did destroy a families hundred year old strawberry farm.”
“shit.” you mutter, in your language. then in english, “i’ll help them as soon as i’m out of here.”
there’s a hero complex to you somewhere. hm. “and to get out of here, answer my questions. yeah?”
you sigh, “what do you want dynamo?”
bakugou’s face scrunches like a ball of paper, “dynamight. my name is dynamight.”
“is it actually? earth names didn’t sound like that when i researched.”
“it’s my fuckin’ hero name, i said that in my introduction at the beginnin’— you know what, never mind. call me dynamight. nothin’ else.”
you blink at him.
“what’s your name?” he tries.
he really wants to know your name. not for the sake of government purposes, just for himself.
“that’s personal, isn’t it?” you laugh but dynamight raises his eyebrows.
“not at all actually,” he breathes, equally restless and intrigued, “quick or we’ll be here all goddamn day.”
“you swear a lot, don’t you? is that normal?”
that catches bakugou off guard, he leans off the wall. “hah? you’re not askin’ me questions, woman. i’m doin’ the askin’.”
you chuckle, loud and sweet. “okay, okay! my name is yn.”
“yn,” he likes the sound of it on his lips, though it’s even better from yours, “yn where are you from?”
“why are you dressed like that?”
bakugou looks down at himself. he’s always been voted highly for best dressed hero. his black body suit, black and orange chunky boots. he’s got his wings at his shoulders. he doesn’t have his gauntlets on though, he doesn’t need them for this.
“this is my hero suit. how many times do i have to tell you, i’m a professional hero—.”
“hero,” you try, “is that your version of a protector? looking after civilians? the strongest of the people?”
bakugou can’t help but let his grin slip. he likes the sound of that. it’s all true. “y-yeah i am. currently third on the charts but i jump between one and two, so technically i’m the best in the country.”
you do an upside down smile, somewhat impressed. so this man is one of the strongest and cocky about it. his grin is cute too. his lips stretch wider, only one corner rising. a gold tooth shining. okay, his smirk is sexy.
“family must be proud.”
“they expected it,” he shrugs. wow, is it easy to get off topic with you. “any quirks?”
“quirks?”
“abilities different to the average.”
you scrunch your nose, “not that i know of.”
bakugou doesn’t know if he can trust you. “so if i took those handcuffs off you, nothing about you would change?”
honestly no. your body feels fine. mentally, not so much.
you snap the handcuffs apart, the middle chain breaking with ease, now appearing as two ugly grey bracelets on your wrists as the green glow slowly dies down. bakugou jumps at the sound, jaw dropping on command.
“what the fuck?” bakugou can’t even get out of those. he’s tried before in hero training. what are you? “why the hell didn't you get out of them before?”
“i…”
you’ve never experienced grief before and to experience it on the scale you are now... your parents, your family, your people, your home. all gone. you don’t think you wanted to break out of it yet.
“had other things on my mind,” you offer, looking up at this dynamight man. “what’s your… quirk?”
something about him is comforting. with those boots on, he’s as big as the men back home. just as wide too.
so to get information out of you, he has to give a little back. that’s okay for now.
“i sweat nitroglycerin. can create explosions from my hands,” he gives you a little show, facing his palms up to the ceiling and creating little sparks.
that gets you facing him, now cross legged on the floor. you sound like a child, brimming with curiosity. you don’t recognise the word nitroglycerin but you can assume. “how big can you make them?”
bakugou chuckles to himself, slowly sinking to sit down too. “question for question then. so it’s my turn now.”
you huff, “fine.”
have you showered in these three days? you look as if you have. a beautiful glow like those women in skincare adverts he sees.
“how old are you?” not the most important question, but he’s got to know. they couldn’t have gotten a more selfish hero to question you.
“fifty moon shines,” you say without a beat. “how old are you? wait, let me see your explosions!”
“woah, woah, hold on. fifty?” you either look good for your age or—, “how are years measured where you’re from?”
“182 days. isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”
“how long are your days?”
“twenty three hours.”
bakugou relaxes. you’re the same age as him.
“so you’re twenty five.”
“i just said i’m fifty.”
“to me that’s like you’re sayin’ you're a hundred in your time. you’re twenty five in this world, darlin’.”
“darling? what’s that?”
bakugou shakes his head. shouldn’t have said that. “nothin’. i’m twenty six.”
that pleases you for some reason. you both stare at each other for a few seconds, sizing the other up. you could take him in a fight you think. in bed too, if it came down to it.
“how big can you make your sweat explosions?”
bakugou winces. what an ugly name. “they’re not sweat explosions.” “but you said—,” “the size of buildings. could blow this whole building up. can also fly, use them as grenades, blind opponents, shoot them like a gun.”
he’s sharing too much now. you shouldn’t be telling your enemies your main attacks. it’s going to be a beautiful woman to take him down. that tarot reader kaminari took him to was right.
“that’s really cool, dynamight. i can’t do that.”
you sound honest, real. bakugou bends his knees and rests his arms on top. “it’s whatever. what can you do?”
you shrug, looking at your bare hands. there’s some dirt under your nails and they’re all chipped from your lack of basic essentials. “where i’m from, everyone is the same so i don’t know how different i am to you guys.”
bakugou gets that, “what’s the most you can lift—,”
“my turn now, hero. why’re you so pissy?” you ask, tilting your head at him.
bakugou can’t help the loud, “hah?” he sits up at that comment, hands flat on the floor.
“you came in here moaning. you swear in every sentence. you act like the world has done you wrong. what happened with you?”
there’s a part of you that wants to find solidarity in this man. that perhaps he understands the pain you’re going through deep within your soul. after waking up from your coma three days ago, you feel sure the grief is going to eat you alive. you don’t want to hate the world, become evil and angry. you also don’t know how to not.
you get this blonde man blinking at you. a silence takes up the room quickly but you give him all the space in the world to speak.
“what d’you mean what happened to me? you think i have a sad tragic backstory like those american game show contestants?”
now you’re frowning back at him. you don’t understand that reference. “don’t you? or you’re just pissy for no reason?”
it feels like a weird competition now, that he should have something under his belt. something odd and sadistic to impress you with. bakugou bites.
“i died when i was sixteen. i fought a war and died.”
you’re not impressed. “how are you here now? i didn’t know this world has magic—,”
bakugou shakes his head, “nah not magic. another… another hero here fixed me up. brought me back.”
“oh,” you trail off, “and you’re fine now?”
he is. though it seems as if you’re looking for more. he deals with villain attacks often. fights them with his friends. he hasn’t been close to death since. he lives a wealthy luxury lifestyle now he’s professional and he’s got all his friends around him. all his greatest traumas he’s working through in therapy. yes, he goes therapy.
you keep talking, “you’ve got both your parents? all your friends?”
“y-yeah i do? i answered your question, didn’t i?” he spits.
you roll your lips in.
“are you… are you laughin’ at me again?”
at that your dam breaks, giggles spilling out. your shoulders shake and your hand covers your mouth in an attempt to be polite. though you lost that once you had to use the toilet beside your bed being recorded by security.
j“no, well yes! i don’t know, i thought you had a tragic backstory to explain your shitty attitude. guess it’s just you.”
bakugou’s walls go straight up. he doesn’t know who the hell you think you are to read him so easily. because yeah, maybe he is just a dick. but he owns it. he’s apologised for his mistakes in the past. he doesn’t hold all his worth to his quirk anymore and he doesn’t blame himself for anyone’s death. he’s actually quite well adjusted now.
“okay, so the fuck is your problem? why’re you on earth? where’s home? where’s your family? they just send you here and can’t be bothered to get you outta ‘earth jail’?” he snaps.
that slows your laughter down, your grin is the last thing to drop before pain shakes your heart. it’s a harsh squeeze that doesn’t let up.
“you’re not getting all of that out of me in one day. see you tomorrow, dynamight.” you’ve got nobody to come get you.
bakugou hates how he likes the sound of that. another day, a reason to see you again. he’s got a whole load of questions to ask you but he’s got to get back to his other tasks for the day.
“fine, if that’s what you want.” he begins to rise to his feet. he’s too petty to be somewhat nice. “y’know if you cooperate we can send you home.”
you look up at bakugou, hugging your knees to your chest on the hard concrete floor. “i don’t have a home anymore.”
bakugou stands still, mouth open to speak but nothing right is about to come out. until there’s a rough knock on the door, one of the jail guards.
“you okay, dynamight? times up unless you need more?”
bakugou doesn’t take his eyes off you, now back to your original position with your forehead on your knees. he won’t be surprised if you move to fetal position once he’s gone.
“i’ll be back tomorrow, yn.”
you don’t bother replying to him but you hear his thick boots walk out.
as soon as bakugou steps out the door, the guard pipes up.
“we saw she was speaking to you on cams! the alien’s gorgeous, isn’t she? doesn’t look like no damn alien either. what was she saying?”
the first thing bakugou does is shove the man away. “down my fuckin’ neck. i’m not sayin’ shit to you. who runs this place?”
in about an hour, you’re pulled out of your cell to a new room. one with a bedframe for your mattress, a pencil and a pad of paper. most especially, the toilet is in a separate room to your cell. you’re especially grateful when they remove your handcuff bracelets and don’t lock new ones on.
there’s no chance you’re going to thank dynamight for giving you your basic rights. you appreciate the changes to your new home though.
part two comments will be deleted. comments and reblogs are appreciated!
🪼 — bkg. k x f!reader | quirkless-college au | fluff | headcanons
★ College bf!Katsuki who is in his third year of college, taking up engineering. He’s also been part of the soccer team since his freshman year, and now that he’s a junior, he has become the team’s captain.
★ College bf!Katsuki who is two years older than you. He’s also your neighbor, so you’ve known each other for years. And since you’re younger than him, his friends— aside from Izuku, don’t know much about you and your relationship with Katsuki. They only get to know you once you start attending the same university as them, finally putting a face to the person Katsuki had been talking about sometimes.
★ College bf!Katsuki who has been insanely popular with the ladies from different departments since his freshman year. They’d slip love letters into his locker or sometimes personally hand him an energy drink after practice. Unfortunately for them, Katsuki flatly rejected every confession, saying there was already someone else.
★ College bf!Katsuki who somehow created a rumor during his second year, about him having a girlfriend because he kept rejecting everyone who confessed to him. What they don’t know is that he wanted you to become his girlfriend so badly— he just never had the courage to ask you out.
★ College bf!Katsuki who finally got the courage to ask you out on a date right before you entered college. So when the first day of classes came— with him as a junior and you as a freshman, people were surprised to see Katsuki walking around campus with a girl without his usual grumpy expression.
★ College bf!Katsuki who never actually tells anyone he has a girlfriend. People figure it out by watching how he interacts with you— they just connect the dots. They finally understand why Katsuki has been rejecting those girls all this time. And whenever his friends or classmates ask him if the two of you are dating, he just answers with a casual “yeah.”
★ College bf!Katsuki who insists on walking you to your class while carrying your bag if it gets too heavy with your laptop and books. Sometimes, he’s even seen holding a small paper bag from a nearby cafe with your favorite pastry inside. Him walking you to class would occasionally make him late by three minutes, but none of his teachers care since he’s always at the top of the class anyway.
★ College bf!Katsuki who intimidates any guy who gets too close or flirty with you. He quietly hovers behind you whenever someone is taking too much of your time, making them know you’re taken by subtly resting a hand on your lower back or around your waist.
★ College bf!Katsuki who isn’t a big fan of PDA but gladly holds your hand or rests an arm over your shoulders when you walk together. And if the hallway is getting too crowded, he’ll walk in front of you, holding your hand as he guides you through the crowd.
★ College bf!Katsuki who knows all the quiet spots around campus. He’ll take you there whenever you both have an hour or two between classes just to relax together. It’s also where he can hug you, hold you, or steal a kiss without a lot of people watching,
★ College bf!Katsuki who waits for your classes to end every day. Since he has a soccer practice after his own classes, he can’t walk you home, so he waits until you’re dismissed just to say goodbye properly before heading to practice.
★ College bf!Katsuki who sometimes asks you to wait for him until practice is over. Usually, you’ll sit on a nearby bench doing your school or watching the team scrimmage. And during water breaks, he’ll jog over and sit beside you under the excuse of taking a drink— where he purposely left his water bottle with you just so he could come over.
★ College bf!Katsuki who tutors you in the subjects you’re not good at. It’s common knowledge that Katsuki is incredibly smart, constantly ranking in the top three of the engineering department. Although, what’s surprising is how good he is at teaching. He’ll take you back to his dorm and patiently teach you through every problem until you understand it. He’ll then leave you completely flustered when he compliments you every now and then— “good girl.”
★ College bf!Katsuki who takes you out to your favorite diners whenever you ace a major quiz or an exam, saying it’s a celebration for surviving and studying hard. And if you try to tell him he doesn’t have to “reward” you every time, he’ll just brush it off and say you earned it.
★ College bf!Katsuki who sometimes sits in on your classes whenever he has free time. He’s not there to disrupt the class or distract you from learning— he just sits beside you, quietly working on his own assignments or projects.
★ College bf!Katsuki who knows your entire schedule by heart even though you never gave him a copy of it. He just memorized it after walking you to class so many times. So whenever he hears that one of your professors canceled a lecture, he’ll immediately text you to ‘meet me at the spot.’
★ College bf!Katsuki who takes you to every one of his soccer matches. He insists that you wear his away-jersey and makes sure you sit near his team’s bench. And before every match officially begins, he’ll come over to collect what he calls his “good luck kiss.”
★ College bf!Katsuki who also takes you to every after-party whenever his team wins. He stays by your side most of the night, but if you insist on him having fun with his friends, he’ll make sure you’re always within his line of sight, making sure you’re safe and enjoying with your girl friends.
★ College bf!Katsuki who always has a black hair tie around his left wrist because you kept forgetting yours. He knows how annoyed you get whenever strands of hair fall into your face while you’re trying to take notes, or when the heat and sweat makes your hair stick to the back of your neck. And just when you start looking for your hair tie, you remember you forgot it again for the nth time. Without fail, Katsuki will give you the one from his wrist.
★ College bf!Katsuki who makes bento boxes for the both of you. The two of you always eat together at your favorite lunch spot. 80% of the time, Katsuki cooks something spicy. At first, you could only handle the milder version of his cooking, but now your spice tolerance is waaay higher. What you don’t know is that he’s been increasing the spice level just a little everyday.
introducing babykugo and wifey!reader !!!! messy hc dump based off of this hit | could also be seen as the near future of the (me + u)!reader (which is singer!reader if u've read it) bc i only ever stick to one sona per character HAHA
wc: a lot idfk 1.5k | cw: divorce jokes if u care, no use of ‘y/n’, petnames like ‘baby girl’ for the babykugo n ‘baby’ for the bigger baby (bkg), slight suggestiveness (dirty jokes) if u care, wife is referred to in third person n w she/her prns bc i naturally write in third person pls don't mind, wifey n bkg hv the same sense of humor. babykugo is NOT three here she is idk,, baby-aged ig 💀 this is not well-written i'm so sorry
pro-hero!katsuki whose daughter isn't very much like her parents.
katsuki was the katsuki he always had been; unapologetic in his loud, brash, and crass nature. and you'd think his wife's his opposite at first glance; softer, nicer than him by a long shot, magnetic, smiley and generous—she got the generational charisma that a real pop star had (which she was) and looking at her, no one seems to understand what bound them together besides their childhood, izuku, n trauma. except, she's just as foul-mouthed and full of attitude as he was. she was just much better at keeping up appearances. (that's izuku's twin fr.)
meanwhile, their baby turned out to be calm, quiet, and pretty much the opposite of both her parents, which confused pretty much everyone in their lives. there wasn't a single day in the bakugo household where they weren't bickering their hearts out, filling the halls with loud nonsense and stupid ‘arguments’ that meant nothing. so how in the world did his baby absorb none of that?
pro-hero!katsuki whose baby girl falls asleep to her parents' voices—more specifically, when they're bickering. and it's instantaneous. they've somehow pavlov'd their poor baby into falling asleep every time their voices were even the slightest bit fast and raised.
one of the first times they actually noticed this was back when she was still small, just a few months old. when they were having dinner and it's his turn to feed her as they ate, and his wife—who's his #1 (loving) bully—just couldn't help herself from (lovingly) annoying him.
“are you holding the spoon right?”
“'course i am, i know how to hold a f— a spoon.”
“i'm just saying,” she shrugged. “you've got big fat hands, holding baby spoons can't be easy for someone of your species.”
“‘my spe’—” he scoffed. “oh i know you aren't complainin' 'bout my hands.”
“i wasn't complaining.”
“what's this then? y'think this is flatterin'?”
“yes actually, it's— poop, she's falling asleep.”
they both reached out to hold their chubby baby's lolling head, eyes already fluttering as baby food dribbled out of her mouth.
soft fingers gently drummed on softer cheeks. “baby girl, at least finish your food first—”
“this is your fault.”
she looked up to glare at him. “i'm incapable of doing any wrong, i'm your wife.”
“that makes no fuckin' sense.”
she gasped, lowering her voice to a whisper-shout as she covered the baby's tiny ears. “don't curse in front of the baby!”
he mirrored her lower tone. “then shut up already!”
“you shut up!”
“no, you— she's fuckin' asleep.”
she glanced down to the limp head dozing off in their joined palms, and looked away to stare off into nothing. “this is fucking crazy.”
pro-hero!katsuki and his wife who, on their baby's sleepless nights, learned to stage ‘fights’ just to put her to bed. bc turns out, this baby treated her parents shenanigans as white noise.
she'd been awake for far too long and reached that state where she was too sleepy to function but somehow still couldn't sleep anyway, so she bawled her eyes out and left her parents scrambling to figure out a solution.
his wife gasped, “katsuki!”
“what, woman?” he didn't intend for it to come out so harsh, but his baby's cries were getting to him.
“fight with me.”
“pardon?”
“bicker! bickering! were you the one who ate the last slice of my cake!?”
it took a second, but then it clicked.
“and what about it? what if i did?”
they didn't have any cake in the first place, and honestly they might've gotten a little into the pretend-fighting out of stress (crying babies were so stressful) but whatever heat there was in the moment soon fizzled away with the tiniest, sleepy giggles bubbling in their baby's throat, small hands gently clapping at her parents' distress like she was watching a soap opera or something. crazy fuckin' baby, he thought, holding back an endeared laugh.
eventually, their bickering dwindled as baby's breathing finally started to slow, limbs sprawled out a la starfish as she got comfortable in her crib.
“we got a weird-ass baby.”
his wife giggled. “you think she'd sleep through our divorce?”
he snorted. “like a light.”
laughter was already raking through her body, jelly-fying her limbs enough that she linked their arms and leaned into him for support.
“fighting over custody and she's snoring.”
“she wouldn't give a shit.”
“she'd pick whoever gives her the better bed to sleep through it with.”
“me, obviously.”
she gasped and swatted at his arm. “shut the fuck up, i make more money than you do.”
“stop makin' me sound like i'm broke.” he huffed, turning away from her with the slightest pout forming on his lips. “i'm fuckin' dynamight.”
a grin stretched wide across her face as she brought a hand up to cup his jaw, pulling him in as she stood on her tippy toes to pepper kisses all over his face. “nah, i'm doing that.”
his cheeks warmed under her teasing tone. “shut up.” but he made no effort to push her away—if anything, his hands were instinctively slithering around her waist to hold her steady and closer.
“oh—” kiss. “—great explosion murder god dynamight—” kiss. “—you're so rich—” kiss. “—and hot—” kiss.
“fuck off.”
“—i love you—” kiss. kiss. “—take your pants off.”
“freak.”
pro-hero!katsuki whose household, despite all this, was still mostly quiet. both adults worked demanding jobs, and by the time they're home, they're exhausted. even if his wife had taken a small from the public eye to focus on their baby while he was out hero-ing, she still had a few meetings here and there with execs she didn't like (which meant that bakugo hated them) which wasn't anywhere near as bad in comparison but on top of taking care of the baby, shit was tiring.
“'m home.”
“hi.” she hardly shifted from where she lied on the couch, babykugo sitting on her belly as they watched cartoons together. at the sound of her papa's voice though, she perked up a little, looking over her shoulder and letting out a little whine. “i'm dead. i forgot to cook.”
“that's fine, keep dyin'.” he sighed, tucking away his shoes. “my arms're killin' me, so we'll order in. what do y'want?”
“something with dough.”
“raw dough.”
“close. pizza is okay.”
“shit's not fillin' enough.” at this point, they've honestly given up on self-censoring for the baby. they'll lock in when she really starts to form words. walking into the living room, he slowly approached the couch. “what else?”
she groaned, head thrown back against the armrest. “don't do that to yourself,” they met eyes as he stood behind the couch, leading to baby, craning her neck upwards to see her dad upside down. “every time you say that when we order in, you end up cooking a little something on the side.”
he softened at his daughter's big doe eyes blinking up at him. “hi baby girl—” looked over to wifey, “—an' a salad's not cookin'; it's puttin' shit in a bowl and givin' it a toss.”
“too much armwork for ‘not cooking’.”
“you do it too, 'm—” he looked back to baby, who was now back to being entranced by the movie like he wasn't even there. “she think 'm chopped liver or some shit?”
wifey sighed, resting her arms over her face. “i guess, yeah.”
“i'll blow up the tv.”
“your total carbon footprint is already crazy, please don't worsen it. for my sanity.”
“chooses freakin' tv over her own daddy—” oh, censorship success! “—how's this the bun i put in the oven?”
“i don't know man, you were there when she came out.” adjusting her arms, she looked up at her man. “maybe she'll like you again after you shower 'n kiss your wife.”
he hummed, relenting. as much as he'd love to be the kind of guy who kissed his wife and kid the second he got home, he's particular about outside air. it's routine for him to shower first before he's all over his girls.
“'m waitin' f'r what you want t' eat first so i can shower while we wait.” he placed his hands on his hips. “d'you actually want pizza or just the dough texture?”
“ugh, you know me too well.”
“wraps,” he suggested. “that fusion place with the fat-ass paratha burritos.”
“ooh,” she perked up at that, hands moving to her belly to play with baby's tiny fingers. “that.. yes. i want.”
“great.”
“wow baby, no wonder you're married.”
his brows furrowed as genuine confusion flashed across his face, making her cackle. “dunno how t’ respond t' that.”
baby girl suddenly broke into giggles, startling both her parents as she clapped her tiny hands and lolled around, weak with laughter. wifey was quick to support baby's weight.
the corners of his lips twitched upwards even as he huffed, too weak for his baby's giggles. “movie can't be that funny.”
wifey rolled her eyes, “go shower already.”
“yeah, yeah.”
pro-hero!katsuki who really loves his girls.
☾ — i hate how this is written jsyk. it's basically three horribly-written (for my standards for myself) oneshots in a trenchcoat n an excuse to write out bkg n wifey bickering. BUT I'M DOING MY BESTTT RAHHHH—all that matters is that i wrote it down n put it out. all that matters is that i wrote it down n put it out AUGHHH. DW GANG, i will absolutely give u a PROPER ONESHOT of papatsuki n popstar!wifey eventually. n w ur support, IT WILL BE SOONER !!! pls keep reblogging n commenting n just letting me know how u like my hcs (even if the writing not that good or cohesive) bc it truly gives me motivation to WRITE MOREEE !!!! i fr really need to write a fluff oneshot/drabble bc onfg all i ever write is angst (see also; drunken stupor) aosjsjks anyw i hope u enjoyed n loved my papatsuki, popstar!wifey, and babykugo. we need to name babykugo. my ask box is open 😍
↝ It's been eight years since Bakugou handed you the divorce papers without any reason, leaving you and your two children. But when co-parenting gets difficult and old feelings come back, you struggle with whether you can fall back in love with your ex-husband.
PAIRING: prohero!bakugou/dad!bakugou/divorced!bakugou x teacher!reader / mom!reader /divorced!reader (afab)
TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+; angst; kids; eventual smut (specific chapters will have different nsfw related tags); divorce; marriage; mention of pregnancy; fluff; suggestive; romance; second chances; jealousy; older bakugou and reader
STATUS: completed
A/N: this has been an idea that i've had for a while but never went through with it. i originally thought of it like four years ago but then fell off tumblr and now WE'RE BACK. tysm to everyone who helped out with the title of the series, especially to the anon who sent in this title!! i did not expect this series to have this many parts but i just had a lot i wanted to add to the story! also my first time doing anything nsfw in the 8 years i've had this blog lol... it's been a minute since i did a fic series (not smau related basically) so can't wait!
TIP JAR
⋆ PART I ↠ THE ROUTINE
⋆ PART II ↠ ARE YOU HAPPY
⋆ PART III ↠ JEALOUSY
⋆ PART IV ↠ MY BUSINESS
⋆ PART V ↠ THE TRUTH
⋆ PART VI ↠ BABY FEVER
⋆ PART VII ↠ THE ONLY ONE
⋆ PART VIII ↠ FOR THE KIDS
⋆ PART IX ↠ CAN'T HOLD BACK 18+
⋆ PART X ↠ SQUARE ONE
⋆ PART XI ↠ JUST FRIENDS
⋆ PART XII ↠ DON'T HURT HER
⋆ PART XIII ↠ DROWN IN IT 18+
⋆ PART XIV ↠ HERO
⋆ PART XV ↠ BIG HAPPY FAMILY
⋆ PART XVI ↠ THOSE THREE WORDS 18+
⋆ PART XVII ↠ REST OF MY LIFE
⋆ PART XVIII ↠ BLAMES AND FAULTS
⋆ PART XIX ↠ DESERVE TO BE LOVED 18+
⋆ EPILOGUE ↠ SECOND TIME AROUND
⋆ PROLOGUE ↠ FIRST TIME AROUND 18+
EXTRAS:
⋆ ALTERNATE ENDING
⋆ THIRD BABY
⋆ DATING IZUKU
⋆ HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER
⋆ NIGHTLY INTERRUPTIONS 18+
⋆ FIRST TIME 18+
⋆ GETTING INTERRUPTED AGAIN 18+
⋆ MEET THE PARENTS
⋆ BAKUGOU INTERRUPTING
⋆ REWARD FOR THE NUMBER THREE HERO 18+
⋆ KATSUO'S BAD DAY
⋆ KIDS INTERACTING WITH IZUKU
⋆ VILLAIN ATTACK POST-DIVORCE
⋆ DYNAMIGHT FANS AMBUSH
⋆ TOO LATE TO SAVE YOU
⋆ HEAD DURING ZOOM CALL 18+
⋆ SUKI'S BREAKUP
⋆ SUKI COMING OUT
⋆ MEET THE PARENTS PT. II (FEAT. KANA)
⋆ EXPLAINING DEATH
⋆ MEETING BABY HOSHI
⋆ PRESS AMBUSH
⋆ HONEYMOON SEX 18+
⋆ HONEYMOON SEX PT. II 18+
⋆ ANOTHER WAR
⋆ NEWEST ADDITION TO THE FAMILY
⋆ POST-WAR REUNION 18+
⋆ POST-WAR REUNION PT. II
⋆ DISTRACTIONS 18+
⋆ DIVORCED AND YEARNING 18+
⋆ BAKUGOU'S 40TH BIRTHDAY
⋆ LITTLE ANGEL KATSUMI
⋆ WAR NIGHTMARES
⋆ MOVE IN WITH ME
⋆ SUKI DEFENDING BAKUGOU
⋆ REWARD FOR THE NUMBER ONE HERO 18+
⋆ NEWBIE HERO HITTING ON Y/N
⋆ NEEDY BAKUGOU 18+
⋆ KATSUMI'S BULLIES
⋆ REMARRIAGE BODY WORSHIP 18+
⋆ TRYING TO GET OVER YOU
⋆ DYNAMIGHT FANS AMBUSH KATSUMI
⋆ MOMMA
⋆ KATSUO'S FIRST WORD
⋆ BAKUGOU ON ANESTHESIA
⋆ GROWN SUKI AND KATSUO WALKING IN ON BAKUGOU AND Y/N 18+
deaf!bakugou who is a sadist and who happens to loooove eating pussy but adored softly biting and sucking your clit until it doubles in size— but when you get ‘too loud’ he just turns the hearing aid off and tilts his head when he sees your tear stricken face.
“you dick, i was telling you i was coming!”
“im glad you came.” he devilishly grins. “feel good?”
“yes but-“ you grumble, slightly groaning when his breath leaves your bundle of nerves. “you said youd eat my pussy, not abuse it.”
“never said i had to hear you.” he shrugs, licking his lips as he smirks.
Sukuna had never begged for anything in his life. Not money. Not forgiveness. Not help. Not even when he was twenty and working three jobs while trying to raise a screaming toddler who kept drawing on the walls with permanent marker while Choso slammed doors and screamed that he hated him.
Sukuna handled shit himself. Always. That was why this felt so wrong.
Why it felt like his ribs were cracking open every second you stared at him without saying anything. The apartment was dead quiet except for the rain tapping against the windows. You wouldn’t look at him.
That hurt worse than the yelling did.
Honestly, he wished you’d screamed.
Instead you just stood there near the kitchen counter with your arms wrapped around yourself like if you loosened them for even a second you’d fall apart.
“You done?” you asked quietly.
Sukuna swallowed. His throat actually fucking hurt.
“No.”
Your laugh came out broken. Small. “What else is there to say?”
Everything. Too much. Not enough.
The problem was Sukuna had never learned how to explain himself without sounding angry. Even now, his jaw was tight enough to crack teeth apart. His huge frame stood frozen near the front door like he didn’t know if he was allowed any closer.
Because he probably wasn’t. The image kept replaying in his head. You're calling him over and over. Him ignoring every single fucking call like an idiot. The bar and Yorozu hanging all over him.
His arm around her waist because he was drunk and pissed and stupid and wanted to hurt you after the fight.
And then your face when you walked in.
Jesus Christ.
He’d seen people die before and somehow that look still haunted him worse.
“I said I was sorry,” he muttered hoarsely.
You finally looked at him then. Red eyes. Wet cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t erase it.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” your voice cracked. “Because I don’t think you get it, Sukuna.”
His stomach twisted violently hearing his name like that.
Not Ryo.
Not even Ryomen.
Just Sukuna. Cold and distant, as if you were referring to a stranger.
“You embarrassed me,” you whispered. “You humiliated me.”
His chest caved inward.“I know.”
“You made me feel stupid for loving you.”
That one physically made him flinch, actually flinch. You noticed too because your face crumpled for half a second before hardening again. Good. He deserved it.
Sukuna dragged a hand down his face hard enough to redden the skin. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s the problem.”
Silence.
The constant drum of rain, the sound of your uneven breathing. He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t fucking breathe in it.
“You think I wanted her?” he snapped suddenly. “You think I looked at her like I look at you?”
“You had your hands all over her.”
“Because I was angry!”
“And that makes it better?!”
“No!” His voice thundered through the apartment before he caught himself. You stepped back instinctively, tbat nearly killed him. The second he noticed fear flash across your face he looked sick with himself.
“...fuck,” he whispered.
You wiped your eyes aggressively. “I think you should leave.”
“No.”
Your head jerked up. “No?” you repeated in disbelief.
“I’m not leaving till you hear me out.”
“There’s nothing to hear!”
“There is for me.” His voice cracked on the last word, actually cracked. You both froze. Sukuna looked almost startled by it himself, like his own desperation disgusted him. His fists clenched so hard his tattoos stretched over his knuckles.
“You think this is easy for me?” he asked quietly. “You think I know how to do this shit?”
“You should’ve thought about that before–”
“I know!” he barked.
Then softer, broken. “I know.”
God, he looked awful.
Not physically. Sukuna always looked intimidating no matter what. Six foot something of muscle and sharp edges and dark eyes.
But emotionally? He looked ruined. Hair messy from shoving his hands through it nonstop. Eyes bloodshot. Hoodie half soaked from the storm outside because apparently he hadn’t even bothered with an umbrella when he chased after you.
“You didn’t even come home,” you whispered.
His face twisted because that was the worst part. You’d waited for him, called him, texted him. And he’d ignored every single one because he’d been angry after your argument and wanted to “win.”
God, he hated himself.
“I know.”
“That whole night I thought maybe something happened to you.” Tears spilled faster now. “I was terrified.”
His breathing stuttered.
Then you laughed bitterly. “And then I walk in and see you with another girl.”
Sukuna looked like someone had punched him directly in the throat.
“She didn’t matter.”
“But I did,” you whispered. “And you still did it.”
That shut him up, because you were right. Completely right. The silence stretched so long it became unbearable.
Then finally–
“I don’t know how to lose you.”
Your eyes flickered. Sukuna stared at the floor like the words physically hurt to say. “I don’t know how to do that.”
His voice had gone rough. Not angry rough, raw rough.
“I’ve lost damn near everybody else in my life. Parents. Friends. People leave. Shit happens. Fine.” His jaw tightened. “But you…”
He looked at you finally.
And God.
You’d never seen him look afraid before. Not truly afraid.
“I can’t fucking do that with you.”
Your face wavered. Sukuna noticed immediately and stepped closer before stopping himself halfway like he didn’t trust his own body anymore.
“You’re all over this place,” he whispered desperately. “You’re in my routines. My brothers love you. Yuji asks for you before bed every damn night. Choso tells you shit he won’t tell me. Your stupid hair ties are all over my bathroom. Your coffee order’s stuck in my head permanently.”
He laughed once. Humorless. “I see somethin pink in a store and think of you automatically. That’s sick.”
A tear slid down your cheek.
“I fucked up,” he said shakily. “I know I did.” His breathing got uneven. “And I swear to God I’ll spend every day makin up for it if you let me.”
You stayed quiet. And that silence was making him unravel. Sukuna took another step forward, then another, until he was right there. Close enough that you could see his hands trembling.
Sukuna.
Trembling.
“I don’t know how to beg,” he admitted quietly. “So if I’m shit at this, that’s why.”
Your lips parted slightly. Then his voice dropped even lower.
“But please.”
The word sounded painful, like glass in his throat.
“Please don’t leave me over the worst mistake I ever made.”
You looked down immediately because your eyes filled too fast. Sukuna panicked. Actually panicked. His hands hovered near you before gripping his own wrists instead.
“Fuck– no, don’t cry, baby, please–”
“You made me cry!”
“I know, I know, I know–”
His words stumbled over each other desperately. You’d never seen him like this.
Never.
Sukuna was the kind of man who got angry when he got hurt. The kind that buried feelings so deep they turned poisonous.
But now? Now he looked like he was drowning right in front of you.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “I’ve been outside this apartment for an hour tryin to figure out how to make you stay.”
Your chest tightened painfully. “I almost didn’t come up,” he admitted. “Thought maybe you’d be happier if I disappeared.”
Your head snapped up immediately. “Don’t say that.”
His eyes softened instantly at your reaction. There you were, still caring, even now. That nearly destroyed him all over again.
“I love you,” he said suddenly.
You froze.
Sukuna almost never said it first. Almost never said it at all. But now the words were falling out of him uncontrollably.
“I love you so fucking much it makes me sick sometimes.” His voice shook. “You think I touched her because I wanted her? I did it because I knew it’d hurt you and I was angry and stupid and selfish.”
His face twisted in disgust at himself.
“And the second I saw your face I wanted to rip my own fucking arm off for touching her.”
Your breath hitched.
“I know sorry isn’t enough,” he whispered. “I know that.”
Then finally–
The thing that broke you completely.
Sukuna reached for your hand carefully. Tentatively, like he thought you might pull away. And when you didn’t? His entire body visibly sagged in relief.
“Please,” he whispered again. Not angry, not proud, just desperate.
“Tell me how to fix this.”
.
.
.
Will you forgive him?
I was listening to "Players Prayer" by Lloyd, and it inspired me to write something new. It’s definitely different from my usual style, but please thank the weather and the assignments and exams I have piled up for this weeeek :'( I'd honestly forgive sukuna bc i'm so downbad for him, but wat about u guuuys?
