hi! welcome to the mind of a socially anxious, woc trying to survive on this floating rock we call earth. when I am not writing, i am either nerding out to marvel, doctor who, reading—more like filling up my overflowing TBR—or working. on the off chance i have extra time, ill take nap with my two furry children Phoebe and Oliver. It’s not very often you’ll see me without one or both of my airpods in since I like blast my music (typically paramore or any 2000s pop-punk or rock song but don’t get it twisted, i love kpop, musicals and my fair share of any other music genre other than country.) and give myself hearing loss. I’ve always been one of those kids that grew up with her head in the clouds bc I love daydreaming and creating fake scenarios as I love orange fanta and chinese food—which i hope you get the same feeling reading my fanfics! Grab some towels, a gatorade and maybe some chips and stay a while…it tends to get a little wet over here.
Why is it soo hard sometimes trying to put words down on paperrrr like o can think of concepts easily but actually writing them sometimes makes my mind go blank genuinely abt to crash out.
This is the link to the taglist for Finders Fee pt. 2!! There have been many ppl asking for one and I decided to go ahead and do it bc it’ll be easier for me🫶🏾 This is ONLY for the second part to Finders Fee!! (It’s linked in case you would like to read it <33)
Please only join if you are interested in reading Finders Fee part 2 :)) This way everyone is in one place and many ppl wanted me to tag the
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
art by: @ einrvji on insta. You leave a surprise on Co-worker!Choso’s phone to dis(en)courage him from leaving it at work ;)) (MDNI)
—
It’s no secret that you have a crush on your co-worker, Choso. Well, everyone else knows but you don’t know that they know. You think all the doe-eyed stares you given him like he’s hung the moon, giggles when he says something’s that not even remotely funny or the way your body heats up with he comes in for his shift and you fix the collar of your shirt to just slightlyy reveal the swell of your breasts, give it away. And every once in a while you’ll catch his dark eyes peeking at your chest.
Every evening shift starts the same and ends the same, “Hi, Cho!” or a “Bye, Cho! I’ll miss you.”
And he’ll respond with slightly blushing cheeks. Somehow every one person's job turns into a person's job, sometimes it’s more like he’s working and you’re just staring at how his various lip, eyebrow and ear piercings glitter under the static fluorescent lights or the way his arm tattoos curve with the built muscles of his arms.
Ringing out a customer? Choso is hovering right next to you under the premise of “making sure you process it correctly” even though you started the job not too long after he did.
Putting away products on shelves? Choso is helping with the ones on the top shelf, just to prevent any accidents, of course!
You’re two peas in a pod. When Cho first started his job, he was very stoic. Didn’t interact much with his coworkers, just got his tasks done and went home. It was almost like he was a ghost. Very in and out. Never hung around.
But then you joined the team and it was like pigs were flying. All it took was one innocent giggle and a soft touch of the hand on his arm and Cho heard angels singing. It was like Choso was a new person! Because now he was smiling and laughing, ending his shifts late so that he could spend more time with you—just always seemed to look forward to coming to work.
There were a couple times when pure conversation and looks weren’t soooo…innocent. Like when you were passing by him while he was checking inventory and the space between two rows of boxes was just a little tighter than you expected and you needed to take something to a customer and your plump ass made contact with his crotch. “I hope that was something else and not what I thought it was! Because that was huge!” Your stomach gave a dark flutter at the act.
As you went by him and felt his thing, you also heard his breath hitch, his chest expanding with a sharp breath. When you’re finally in the clear you turn back to the flustered boy to give a feigned apology, your eyes drift down to his now very vaulted crotch. “Sorry Cho! That was a tight squeeze!”
“That’s not the only thing that will be a tight squeeze, according to his pants.” You think.
And you’re gone, only the remnants of your sweet perfume lingered in the air.
Or the one time a customer wasn’t looking where they were going and bumped into you, getting their cup of soda all over your uniform top. Choso quickly elects himself to get you a new one, ushering you to go wait for him in the family bathroom. You had taken the shirt off because you needed to wash the sticky liquid out of your shirt and wipe off what you could on your chest and stomach.
Choso wasn’t expecting that and swung the door open to see you wringing out your top clad in just your bottoms and lacy pink bra. The motion of the door swinging open abruptly, had you turning towards it and Choso’s eyes zeroed in on your bust—his ears turning pink when he noticed that you could see your nipples through the cups. And all he could think about was sucking on your pert nipples or dragging his heavy cock through your soft swells—or how pretty they were look with his cum all over them.
With a quick, “S-sorry!” Choso stuffed the shirt in your hands and left, missing the rising smirk titling the corners of your mouth. The rest of the shift was very uncomfortable for poor Cho :((
And this next occurrence was recent.
It had been a long shift, a major holiday was coming up and everyone was stocking up on food and decorations. The phones were ringing off the hooks! It was one of the first times where you and Choso were too busy to linger around each other. By the end of the shift, everyone was visibly exhausted. You and Choso decided to skip your after work meet-up.
Choso left before you and you had gotten to your car when you realized you forgot to grab your purse in the break room. So you begrudgingly dragged yourself back inside and went to the back. And there it is still sitting on the table! And next to it is a phone.
“Hmm…it’s not yours.” you think, confused inspecting the device. You pick it up, tapping the screen. It lights up and on the lock screen is a picture of you and Choso that you took while goofing off one day!
“He must’ve been really tired. It’s not like I can call him or anything. I don’t even know where he lives…”
You almost consider leaving it at work but then he wouldn’t have a fully charged phone or what if someone steals it?! You don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands. So you take it home with you and plan to give it to him the next day when you’re scheduled for your next shift!
You stare at it while it sits on your counter—your mind racing with a million different thoughts. And somehow you end up thinking about his well endowed crotch. And a dark thought crossed your mind.
“I shouldn’t…” But the more the idea swirls around in your head, the more your fingers twitch.
“A good friend would make sure it’s well taken care of and looked after. No harm in leaving a little present to show I really care about him!”
And how you yourself stripped down and changed into the same pink lacy set, posing in front of your mirror with Choso’s phone. You’re sitting on the floor with your back against the foot of the bed, legs spread, one hand holding the phone and the other is hanging loosely between your legs—resting on your mound. Click!
Turning over onto your knees you rest the first half of your body on your bed, your butt angled toward the mirror and arch—sticking out your ass. You twist your free hand back to place it right under your right butt cheek…you just slightly pull the skin—more of your pantie showing. Click!
Next one you’ve foregone the bra. And flipping the camera to the front facing one and direct it down just so you can see only your boobs and mouth. You loop your arm under your tits to press them together and push them out more—your nipples peaked in arousal, let’s not even talk about the waterfall between your legs!! Small tension tightens in your chest. This is one of the more risky ones.
“I hope I don’t screw up our friendship because of this…or what if he doesn’t like what he sees?!” Insecurity infects the space in your brain, almost making you want to stop. But then you think back to the soda spill incident and how his eyes dilated at the sight of your topless body and how hard he was clutching the doorknob to the point where it almost looked painful. How hard he got when he saw you. (Girl please, he wants you.)
And you go back to what you were doing. Your clit throbs as your thumb hovers over the camera button thinking about Cho’s reaction to these photos, imagining all the ways he’ll jerk off to them. Maybe he’ll come on his phone, instead picturing it’s your tits. Or bending you over the foot of your bed and pounding in your slick center—mind just full of cumming inside you. Click!
You take a few more for good measure before plugging in his phone and getting ready for bed. Of course you rub one out before you drift off to sleep.
You can’t wait to see his reaction tomorrow ;))
a/n: new character unlocked!! lemme know if u want a part 2 ;))
art by: @ einrvji on insta. You leave a surprise on Co-worker!Choso’s phone to dis(en)courage him from leaving it at work ;)) (MDNI)
⤷ w.c: 1.4k
It’s no secret that you have a crush on your co-worker, Choso. Well, everyone else knows but you don’t know that they know. You think all the doe-eyed stares you given him like he’s hung the moon, giggles when he says something’s that not even remotely funny or the way your body heats up with he comes in for his shift and you fix the collar of your shirt to just slightlyy reveal the swell of your breasts, give it away. And every once in a while you’ll catch his dark eyes peeking at your chest.
Every evening shift starts the same and ends the same, “Hi, Cho!” or a “Bye, Cho! I’ll miss you.”
And he’ll respond with slightly blushing cheeks. Somehow every one person's job turns into a person's job, sometimes it’s more like he’s working and you’re just staring at how his various lip, eyebrow and ear piercings glitter under the static fluorescent lights or the way his arm tattoos curve with the built muscles of his arms.
Ringing out a customer? Choso is hovering right next to you under the premise of “making sure you process it correctly” even though you started the job not too long after he did.
Putting away products on shelves? Choso is helping with the ones on the top shelf, just to prevent any accidents, of course!
You’re two peas in a pod. When Cho first started his job, he was very stoic. Didn’t interact much with his coworkers, just got his tasks done and went home. It was almost like he was a ghost. Very in and out. Never hung around.
But then you joined the team and it was like pigs were flying. All it took was one innocent giggle and a soft touch of the hand on his arm and Cho heard angels singing. It was like Choso was a new person! Because now he was smiling and laughing, ending his shifts late so that he could spend more time with you—just always seemed to look forward to coming to work.
There were a couple times when pure conversation and looks weren’t soooo…innocent. Like when you were passing by him while he was checking inventory and the space between two rows of boxes was just a little tighter than you expected and you needed to take something to a customer and your plump ass made contact with his crotch. “I hope that was something else and not what I thought it was! Because that was huge!” Your stomach gave a dark flutter at the act.
As you went by him and felt his thing, you also heard his breath hitch, his chest expanding with a sharp breath. When you’re finally in the clear you turn back to the flustered boy to give a feigned apology, your eyes drift down to his now very vaulted crotch. “Sorry Cho! That was a tight squeeze!”
“That’s not the only thing that will be a tight squeeze, according to his pants.” You think.
And you’re gone, only the remnants of your sweet perfume lingered in the air.
Or the one time a customer wasn’t looking where they were going and bumped into you, getting their cup of soda all over your uniform top. Choso quickly elects himself to get you a new one, ushering you to go wait for him in the family bathroom. You had taken the shirt off because you needed to wash the sticky liquid out of your shirt and wipe off what you could on your chest and stomach.
Choso wasn’t expecting that and swung the door open to see you wringing out your top clad in just your bottoms and lacy pink bra. The motion of the door swinging open abruptly, had you turning towards it and Choso’s eyes zeroed in on your bust—his ears turning pink when he noticed that you could see your nipples through the cups. And all he could think about was sucking on your pert nipples or dragging his heavy cock through your soft swells—or how pretty they were look with his cum all over them.
With a quick, “S-sorry!” Choso stuffed the shirt in your hands and left, missing the rising smirk titling the corners of your mouth. The rest of the shift was very uncomfortable for poor Cho :((
And this next occurrence was recent.
It had been a long shift, a major holiday was coming up and everyone was stocking up on food and decorations. The phones were ringing off the hooks! It was one of the first times where you and Choso were too busy to linger around each other. By the end of the shift, everyone was visibly exhausted. You and Choso decided to skip your after work meet-up.
Choso left before you and you had gotten to your car when you realized you forgot to grab your purse in the break room. So you begrudgingly dragged yourself back inside and went to the back. And there it is still sitting on the table! And next to it is a phone.
“Hmm…it’s not yours.” you think, confused inspecting the device. You pick it up, tapping the screen. It lights up and on the lock screen is a picture of you and Choso that you took while goofing off one day!
“He must’ve been really tired. It’s not like I can call him or anything. I don’t even know where he lives…”
You almost consider leaving it at work but then he wouldn’t have a fully charged phone or what if someone steals it?! You don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands. So you take it home with you and plan to give it to him the next day when you’re scheduled for your next shift!
You stare at it while it sits on your counter—your mind racing with a million different thoughts. And somehow you end up thinking about his well endowed crotch. And a dark thought crossed your mind.
“I shouldn’t…” But the more the idea swirls around in your head, the more your fingers twitch.
“A good friend would make sure it’s well taken care of and looked after. No harm in leaving a little present to show I really care about him!”
And how you yourself stripped down and changed into the same pink lacy set, posing in front of your mirror with Choso’s phone. You’re sitting on the floor with your back against the foot of the bed, legs spread, one hand holding the phone and the other is hanging loosely between your legs—resting on your mound. Click!
Turning over onto your knees you rest the first half of your body on your bed, your butt angled toward the mirror and arch—sticking out your ass. You twist your free hand back to place it right under your right butt cheek…you just slightly pull the skin—more of your pantie showing. Click!
Next one you’ve foregone the bra. And flipping the camera to the front facing one and direct it down just so you can see only your boobs and mouth. You loop your arm under your tits to press them together and push them out more—your nipples peaked in arousal, let’s not even talk about the waterfall between your legs!! Small tension tightens in your chest. This is one of the more risky ones.
“I hope I don’t screw up our friendship because of this…or what if he doesn’t like what he sees?!” Insecurity infects the space in your brain, almost making you want to stop. But then you think back to the soda spill incident and how his eyes dilated at the sight of your topless body and how hard he was clutching the doorknob to the point where it almost looked painful. How hard he got when he saw you. (Girl please, he wants you.)
And you go back to what you were doing. Your clit throbs as your thumb hovers over the camera button thinking about Cho’s reaction to these photos, imagining all the ways he’ll jerk off to them. Maybe he’ll come on his phone, instead picturing it’s your tits. Or bending you over the foot of your bed and pounding in your slick center—mind just full of cumming inside you. Click!
You take a few more for good measure before plugging in his phone and getting ready for bed. Of course you rub one out before you drift off to sleep.
You can’t wait to see his reaction tomorrow ;))
a/n: new character unlocked!! lemme know if u want a part 2 ;))
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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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.
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 6.4K word count. poly relationship, boyfriend toji x suguru!, southern coded toji x suguru!, bratty!reader, bubblyfem!reader, black!femreader, southern coded!fem reader, mean toji x mean suguru, slightly sweet suguru?, threesome, vaginal penetration, angry sex, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, squirting, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, face slapping, cowgirl, doggy, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, a lil degrading, condomless sex, kissing, cream pie, spanking, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— in honor of jjk coming back, i was missin’ my boyfriends real bad. enjoy.
YOU WERE THE EPITOME OF TROUBLE. Even in the worst scenario—like now—the scent of cigarettes wafting from inches away didn’t bother you, your black pleasers swinging back and forth inches above the metal floor, cold and trailing with the history of footsteps before yours.
The booking cell was cold. The metal bench beneath you leeched warmth from your skin as you sat, shifting slightly in discomfort—the cuffs around your wrists had left angry red marks, the metal biting in just a little too tight before they finally unlatched them. You flexed your fingers, blowing a curl out of your face—your full lips pursed in annoyance as you recalled the flash of the mugshot camera, the way they’d made you hold up that stupid placard with your name and booking number like some kind of trophy.
Your tall, black heels dangled lazily, the sharp tips barely grazing the grimy floor. The leather straps hugging your calves felt tighter than usual—probably from swelling after the scuffle—but you weren’t about to let discomfort show, your silver anklet shuffling as you continued swinging your legs.
Your outfit wasn’t any better for the occasion. A tight black leather jacket clinging to every curve, barely containing the weight of your heavy tits—it was made for attention, not jail cells. The cropped cut showed off your curvy midriff, the dim lighting catching the faint sheen of sweat along your dark brown skin. Below, leather shorts hugged your wide hips and ass, riding up just enough to give a show to the wrong eyes.
Your full heart-shaped lips puffed out a frustrated breath, sending a few loose midnight curls fluttering away from your face as you slumped forward on the hard metal bench. The dark brown freckles dusting your nose and cheeks stood out even in the harsh fluorescent lights, making you look softer than you felt.
Another sigh slipped past your lips.
Annoyed. Bored.
This wasn’t your first time in bookings—probably wouldn’t be your last—but damn if it wasn’t inconvenient.
The cell was suffocating. No clock on the wall, no windows, just the relentless hum of fluorescent lights bleaching everything into a dull, static gray. Your patience was thinning faster than the last shred of goodwill you had left tonight.
You pushed off the bench, hips swaying as you sauntered toward the bars, your back arching naturally—habitual, effortless. The cop stationed near the door barely glanced your way, his bored expression barely flickering as you tilted your head, letting your dark curls cascade over one shoulder.
"’Got a cigarette?"
The cop didn’t even look up from his clipboard.
“‘Not with the way you acted tonight."
Your lips twitched.
A flash of memory—your own fists, sharp acrylics catching skin, the way you’d moved like something feral when that bitch had tried to grab your hair. You weren’t proud. But you weren’t sorry either.
“…I learned my lesson,” you hummed smoothly, your tone syrup thick with innocence.
Silence.
The cop kept writing.
Your brow arched, nails tapping against the cold metal bar.
“Hello?"
Nothing.
A muscle in your jaw ticked.
“Don’t worry about it then, motherfuc—"
The door at the end of the hall swung open, cutting you off. Another cop stepped in, keys jangling.
“You’re being released."
You blinked—and that’s when the smallest grin spread, already knowing who it was before you even peeked your head out.
And there they were.
Toji.
Midnight black hair styled within a wolf cut, towering frame blocking half the hallway light, tattoos crawling up his neck like shadows. His deep gray eyes pinned you in place—cold, unreadable, pissed. That scar across his lips only made his expression sharper. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just looked at you like he was debating whether to drag you out or leave you here to rot.
And then, Suguru.
Long, dark hair tied half-up, eyebrow piercing glinting under the harsh lights. His hazel eyes flickered over you—checking for bruises, probably. His broad chest rose with a heavy sigh, arms crossed over his shirt. Exasperated? Sure. But probably more relieved to see you than the man standing next to him.
“Guess it’s my lucky day, huh?”
The cop didn’t dignify that with words—just a hardened glare, jaw clenched tight. You blew him a kiss anyway, the brown gloss on your lips glinting under the harsh station lights.
Then—instinct. You knew better than to approach Toji first.
You launched yourself at Suguru with a playful squeak, legs wrapping around his waist as he caught you effortlessly—one hand gripping your ass through the tight leather shorts, the other securing the small of your back. His deep chuckle vibrated against your chest as you buried your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of leather and cigarettes.
“Troublemaker," he murmured, voice thick as he squeezed your thigh—“What are you doin’ here, huh?"
You pulled back just enough to flash him those wide, doe eyes—all innocence, no guilt.
”Just had a little fun."
His hazel gaze darkened, lips hovering so close to yours you could taste the mint on his breath—but then, you felt it.
That heat.
Your lashes fluttered toward Toji who hadn’t moved an inch—just stood there like a storm barely contained, veins in his forearms popping with every breath. So you did what you did best.
Slender eyes rounding, lips parting in that perfect smile—the one that always made him cave.
“Hi, Daddy.”
His scar twitched.
“‘They hurt you?"
The question was low, lethal—like he was already calculating which of these cops he’d break first. You shook your head fast.
Toji didn’t wait for another word. Just turned on his heel, the heavy clack of his boots echoing as he stalked toward the exit.
“Let’s go."
Of course this is how it always went—Suguru with his soft hands and easy forgiveness, Toji with his ironclad discipline and zero tolerance for your antics. And right now, pressed into the buttery leather backseat of Toji’s sleek black Corvette, you knew exactly where to seek refuge.
Suguru slid into the passenger seat, long dark hair spilling over the headrest as he tipped his head back, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. The sharp scent of tobacco mixed with his cologne made him effortlessly attractive, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took another drag, tattoos peeking from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Meanwhile, Toji gripped the steering wheel like he wanted to snap it in half, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he peeled out of the parking lot with a growl of the engine.
Silence.
Then—
“Omae wa itsumo anta ni amaeru kara, sonna koto shiteru no sa."
You let her be cute with you. That’s why she thinks this shit is funny.
You didn’t need a translator to know he was talking about you.
Suguru flicked ash out the window, unfazed.
“Futari de okotte mo shikata nai darou? Dame na ko da."
Both of us bein’ mad at her isn’t gonna’ fix anything.
You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
“You know I can’t understand what you’re saying."
Toji’s grey eyes flashed in the rearview mirror—dark, dangerous.
“I don’t wanna hear all that whinin’ right now," he snapped, voice dropping to a rough timbre that curled your toes—“I’m close to reachin’ in that backseat and tearin’ your ass up."
You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning to stare out the window—but not fast enough to miss the way his brow arched in the reflection, that unspoken try me written all over his face.
Suguru just chuckled, taking another drag.
The tension in the car was thick enough to choke on, the only sound being the low hum of the engine and Suguru exhaling smoke out the cracked window. You couldn’t take it anymore—your stomach growled loudly, betraying you before you could even open your mouth.
“I’m hungry."
Toji’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“‘You thought about that when you were makin’ dumbass decisions?"
Your lips twisted in defiance—“I didn’t even get to say what happened!"
His jaw clenched, “‘Had to talk a cop outta’ pressin’ charges after you swung on him. You think I’m a fuckin’ idiot?"
You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to cave—instead, you leaned forward, pressing yourself against the passenger seat, your chest pressing into Suguru’s shoulder as you peered up at him through your lashes.
“‘Guru…” Your voice dripped in a needy way, wanting his rescue.
Suguru released a breath. He tilted his head just enough to meet your gaze, hazel eyes softening despite himself.
“‘'We get you somethin’, and you tell us what happened—yeah?"
You nodded quickly, already victorious.
Toji muttered something under his breath, but the car slowed, pulling into the neon-lit parking lot of a 24-hour diner.
“Move fast," he cut the engine, “Before I change my goddamn mind."
The second your Pleasers hit the pavement outside the diner, a little giggle escaped you—relief flooding your veins as you tugged on Suguru’s arm while he was only halfway out of the car. You caught the tail end of whatever he muttered to Toji in Japanese, his deep voice laced with something between exasperation and amusement before he shut the door and let you pull him toward the diner’s flickering neon sign.
Even softened for you, Suguru was intimidating.
Standing beside him in line, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the eyebrow piercing glinting under the fluorescent lights. His build was pure power—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his black long sleeve, thick arms corded with muscle, tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves. His natural scowl had the couple in front of you shifting uncomfortably, but you just leaned into his side, playing with the hem of his shirt.
Then—
He leaned down, catching your lips in a rough kiss that stole your breath, his free hand gripping your waist possessively. You giggled against his mouth, squirming when he murmured, “Behave,” against your lips before pulling away.
Your curls tumbled over your shoulders as you leaned against the counter, your ass poking out deliberately while you ordered in that sweet, innocent voice you reserved for moments like this. The cashier’s eyes flickered down—lingering a second too long on the swell of your heavy tits beneath the tight leather jacket—before Suguru’s hand suddenly hooked into the waistband of your shorts and yanked you back against him.
You barely had time to pout before he was tossing a wad of cash onto the counter, his gaze locked onto the cashier with a silent sneer that had the man scrambling to hand back his change with shaky hands.
The greasy paper bag crinkled in your lap as you tore into your burger like a starving little creature, cheeks puffing out adorably with each oversized bite. Suguru watched you, shaking his head slightly as he passed his cigarette to Toji—who sat with one boot propped outside the open car door, smoke curling from his lips as he stared straight ahead, silent as a tomb.
Usually, Toji’s anger was loud—sharp Japanese curses spat, deep voice raised just enough to make you squirm. But tonight? Nothing. Just the occasional drag of his cigarette, grey eyes cold and distant even as you swallowed your food with a tiny sigh and finally launched into your explanation.
“Okay—so," you started, wiping a bit of ketchup from the corner of your lip, “It wasn’t even my fault—some drunk bitch kept stepping on my damn shoes, and when I told her to watch it, she tried to swing on me."
Toji’s eyebrow twitched in the rearview.
You kept going, waving a fry for emphasis.
“And then her dude tried to jump in—so I grabbed a bottle. That’s when the cop tried to grab me like I started it—so yeah, I might’ve... y’know. Elbowed him.”
Suguru snorted, rubbing his temples like he was fighting off a headache.
“Goddamn, baby."
Toji took a slow drag from the cigarette, his grey eyes cutting through the rearview like a blade.
"Lie again."
You huffed, tossing your half-eaten burger back into the bag—"Okay, fine—I hit him. But only because he tried to grab me first!"
“‘You think that was smart?"
You folded your arms across your chest.
“It wasn’t my intention to be smart, Fushiguro. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten arrested."
A muscle in Toji’s temple jumped.
“Watch your fuckin’ tone.”
“I wasn’t trying to get in trouble," you then muttered, dropping your gaze.
Suguru sighed, running a hand through his dark hair—“Why didn’t you call me, huh? Or Fushiguro?"
You shot him a look.
“‘And have him mad at me because he had to fight someone at the bar?"
That’s when Toji’s voice snapped like a whip—
“'You think I wouldn’t protect you?"
The air in the car went still, his eyes burning into yours through the mirror.
“I’d kill for you. Don’t fuckin’ play like I wouldn’t."
You curled your fingers into your palms, suddenly feeling small.
"...I know."
Toji’s nostrils flared. Then, without another word, he flicked his cigarette out the window and started the car.
And just like that—the conversation was over.
You couldn’t help but imagine Toji standing in that precinct, stone-faced and seething, having to negotiate—apologize—for your reckless hands. He wasn’t the type to bow his head for anything. Not for money, not for pride, and definitely not for some cop who probably pissed him off just by breathing wrong.
But he did it for you.
Suguru’s patience was softer, easier—even he wasn’t letting you off the hook. The way his thumb brushed your knuckles wasn’t just comfort—it was a silent, you fucked up.
The car rolled to a stop outside their sleek, modern condo—all sharp black architecture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and dark furniture accented with deep reds that reminded you of blood and wine. Toji stepped out first, boots heavy against the pavement as he stalked toward the entrance without looking back.
"I need a shower," he muttered, voice gruff—more to himself than anyone else.
You scrambled out after him, almost tripping over your own feet in your hurry.
“Let me come clean you," you offered, half-teasing, half-desperate for the forgiveness you knew wasn’t coming easy.
“Nah."
Your lips nearly formed a pout before you caught yourself.
And just like that, the night's consequences finally settled in.
The shower steam curled around you and Suguru in thick, fragrant clouds—vanilla and sandalwood from his body wash mixing with the citrus of yours. Your giggles were honey sweet, bouncing off the marble tiles as he cupped water in his large hands to rinse the suds from your shoulders. His touch was methodical as he worked the soap into your skin, his fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips.
Your lashes fluttered when you caught his reflection in the fogged up glass—his torso a canvas of ink, muscles flexing as he reached for the shampoo. His dark hair was slicked back, water sluicing down the sharp planes of his face, that eyebrow piercing glinting even in the low light. Handsome. So fucking pretty it made your chest ache.
You toweled off together, tugging on one of Toji’s oversized black long sleeves—the fabric swallowing you whole but still clinging to the swell of your hips, the shadow of your bare thighs peeking beneath. Your curls were a wild, damp halo around your face, freckles darker against your freshly scrubbed skin.
Now, kneeling on the massive silk bed—black as midnight, cool against your knees—you watched Suguru lean against the headboard, shirtless, smoke curling from his lips. His hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few damp strands escaping to frame his face. The TV flickered silently, some late-night infomercial playing as he mindlessly flipped channels.
"You hate me too?" you whispered, voice too small for your own liking.
Suguru’s eyes didn’t leave the screen.
“You know goddamn well I don’t hate you," he said, exhaling smoke—“Don’t start all that dramatic shit."
The words should’ve comforted you. Instead, they made you curl inward, arms wrapping around yourself.
“Where’s Toji?"
“Probably in the office or library part of the house," he muttered, his free hand idly tracing circles on your bare thigh where the shirt rode up—“Tryna’ get his mind right."
You frowned, worrying your lip between your teeth as your fingers fidgeted.
“…He’s never this mad at me," you admitted softly, a little crease forming between your brows.
Suguru’s thumb paused its lazy pattern on your skin, and you felt the shift in his energy—the way his chest rose with a deeper inhale before he spoke again.
“He should be. Anythin’ could’ve happened to you gettin’ arrested by yourself.”
His voice was low, a rough edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine—“You know he’d fuck up an entire city behind you."
A little giggle bubbled up in your chest at the image—Toji, massive frame clad in black, storming through the streets like some avenging god—and before you could stop yourself, you were pressing smushing kisses into the column of Suguru’s throat, your lips warm against his tattooed skin.
He grunted but didn’t push you away—just let you nuzzle there, your curls tickling his jaw as you inhaled the familiar scent of him—cigarettes, expensive cologne, and something inherently Suguru.
“You smell good," you mumbled against his pulse, your earlier guilt momentarily forgotten in the comfort of his presence.
“Yeah, yeah," he drawled, but you could hear the affection beneath the gruffness—“Quit’ tryna’ seduce me, woman.”
Your fingertips glide along the intricate ink of the serpent coiled around Suguru’s abdomen, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You hesitate for just a second before your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging gently—your voice soft, laced with soft remorse.
“Just wanna show how sorry I am," you murmur, eyes flickering up to meet Suguru’s dark gaze—“…I know you’re mad at me too."
Then—
A presence at the doorway.
You freeze, your gaze snapping toward the shadowed figure leaning against the frame. Toji stands there, massive shoulders filling the entrance, grey eyes locked onto you like a predator tracking prey. Shirtless, tattoos sprawling across every inch of his sculpted torso, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips—he’s a vision of raw, barely contained power.
Your lip finds its way between your teeth as you slowly crawl toward the edge of the bed, hips swaying just slightly with each shift of your knees.
"’Missed you,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m knowin’," he rumbles, deep voice vibrating through the room. Then, after a beat—
“What’d you say earlier? ‘Bout how you wanted to show how sorry you were?"
Your eyes search his face for any sign of softening—but Toji’s expression remains steel.
You reach for him, fingers trembling as they brush the fabric of his sweats—but before you can get any further, his hand snaps up, gripping your chin with bruising force.
“So go show him how fuckin’ sorry you are," he growls, “I didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout you touchin’ me."
His grip loosens just enough to shove you back toward Suguru—who watches the exchange with dark eyes, cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers.
The sting of rejection burns hot behind your ribs, your bottom lip trembling before you can stop it—fat, glistening tears welling in your lashes as you drag your gaze back to Suguru.
He sees it. Of course he does.
Those hazel eyes of his—sharp, knowing—trace the wobble of your pout, the way your fingers hesitate before curling into the fabric of his sweatpants again. But Suguru’s never been one to bend for tears—not when he knows they’re your weapon of choice, not when he’s spent years learning the difference between your real cries and the ones you wield like a blade.
“Nuh-uh," he tsks, grasping at your jaw—“You know I don’t do all that poutin’. Swallow my shit like you fuckin’ mean it."
Your breath hitches—but you don’t argue.
Instead, your fingers hook into his waistband, tugging impatiently until his cock springs free—thick, already swollen at the tip, a bead of pre-cum glistening against flushed skin.
You whimper but you don’t hesitate, dragging your tongue over the head, lapping up the bitter salt of him before sinking down, down, down—
His groan is sharp above you, fingers tangling in your curls as your throat flutters around him, greedy and desperate. It’s a struggle—his size stretching your lips, your jaw aching—but you take it, tears spilling over as you hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him like you’re starving.
“There you fuckin’ go," he rasps out.
Your mouth works over Suguru’s cock with a needy desperation, lips stretched obscenely around his girth as saliva drips down your chin in messy, glistening strands. His deep pink lips curl into a sneer above you, that silver eyebrow piercing catching the dim light as he watches you through half-lidded eyes—hazel darkening with every filthy, wet sound your mouth makes around him.
Your whimpers spill out unbidden, high and muffled around the thick weight on your tongue, your hips rocking involuntarily against the air, the fabric of Toji’s stolen shirt riding up to expose the plush, pink folds of your cunt—already slick, already aching.
Then—
A stinging spank against your ass sends your entire body jolting forward, a choked mewl leaving you as your hands instinctively fly to grip Suguru’s thighs for balance.
But Suguru tsks again, fingers tightening in your hair as he yanks you back just enough to glare down at you.
“Did I say you could use your hands?” His voice is a dark, mocking purr—“Put ‘em back.”
Before you can even think to obey, Toji’s rough palms are already catching your wrists, wrenching them behind your back with effortless strength.
“It’s never a fuckin’ option,” he growls—“Never a choice. That’s your problem now, don’t fuckin’ listen.”
The angle is awkward, your knees weak and head spinning with the lack of air, and you can barely focus on anything but the way your jaw aches—your tongue running frantically over the side of Suguru’s length like an apology. Without the use of your hands, you can't properly steady yourself—Suguru's thick cock fully slips from your lips with an obscene wet sound as you frantically drag your tongue along the veined underside, desperate to keep contact. A bead of pre-cum smears across your cheek as you struggle, drawing a low, arrogant chuckle from Suguru's lips.
“Mmm, ‘you ain't too fuckin' sorry," he rumbles, voice dripping with amusement as his fingers tighten in your hair.
Behind you, Toji's breath ghosts over the arch of your back—dark, mocking.
“‘She never was."
Your head twists toward him, lips parted around a breathy mewl—“I am," you whimper, voice breaking.
“Why's my cock so fuckin' hard then?" Suguru challenges, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip—“Should've milked me by now."
“…’S too big, baby," you tremble, lashes fluttering—but Suguru sees right through it.
And that's when Toji growls, "There she goes. All that fuckin' whinin'. ‘Go ‘head, give her a reason to keep that shit up."
Suguru's grip shifts, his other hand coming down to palm roughly at your clit through the soaked fabric of Toji's shirt still clinging to your hips.
“‘Come sink down on my shit," he orders, voice dropping to something lethal—“Hurry the fuck up."
Your limbs tremble as you drag yourself onto Suguru’s lap, every movement shaky and uncoordinated—the tears aren’t an act anymore, fat and hot as they spill down your cheeks.
“‘Want Toji,” you whimper, voice thick with pouty desperation, your fingers clutching at Suguru’s shoulders like you’re torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer, “Suguru...please.”
“Sink down on it,” he growls, voice rough with restraint—“Shut all that shit up.”
And then—
His tip drags against your folds, blunt and unrelenting, spreading you open in one brutal glide until you’re forced to take him, your body yielding with a wet, filthy sound as he bottoms out inside you. Your pussy pffts around the stretch, the obscene noise drowned out by your own guttural whimper—half-pain, half-relief—as your walls flutter violently around him, gushing slick that drips down his thighs.
You already know the drill, unfortunately.
Your feet plant against the bed, thighs trembling as you bounce yourself on his cock, each desperate little grind forcing another broken noise from your lips. Your pout deepens, your mouth hanging open as your eyes roll back—helpless, overwhelmed, ruined—while Suguru watches you with dark amusement, his hands resting heavy on your hips, letting you do all the work.
“Look at that,” Toji growls, “All that cryin’, and she’s still fuckin’ drippin’ for it.”
Suguru grunts in agreement, his thumb swiping through the mess between your legs before bringing it to your lips—“Taste that shit,” he orders, smearing your own slick across your tongue, “That’s how sorry you really are.”
And you—
You can’t do anything but take it.
"She’s creamin’ already," he then growls, voice rough with amusement—"Can’t even fuckin’ handle me."
Behind you, Toji’s hand cracks down on your ass again—stinging—his fingers tangling in the nape of your neck to keep your head bowed, preventing you from twisting to look at him.
“Eyes forward," he orders, his voice a rough rumble against your spine—“‘Ain’t no lookin’ back at me."
Your pussy spurts around Suguru’s cock with every desperate bounce—obscene, wet—and the sensation wrings a broken squeak from your lips—“Fuuuckkkk, ‘m sorry, baby—"
Suguru arches a brow beneath you, hips stilling completely.
“Who’re you apologizin’ to?"
You whimper, bouncing harder—frantic now—as you sob out, “Y—you!"
A slow, knowing grin curls Suguru’s lips as he finally—finally—thrusts up, grinding his cock deep inside you in a brutal, deliberate roll.
“Me, huh?”
You’re trembling, eyes rolling back as another gush of cream spills out around him—his grunt of approval vibrating through your core before you choke out a silent, breathless squeak—
“…Y—you, baby."
The sound of your own ass clapping against Suguru’s thighs echoes in your ears—loud, obscene, embarrassing—as you struggle to keep rhythm, thighs burning from exertion. Your pout deepens, lips swollen and parted around pathetic little whimpers, your eyes glazed over with a mix of pleasure and desperation. Suguru watches you with dark amusement, his grip bruising on your hips as he lets you fuck yourself stupid.
“You doin’ all this for me?" he murmurs, voice dripping with mocking sweetness—“Bouncin’ stupid on my cock ‘cause you’re sorry?”
You whine, nodding frantically, your words dissolving into a stuttering mess, “Ye—ye-y—yes—"
Suguru clicks his tongue, tilting his head as he watches you struggle.
“Nah," he decides, voice dropping lower—“You ain’t worried ‘bout me. You’re puttin’ on a show for him.”
Behind you, Toji exhales a slow, rough breath—hot against your shoulder as he rasps, “She ain’t gettin’ me. ‘Might as well finish you off."
Your tears return in an instant—thick, hot, real—spilling down your cheeks as you silently bounce on Suguru’s cock, your movements losing coordination as the weight of your punishment sinks in. His grip shifts suddenly—one hand sliding up to cradle your throat, his thumb brushing gently over your trembling lips—soothing you even as his hips snap up, fucking into you with brutal precision.
“Love you so much, ‘Guru…”
It slips out, weak and trembling, muffled against his skin—and just like always, Suguru softens.
His grip on your hips gentles just slightly, his rhythm losing some of its brutality as he curses under his breath and tugs you down into a searing kiss. Your whimpers melt into his mouth, your tongue lapping against his in desperate, sweet little strokes—like you’re trying to apologize with every flick, every needy press of your lips.
“‘She’s always gettin’ her way with you,” Toji growls—“Come suck me off ‘fore I change my mind.”
Your body trembles—from exhaustion, from overstimulation—but the moment Suguru releases you, you’re scrambling toward Toji, your hands shaking as you reach for him.
You missed him.
Missed the sharp cut of his glare, the way his jaw ticks when he’s pissed, the way his dominance settles over you like a heavy blanket—unshakable, inescapable.
You tug his sweats down with clumsy fingers, your breath catching as his cock springs free—large, long, dangerous—thick and heavy in your palms.
Toji watches you through hooded eyes, “‘’Better do a good fuckin’ job, too. I’m watchin’.”
And you try.
God, you try.
Where you were needy with Suguru, you’re desperate with Toji—your lips stretching obscenely around his girth, your hands working in tandem to stroke what you can’t take. You’re messy—saliva dripping down your chin, your nose pressing into his pelvis as you choke around him—but you don’t stop.
“That’s all you got?” he rasps—“‘Thought you was sorry, huh?”
His hand cracks against your cheek—stinging—drawing a deep, shuddering whimper from your throat as your eyes water.
Toji’s gaze flicks over your head to Suguru, his voice dropping to a growl—
“‘Come eat her. Need her loose enough to sink every fuckin’ inch of me in so I can pound her shit out.”
Suguru’s broad palms spread your thighs wider from behind, his tongue dragging a slow, torturous stripe over your swollen clit. The pleasure is blinding, your back arching, your moan vibrating around Toji’s cock—and suddenly, your attempts to suck him off grow even messier, your rhythm faltering as Suguru’s mouth works you open with ruthless precision.
“Focus,” Toji orders, gripping your hair tighter—“‘Ain’t done with you yet.”
His jaw tightens when you force yourself deeper, taking him down your throat until your nose presses flush against his pelvis, until your vision blurs with tears, until your gag reflex burns—before you drag yourself off with a wet, gasping choke.
“‘Ass up,” he roughly orders—“‘That’s how you wanna feel me?”
You nod—pouty, eager—turning away from him, pressing your face into the sheets as you arch your back, presenting yourself to him. Your thighs tremble, your cunt dripping, already clenching around nothing as you hear the soft click of Suguru leaning back against the bedframe, his hand lazily stroking himself as he watches.
And then—
Toji enters you.
The stretch is brutal—splitting you open in a way that borders on too much, his cock carving into your tight heat with punishing precision. Your breath catches, your fingers twisting into the sheets as you mewl—high and broken—arching your back even further as you try to sink down onto him.
“‘You want the whole thing already, huh?” His voice is a dark rasp—“‘Fuck me.”
You throw yourself back onto him, but your strength is gone, your thighs shaking too violently to do more than bounce weakly against only the tip of him. Your lip catches between your teeth, a strangled whimper slipping free as you feel it—the stretch, the ache, the way your body struggles to accommodate him.
Suguru’s voice is low in front of you as his fingers trail up your spine, “‘Needin’ help, baby?”
Your cheek presses deeper into the sheets as you nod, curls spilling wildly around your face—Suguru’s palm lands heavy between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying possessively before he pushes, forcing you down onto Toji’s cock in one merciless thrust. The stretch punches a low, throaty moan from you, guttural and filthy, as your walls flutter violently around him.
“Fuhhhhck—!”
The sound rips from you, ragged and broken, as Toji lets out a growl.
“You feel that?” His voice is a rough purr, thumbs circling the dip of your waist—“I’m in your shit, huh?”
You whimper, nodding desperately, your voice climbing into a squeal—
“So f—fucking deep, Daddy…”
Toji’s glare turns lethal.
“Say ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’”
You don’t hesitate—your voice spills out dumb, loud and stupidly obedient—
“’M sorrryyy—!”
The moment the word leaves your lips, he moves—snapping his hips up in brutal, unforgiving strokes, driving into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. His voice stays level, controlled—“Sorry for what?”
“Makin’ s—stuff harder for you…!” You hiccup, twisting the sheets in your fists—”D—Don’t be mad at me…!”
Your entire body shudders beneath Toji’s relentless pace—his cock pistoning into you with such raw, possessive fury that your thighs tremble, your back arching deeper into the sheets as you sob uncontrollably. Suguru watches from the bedframe, his fist working harsh, deliberate strokes over his own length, his dark eyes glinting with something between amusement and hunger.
“Lil’ problem,” he huffs, voice thick with desire—“Even now.”
Toji leans over you, his thrusts grow heavier, each snap of his hips punctuated by a deep, guttural grunt. His voice drops to a rough, almost broken rasp—
“You know what I would’ve done if somethin’ happened to you, huh?”
You whimper, your cries muffled against the mattress, your fingers clutching uselessly at the sheets.
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
“I’d fuckin’ kill for you.”
Suguru’s chuckle is dark, his grip tightening around his cock as he echoes—
“We’d fuckin’ kill for you.”
You’re gone.
A trembling, tearful mess beneath Toji—tears streaming down your cheeks, your pussy clenching around him in desperate, rhythmic pulses as if begging for more—yet your tears say otherwise.
“Stop cryin’, baby—“ he murmurs, “Just open m’ pussy up for me. Keep feedin’ my dick.”
Your back arches impossibly further, letting him take everything he wants. Your cries soften into breathless, shuddering moans as you melt around him, your body yielding completely—
“…M’ g—gonna cum!”
Toji doesn’t pause.
With a rough grunt, his hands lock around your waist, tugging you back and forth onto his cock with effortless strength—treating you like nothing more than a toy, something to be used, something that weighs nothing to him.
"’Better do more than that," he rasps, “Give me a fuckin’ show ‘fore I fuck you ‘til you break."
Your orgasm hits you like a truck.
A high pitched squeak tears from your throat as you squirt violently around him—so hard you actually push him out, gushing slick all over his thighs and the sheets beneath you. Your face presses embarrassingly into the mattress, shoulders trembling as Suguru’s fingers dig into your curls possessively, his groan rough with approval.
“That’s my fuckin’ girl.”
Suguru’s thumb rubs slow circles into your skin, murmuring—“Good fuckin’ job, baby."
All you can do is whimper—now exhausted, fucked-out, ruined. Exactly how they wanted you.
Toji’s rough fingers grip your chin, tilting your face toward him as he murmurs in low, husky Japanese—
“Anata ni awa sete kudasai.”
Let me see you.
He studies your face—your freckled cheeks flushed deep, your wide, glossy eyes blinking up at him, lips parted in tired satisfaction. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, pressing down slightly before he shoves your face away with a gruff grunt.
“Yeah, she’s fuckin’ sorry.”
You whimper, collapsing onto your elbows as you watch them both—and god, they’re breathtaking.
Suguru’s tattooed frame gleams under the dim light as he lazily lights a cigarette between his lips before passing it to Toji. Their skin is still slick with sweat, their powerful bodies marked with ink and scars—yours, in every way that matters.
You shift onto your knees, your aching thighs trembling as your gaze flicks between them.
Your voice was soft, “…Did I do good?”
Suguru exhales a slow stream of smoke, his dark eyes raking over you before he murmurs—
“Amazin’, baby.”
Toji clicks his tongue, muttering in Japanese—
“Mata hajimatta yo, kanojo o chōshi ni nora seru yōna koto o itte.”
There you go again, hypin’ her head up.
You don’t understand the words—but you know his tone. It makes your eyes well up all over again, tears spilling as you sniffle and wipe at them pathetically—
“‘’M really sorry, Fushiguro…”
Toji watches you—his expression unreadable for a long moment before something softens in his gaze, despite the frustration still lingering there.
He grunts—
“C’mere.”
You crawl toward him on shaky limbs, your tear streaked face pressing into the hard plane of his chest as you quickly swipe at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand. Your sniffles quiet, but your breathing is still uneven—little hiccups of emotion trapped in your throat.
“Stop cryin’.”
“….You’ve never been mad at me like this before,” you whisper, voice trembling, “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
Suguru’s touch ghosts over your thigh from where he lounges beside you, his fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin—gentle, reassuring.
“I love you so goddamn much. You know that?”
You blink rapidly, fresh tears clinging to your lashes as you nod frantically, your breath hitching.
But Toji shakes his head, lips twisting into a scowl—
“Nah, gotta hear you say it.”
Your lower lip quivers, ”You… you love me…”
And then—
He kisses you.
Not soft. Not sweet.
But hard, possessive—smushing rough, impatient kisses along your jaw, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth—everywhere but your lips, as if punishing you just a little longer.
A faint giggle bubbles up from your chest, escaping through your sniffles—
And that’s when you see it.
The faintest twitch at the corner of Toji’s lips.
His rough palms cradle your face as his dark eyes lock onto yours, “Don’t put me in a situation like that again."
His thumbs swipe under your lashes, wiping away lingering tears.
“I’d lose my goddamn mind if anythin’ happened to you.”
You knew how much you meant to him, and you couldn’t argue with that.
“I love you, Toji.”
And then—
He kisses you again.
Really kisses you.
His lips move over yours like he’s memorizing the shape of them, like he needs to taste your promise. His hands slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he deepens the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, fear and love into it until your toes curl against the sheets.
When he pulls back, you giggle once more—soft, breathless, so full of love.
“So…’can we be a big happy family again?"
Toji doesn’t even look at Suguru, grunting as he flips the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness.
“Shut the fuck up. We’re all goin’ to bed."
You don’t hesitate—curling instantly into Toji’s side, your leg hooking over his hip, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck like you’ve done a thousand times before. His arm locks around your waist, dragging you tighter against him with a possessive grunt.
The room settles into silence—warm, safe, finally feeling like home. Until Suguru sighs dramatically, flipping onto his side toward you both—
“No goodnight kiss for me?"
A pause.
“Goddamn, I’m really the third wheel."
And in perfect unison—muffled, half-asleep, you both mutter—
I can’t wait this fall and see Joseph Zada pop out bc he IS tha bitch and is a great upcoming actor. A part of me wants him to stay more underground bc his fandom isn’t toxic butttt he deserves to be recognized on a larger scale.
series synopsis | you’re not looking for love, you never are. satoru gojo won’t stop tripping over himself trying to give it to you. the frat president with too much heart and the girl who swears she doesn’t have one. what starts as a mutual agreement of keeping things strictly physical becomes complicated when the one rule you had of no feelings involved becomes the one he breaks long before he’d ever learned your name. [mdni 18+]
chapters
⋆☀︎｡ prologue
⋆☀︎｡ one
⋆☀︎｡ two
⋆☀︎｡ three
⋆☀︎｡ four - coming soon
⋆☀︎｡ five - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ six - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ seven - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ eight - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ nine - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ ten - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ eleven - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ twelve - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ thirteen - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ fourteen - tbd
⋆☀︎｡ fifteen - tbd
one-shots
⋆☀︎｡ crossing the line | you're on your period and satoru realizes you don't need him anymore
⋆☀︎｡ jealousy, jealousy | satoru gojo learns that maybe he is the jealous type
smau
⋆☀︎｡ texts + posts [gojo x trouble]
credits - dividers by @/uzmacchiato - art by @/ruu_sugu
I swear it’s like my world ends yet it like a breath of fresh air every time my cycle starts. Like thank GOD I’m not pregnant but fuckkkkkkkkk I hate having a period 😭😭
