Nova

By the sixth month of your relationship, you had grown painfully quiet inside. You barely said anything, barely did anything. It felt like he had sucked the spark and life right out of you. You were constantly second-guessing yourself.

Every time you had a date with him, it felt like a chore—a heavy, anxiety-inducing task you had to get through. It wasn’t fun anymore. It made you lose sleep.

You started to doubt whether he even liked you as a person, let alone as a girlfriend.

Today was the fourth time you canceled a date on him. —The first time was because you were on your period and didn’t feel up to going out. He had grumbled, gone out to get takeout, then shoved the bag onto your chest and left without a word. —The second time, you had to babysit your cousins. —The third, you had to pick up your baby brother from a different state. —And now today, the fourth, you had a migraine.

For the past three weeks, you’d barely seen or spoken to each other. It seemed like life kept pulling you away—and honestly, you didn’t mind.

But he did.

He was already outside your house, waiting in his car when you texted him that you couldn’t come. He didn’t take it well.

Sukuna slammed his phone onto the passenger seat, got out, and slammed the car door behind him. Then he stormed up to your front door and started banging on it, hard.

You were lucky your parents weren’t home.

You flinched at the sound of his fists slamming against the wood. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten angry, but something about tonight felt worse. Maybe it was the pounding in your head, or maybe it was just the way your stomach dropped when you heard him yell your name through the door.

“Open the damn door, Y/N!” he barked.

You rushed to open it, heart racing—not because you wanted to see him, but because you didn’t want the neighbors hearing and calling your parents… or worse, the police.

His fist was mid-air when the door swung open.

He froze, standing in your doorway, chest heaving with fury. His eyes burned as they locked onto yours, and for a moment, you genuinely weren’t sure what he was going to do.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

“I don’t feel well,” you said quietly. “You should go.”

He scoffed, stepping forward. Sometimes you wondered just how big he really was—how he seemed to fill the doorway with his presence alone. Broad shoulders brushing both sides, head nearly grazing the top. It was like he was built to block the exit, to make everything feel smaller when he entered.

He walked you backward into the house and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Are you serious right now? I’ve been waiting out there for an hour—again—and you’re gonna pull this shit?”

“I said I don’t feel well,” you repeated, your voice a little steadier this time.

He laughed, that same bitter, cutting sound that made your stomach turn. “Yeah, right. Another excuse.”

You went quiet, eyes dropping to your socks. You didn’t want to look at him. You couldn’t.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he snapped. “We haven’t gone on a date in weeks. You barely text or call. Spit it out—what the fuck is your issue?”

Your fingers nervously played with the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it slightly as if that could anchor you.

Then, softly—firmly—you said it:

“Let’s break up.”

Silence.

It was immediate and deafening. He went completely still. You could feel the shift in the air, like all the heat had been sucked from the room. You swore you couldn’t even hear him breathing.

But you still didn’t look up.

You stood there, staring at the floor, heart pounding in your chest like a warning drum.

You didn't want to see the look on his face. You didn’t want to see the moment he realized you meant it.

And you did.

You really meant it.

The silence didn’t last.

It cracked.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Like the calm before a storm that you’d been caught in too many times before.

You still didn’t move. Didn’t respond.

“I said,” he growled, stepping closer, “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

You finally looked up. Just once. And what you saw made your chest tighten.

His eyes were wild—red with fury, disbelief twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable. His jaw clenched, vein ticking in his temple.

“Oh, I get it now,” he sneered, voice dripping venom. “There’s another guy, right? That’s why you’ve been so distant, so fucking weird lately.”

He stepped forward again, and you instinctively took a step back—until your back hit the wall.

He bent down slightly, crouching just enough to be level with your eyes. His face was so close, you could feel the heat of his breath, the way it shook with restrained anger.

“So tell me,” he whispered, voice low and mocking, “is that it? Is it because of some guy?”

You blinked rapidly, trying to fight off the tears burning your eyes. Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling with the effort to stay calm.

His red eyes searched yours. But this time, it wasn’t just rage in them—it was something else. He was looking at you like he was trying to memorize you. Like deep down, some part of him knew he was about to lose you for good.

“There’s no one else,” you said. “It’s just you. It’s only ever been you.”

He shook his head, his frustration growing by the second. His hands balled into fists at his sides, like he didn’t know where to put them, didn’t know what to do with the energy coiling in his chest.

“Then why?” he demanded, his voice cracking with desperation. “Why? You need to tell me. I need to know. Why?”

His breath came quicker now, but his eyes—they were wild, searching. As if you held the answers to a riddle he couldn’t solve, no matter how many times he asked.

And then, the question slipped out. The one you’d been too afraid to ask, too afraid to even let yourself think about.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, barely above a breath, “do you even like me?”

You didn’t want to ask it, but something in you had to know. Something inside you had to hear him admit it—whether he cared, whether this had ever been real, or whether it was all just a game to him.

You didn’t dare look at him directly, too scared to see the answer, whatever it was. You focused on the floor, trying to steady your breath, trying to hold yourself together.

There was a long pause.

And then, when he spoke again, it wasn’t with the anger or spite you’d grown accustomed to.

It was softer. Almost too soft.

“Of course, I fucking like you,” he muttered, though there was no confidence in it.

You shook your head, unable to believe a single word he said. “No, you don’t, Sukuna. No, you don’t. You hate me. You always say you find me annoying, and you hate this relationship. You don’t like me, let alone love me.”

The words tumbled out faster than you could stop them, like once you started, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Sukuna...” You took a shaky breath, voice breaking despite your best efforts. “I... I can’t even sleep. I don’t know how you feel about me or what we have. You’re so angry all the time. I get scared to talk to you or ask you anything...”

You almost felt like you were rambling, but the words were all that needed to be said, finally out in the open.

The truth, ugly and raw, spilled out of you like a dam breaking, everything you’d been bottling up for so long.

Sukuna stood there, staring at you with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t comprehend what you’d just said. For a moment, you could almost see the walls crashing down around him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. He was still processing, still trying to piece together the pieces of what you’d just revealed.

And then, his eyes softened—not in the way they usually did, filled with mockery or disdain—but with something far more terrifying: regret.

“I... didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” His voice was rough, hoarse, as if the words scraped against him.

“I didn’t know... I didn’t realize that it was like this for you.”

You looked up at him, your chest tight with emotion, heart pounding in your ears.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I was just—damn it, I…I do love you, Y/N. I love you so much I don't know what to do with it.”

You blinked, stunned, It felt surreal, like a dream or some twisted joke, but the look in his eyes—was undeniable.

For a second, you just stared at him, trying to piece it together. He loved you? After everything? After all the anger, the cruelty, the distance?

His eyes were searching yours desperately, as if he was afraid you wouldn’t believe him, afraid that you would push him away before he could prove it to you.

“I don’t know how to show it, okay?” he said, his voice cracking, frustration and fear bleeding through.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible now. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you feel scared or… or small.”

You swallowed hard, your heart a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. Was this just another lie? Another empty confession meant to keep you close, or was this the real thing?

Sukuna’s eyes bore into you, pleading, desperate for you to see past the anger, past the walls he’d built up over the years.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice rough. “Please don’t leave me like this. I can’t lose you. I know I fucked up, but I swear I’ll do anything to fix this”

You wanted to believe him. God, you did. But the fear still lingered. The fear that his words would fade, that the old habits would return, that the anger would drown out whatever this feeling was between you.

But... the way he was looking at you, the way he was fighting to keep you—maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something different.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly took his hand in yours. His fingers tightened around yours almost immediately, as if he were afraid you’d pull away again.

“We... we don’t need to break up, Sukuna,” you said softly, eyes still fixed on the floor. “But I need time. A break.”

You felt his body tense, his hand trembling in yours.

“A break?” he echoed, the word landing heavy between you both like a thunderclap. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I need space,” you said, more firmly now. “I need time to think. To breathe. I need to figure out if I can still be in this... if you really mean what you say.”

His jaw clenched again, but he didn’t pull away this time. His other hand ran through his hair, dragging it back with a frustrated sigh as he looked away from you.

“I don’t want space,” he muttered. “I want to fix this now.”

“But we can’t,” you said, stepping back a little, your fingers slipping from his hand. “Not all at once. You can’t just say the right words and expect it all to go back to normal. I’ve been walking on eggshells for months, Sukuna. I’m tired. I need to feel like I matter to you—not just when you’re scared I’ll leave.”

Silence settled like fog between you. He didn’t argue. He didn’t yell. He just stood there, staring at you with an expression you’d rarely seen on him—something close to remorse. Maybe even understanding.

“I’ll wait,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “I don’t know how, and I’ll probably mess it up, but... I’ll wait. Just don’t disappear on me.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I won’t.”

---//-----//-----//

“You're going to kill him! The fight is over!”

The one in charge of financial bets grabbed Sukuna by the shoulders to separate him from the poor man with the bloody face who was barely standing. Sukuna huffed, letting him do it. The victim coughed up blood, and Sukuna smirked under his balaclava.

“You made thousands of dollars last night, Ryomen. You're truly the best,” the manager rubbed Sukuna's back appreciatively. Sukuna's eyes narrowed.

“Don't touch me unless you want me to make you as messed up as him.”

His interlocutor winced at his cold voice and moved away from Sukuna. The ruthless fighter left the ring without a glance at his fans who reached out to touch him. Sukuna was a celebrity in every area of ​​his life: in the world of Formula 1 and in the world of underground fighting. He was used to being adored, and that was what he craved.

When we didn't receive love from your parents, we became addicted to external validation. Sukuna learned very quickly that if he was going to be noticed by his parents, who were too busy taking care of his twin brother Yuji, he had to be the problematic and troublemaking brother. He embodied his role perfectly, and even at 27, he constantly had this need to prove to others that he existed.

He changed in the locker room and put on a black shirt. When he left the secret facility where clandestine fights took place, he was greeted by the light New York breeze, characteristic of January. He put on his helmet and climbed into his luxury vehicle. He drove down the road for several minutes, replaying the scene from earlier where he beat the shit out of his victim. A bulge formed in his pants and a wave of desire took hold of him. He stopped at a gas station, too excited.

Not caring about being in public, he took off his helmet and unbuttoned his jeans, still on his motorcycle. His hand palmed his erection through his boxers and let out a soft sigh as he visualized his opponent's frightened face with tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, Sukuna's breathing increasing as the images became more and more vivid. He freed his hard length of the fabric, and his thumb rubbed the slit, his digit pressing against his silver piercing. He smeared the precum onto the metal ball, and shuddered as the wind cooled him.

He leaned and spat on his dick, and with his palms, he massaged it up and down. He closed his eyes and imagined a pretty girl with a tearful face, sobbing pleas. Automatically, you materialized in his mind, and he squeezed his cock so hard it hurt.

He hated it when you crossed his mind. Despite the many years that had separated you, he felt like he was still that teenager pathetically in love with you. Except that wasn't the case. He wanted your downfall more than anything, to get revenge for the years of suffering he experienced in prison because of you.

It didn't matter that he deserved your revenge since he broke your heart; you were a traitor. And he despised people like you. One day, he would make you pay.

A noise next to him made him open his eyes, and an elderly woman was looking at him wide-eyed, her gaze fixed on what he had in his hands. Sukuna didn't care. He continued to run his hand along his length, maintaining her gaze. He hoped she was uncomfortable, and bonus points if she felt violated and hurled insults at him. The woman blushed and cleared her throat. She lowered her head to refuel her car. Sukuna rolled his eyes. Boring. He lost all his excitement. He got dressed and took control of his vehicle to return home under the moonlight.

────────

Instead of going straight to his fiancée's apartment, Sukuna entered the basement of the building where he had a private shooting range. He grabbed a gun and positioned himself to fire. Focused and expert, Sukuna never missed the center of his target. Having fallen in love with karting around the age of 6, it wasn't until he was 12 that he developed a passion for weapons. It started with collecting daggers he found beautiful, until Uraume, his best friend, got him to play Call of Duty, and he discovered more powerful weapons. In another universe, Sukuna wasn't an F1 driver but a sniper.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Yorozu's soft voice echoed behind him as he stared at his target, his left hand supporting his left wrist while his arm was raised. Sukuna didn't turn to look at her.

“I already told you not to call me that.”

“You’ll have to get used to it, we’re getting married at the end of the next F1 season.”

“I don’t even see you as human, stop acting so dumb and trying to romanticize our bond. You’re a tool for me,” he chided, and lowered his arms to put away his gun. He turned to his future wife, looked displeased, his features sharpening. Yorozu’s long black hair cascaded down her back, her light-colored eyes shone with a glint of desire as she wore a red lace nightie. The shade of red looked more vivid against her fair skin. Sukuna looked away, his fists clenched.

“You’re not my type, don’t try to seduce me. Just play your part.” Sukuna walked past her without a glance and slammed the door behind him.

Once in his luxurious, minimalist apartment (he didn't spend much time there with his F1 races), he took a shower and wrapped himself in the blankets of his king-size bed. A notification flashed on his phone screen, and his heart tightened when he saw that it was his twin, Yuji, sending him a photo from a show he had participated in.

Being autistic, Yuji's special interest was the piano. He was non-verbal, and therefore communicated his feelings through music. Sukuna had learned the piano out of jealousy, hoping his parents would compliment him as they did with Yuji, but it was as if Sukuna was invisible. All that mattered to the family was supporting Yuji and creating a safe place for his autism. Sukuna belonged in the trash.

He liked the image and replied with a short message. Sukuna knew it wasn't his brother's fault if he was neglected, but he still felt jealousy and resentment every time he interacted with his brother. But he loved him too much to cut ties, so he tolerated his mixed feelings toward him.

Sleep took over him, and he began to doze, his head on his pillow. Some time later, he felt hands caressing his back, his stomach, and a breath on the back of his neck. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and fear gripped him. Still lost between the world of dreams and reality, he thought it was his mother who had sneaked into his bed again to rape him at night. With a swift movement, Sukuna sat up, grabbed the person by the throat, and pinned them against the bed. His eyes fluttered open, his breathing rapid.

“You fucking whore.” He tightened his grip, a shadow passing over his gaze. “Do I have to kill you to get you to leave me alone?”

Yorozu's eyes were wide, her hands on Sukuna's wrists to stop him from choking her. “Kuna’, we've lived together for years and we haven't made love once.”

Sukuna winced at ‘kuna’, you were the one who called him that when he was little. But hearing the rest of the sentence, he snickered, the rough sound rumbled in his chest. "Make love to you? Who do you think I am, you fool? I don't make love."

Yorozu's breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing. “Fuck me, then.”

“You wish. I wouldn't even fuck you on our honeymoon.”

Yorozu's face paled. “Why not?”

“Because all that shit is an arranged marriage. Nothing forces me to touch you. You didn't write 'sex' in your conditions.”

“Because it goes without saying!” she protested, her voice indignant.

“Buy yourself a dildo and leave me alone.”

Sukuna released her throat and stormed out of the bedroom. The only women who had ever touched him were you and his mother; he loathed women. If he didn't care about his F1 career, he would kill Yorozu right away. Maybe he should see a therapist for his fear of intimacy, but he didn't particularly want to heal. Sukuna loved how ruthless, violent, and selfish he was right now. It protected him from the thing that destroyed his life: love.

────────

You were the most beautiful woman Sukuna had ever laid eyes on. Yorozu was nothing compared to you.

Wearing a thick belt to serve as a bra, a long denim skirt, and black mules heels, you walked the runway with elegance and confidence, each step demonstrating your expertise in modeling. Your smooth brown skin glowed and your makeup was light; you didn't wear much artifice to highlight your naturally bewitching beauty. Your short hair was defined into beautiful coils, the dramatic baby hair on your forehead were decorated with white pearls in the bends. 

With narrowed eyes, Sukuna only paid attention to the show when you were there. He had been invited to New York Fashion Week this year, and it was the first time he'd seen you in real life since he broke your heart when you were 18.

He was used to seeing you on television, in magazines; you were one of the most popular models of your generation. But it was nothing to see you face to face. You were famous for your voluptuous body, which defied the standards of a model. Many people said you made it big in the modeling world thanks to your mother, who was a '90s supermodel. But Sukuna knew you'd worked hard to get there; he was there during your sessions learning how to walk and pose for runway shows as a teenager. You were both icons—you, the iconic plus-size model, and your mother, one of the most respected black models in the fashion world.

Everyone's faces were filled with wonder as you walked near the audience, while Sukuna glared at you. The people around him looked uncomfortable next to him, because Sukuna had a terrifying reputation. Having spent five years in prison for manslaughter, rumors spread that it was his money that saved him, that he had killed the victims in cold blood. 

Only he knew. Only he knew you were with him when he killed those people. Only he knew you laughed when he set fire to that abandoned house in the forest. Only he knew you were merciless, vicious like him. Only he knew you were a manipulative girl hiding behind a baddie persona. You weren't the bold, confident girl you showed the world. A monster. Like him. That's why he was so obsessed with you when he was younger.

His damaged soul found solace in yours.

One day, Sukuna would shatter your heart. When Sukuna hated someone, he wanted to kill them, beat the shit out of that person until they were disfigured. But he couldn't do that to you. That pretty little face of yours was worth millions; Sukuna wouldn't ruin your career, right?

No, Sukuna had other plans. When the time was right, he would unleash his revenge. He would break you the way you broke him. Make you taste the miserable life he experienced in prison. He'll fucking own your body and soul, and you won't be able to escape him, reducing you to a little thing begging to be spared.

Being married to Yorozu wasn't going to stop him from doing what he'd wanted to do for years. He will find a way. He had to.

────────

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Dim red and blue lights danced across your body as you swayed against strangers with a cocktail in hand. It was the fashion week afterparty, and you were surrounded by nothing but celebrities and models. You're the one by KAYTRANADA was playing in the bar, the song filling the room with a good vibe. Everything was going well until your eyes fell on the ghost of your heart in the middle of the dance floor.

Hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, Sukuna stood straight, his expression cold and distant. 6 feet 6 tall, with thick eyebrows and the right slit, a multitude of ear piercings, tattoos that stretched all the way down his neck, and massive muscles that made him imposing, Sukuna was the kind of man you always noticed when you walked into a room. His slightly wavy pink hair fell over his forehead, and framed his angular face. He wore a white, short-sleeved shirt and a burgundy tie that was mostly undone. A classy, casual look.

You frowned, not liking how flawless he looked. It would have been quicker to move on from him if he were as ugly as a louse. Rolling your hips, you approached him and took advantage of his vague gaze to bump into him. The contents of your glass spilled all over him, staining his clothes. You placed your hand over your mouth in mock surprise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Sukuna looked up and his face hardened. 

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

He had a way of saying your name, saying the syllables slowly, as if each one counted. Your stomach twisted at how your name rolled on his tongue. 

“Ryomen,” you smirked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. The last time I saw you was…” You pretended to think with your index finger on your chin. “Oh,” Your eyes lit up with a cruel glint. “It was when I sent you to jail. So, how was it?”

His handsome face looked terrifying. His features sharpened and his red eyes darkened. 

“You want to show you how it was?”

With a swift movement, Sukuna grabbed a handful of your hair, ruining the defined curls and pulling you closer to him. Your body bumped against his muscular chest. You tried to back away, but his grip was so strong it hurt. He lowered his head to your ear.

“You’re fucking lucky you live in California, I would have ended your life a long time ago.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and your smile faded. It was Sukuna’s turn to smile, his lips curled into a menacing grin.

“What is it, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚? I thought you were pretty confident. Where did your arrogance go?” His deep voice next to you made it hard to concentrate, and you glared at him.

“Let go of me, you son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, you’re right, my mother is a bitch. But so is yours, right? That’s why we loved each other before, remember?” His breath brushed your face, and your stomach churned at his threatening look. You swear that he was like a demon. “Don’t you get nostalgic for when we were teenagers sometimes?”

“You mean when you cheated on me to go with Yorozu, you bastard?” Your gaze was full of venom.

“I’m not a traitor like you, I never cheated on you. However,” he let out a low chuckle, “I admit it makes me happy to know that your childhood memories are tarnished by me. It even makes me hard, actually.” He pressed his erection against you and you placed your hands on his shoulders to push him away but he yanked you against him. “Women like you don’t know how to behave, you want me to teach you how to be a good girl? Maybe with that you’ll stop fucking all your model male colleagues.”

“You’re so obsessed with me that you keep up with my relationship news?” you asked in disgust, feeling his dick against your belly. “A killer and now a sexual harasser. Your situation doesn’t seem to be improving with time.”

“Oh baby, I always been a sexual abuser, have you forgotten what we used to do? All the kinks I created for you? I corrupted you.”

A shadow passed across your face. You didn’t want to think about all the twisted sexual things you did with him. You were two young and traumatized teens, so your sex life was doomed from the start. 

“Let go of me.”

“Tell Satoru that he will admire me from second place next season,” Sukuna let go of your hair and turned around without saying anything else.

You huffed. “You wish! My brother will beat you this year!”

He walked away, ignoring you, and you gave him the finger in the back.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟎 - 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

For as long as you could remember, Sukuna had always been an asshole.

You met him at Merklay Park, near Beverly Hills, California. It was some time after your mother divorced your father and married Satoru's father, when you were 13. You used to design your clothes outside, inspired by the nature around you.

He was fighting with a younger boy he'd extorted. Ruthless. Violent. Barbaric. There was something sinister about seeing a pre-teen capable of such brutality, and the worst part was that he smirked while he beat his victim.

A normal person would have looked away or called the police. But you weren't a normal girl. You were an artist who aspired to be a fashion designer. So when people expressed intense emotions, it inspired you. In fact, you found him handsome. There was something poetic about the way he unleashed himself on the boy, something raw.

Caught up in it, every time you came to the park and saw him fighting, you hid behind a tree to watch him. Your heart always pounded, and you were still too young to understand why you got tingles down here as soon as your eyes landed on him.

He still had that effect on you, even after he'd broken your heart.

Sitting in the Ferrari team's conference room in the Italian capital, you shifted uncomfortably in your seat as Sukuna's gaze pierced you. Sukuna was the frightening definition of darkness. He wasn't an F1 driver who was adored for his good looks; most of his fans were intimidated by him. Rumors of his murders were still rife even four years after he was released from prison.

Early in his career, people said Sukuna had gotten into Formula 1 on the money and didn't deserve his place, but the second he became a driver at 23, he won every championship. There was no denying his talent.

“Why ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ is here?” Sukuna's deep, cold voice echoed through the room.

“My sister is going to follow me for the entire F1 season,” Satoru stated, adjusting his tie. “She wants to cheer me on since you ruined my last race last year.” He glanced at you and gave you a smile, which you didn't return because you were tense.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed on you, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a wicked smile. “You can't be that dumb and want to be close to me after what you did.”

Your face hardened, and you knitted your eyebrows.

“I'm doing what I want with my life, and I'm not afraid of you, Ryomen.”

The Ferrari team principal took a sip from his glass of water, watching you silently. Satoru grew impatient.

“Can we know why you invited us here? You know very well that Sukuna and I have been rivals for years. He stole first place from me.”

A dark chuckle escaped Sukuna's lips.

“Did I steal first place, or did it not belong to you?”

“You know perfectly well that you deliberately made contact with my car.” Satoru’s face twisted into a frown. “You never respect the rules.”

“The FIA ​​didn’t find any violations. Maybe you have trouble admitting that you’re no match for me.”

“That’s enough,” the director sighed. “The reason I brought you here, Satoru Gojo, is because Mercedes wants to make a transfer. They want to choose a rookie for their team and get rid of you because you’ve always finished second for the past four years. We agreed to remove Mahito from the team to accommodate you. You’ll be Mr. Ryomen’s teammate for the coming seasons.”

Your lips parted, your eyes wide. “But they hate each other!”

The old man shook his head.

“They're the best in Formula 1. We'll easily win the constructors' championship with you two.”

“Actually, that's a good idea,” Satoru grinned, and you turned to him, surprise flashing across your face.

“What are you talking about, 'toru? Sukuna is a bastard who made you miss out on last year's championship. How are you going to get along with him?”

“Exactly. Being on his team will make me improve more. And don't forget that I'm better. It's even more gratifying to crush him by being his teammate.”

“You're not going to crush anyone, dickhead,” Sukuna snickered. “All F1 drivers are below me, you're all my sons.”

“Okay, Nicki Minaj,” Satoru rolled his eyes. “Sorry to exist in your world.”

“But that's not all I wanted to say,” the director began. “Since you're the most popular drivers, everyone's going to be curious about how you'll compete together. So the marketing director decided we're going to do a tv show during the season.”

“I'm not here to do reality tv,” Sukuna scowled.

“It's so cool!” Satoru beamed, always loving to be the center of attention.

Sukuna glared at Satoru.

“You're a fucking child. I can't believe I have to work with a fool like you.”

“A child, yes, but the fool always ends up in pole position.”

“That's a bare minimum as a driver, idiot,” Sukuna muttered.

You fidgeted your hands, anxiety running through your body. You had agreed to follow Satoru during his Formula One season, to cheer him on after his defeat last year against Sukuna, but you hadn't anticipated him leaving Mercedes for Ferrari, and thus becoming your worst enemy's teammate.

The director gave more information about the program's schedule and what the big changes would be for Satoru. You weren't listening anymore and were lost in painful memories that dated back several years.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 - 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Why do you always cut yourself?” you asked, curiously looking at the still-red wounds on Sukuna's arm. Curled up against his chest as he lay on the grass in Merklay Park, he caressed your back with lazy movements. The sun beat down on you, the typical California heat, but you were too comfortable together to care.

You were Sukuna's best friend, of course you were going to ask him this kind of question one day. His cold expression betrayed no emotion, but he let out a soft sigh.

“To better cope with what I feel.”

“And what do you feel?” You cocked your head to one side. His eyes locked with yours, as your breath caressed his face.

“Despair.”

You played with the wavy locks that fell over his forehead. “I feel despair too.”

“Because of your mother?”

Your face darkened. “This bitch doesn't deserve my emotions. She's just a whore who can't keep her legs closed.”

Sukuna smirked.

“What you're saying is misogynistic, you know?”

“She's the one setting feminism back years by constantly getting remarried. It's like she can't be alone, it's pathetic.”

At 16, you were mature and noticed that your mother had psychological problems. She was a compulsive liar, a manipulator, and a cheater. She was awful to you, constantly putting you down because she saw you as a rival. You thanked her though for remarrying into the Gojo family because that way you met Sukuna and Satoru.

“Do you prefer your father or your mother?”

“Kuna’, my father is basically absent in my life.”

“I know,” Sukuna’s face softened. “But you always criticize your mother and never your father.”

“You do the same thing. You always complain that your father ignores and neglects you while your mother rapes you.”

“Because my mother acts as if I exist, so I guess I resent her less for violating me.”

“You exist, but at what cost? What's the point of her paying attention to you if it's to steal your innocence?”

“I'm seventeen, baby. My innocence is long gone. You still think of me as a fragile boy, even though you helped me burn down a house a few weeks ago. We killed people together.”

You chuckled, your eyes lit up with a playful glow.

“That was so much fun. We should kill people more often.”

Sukuna burst into a laugh, hugged you even tighter, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Something is wrong with your head, baby.”

“That's why you love me so much.”

“Right, I love you so much.”

When you looked up and met Sukuna's piercing eyes, devoid of the warmth he used to have when you were teenagers, your heart sank. How could a boy who had been your safe place for years become your enemy, toward whom you harbored boundless hatred? You were troubled teenagers, wounded by life, with no one to understand you, and when you met, it was as if the shattered pieces of your hearts had come back together to form one.

You thought your story was over, but it all started again. For many months, you were going to live with the man you hated. You should be scared. You knew Sukuna. He was everything a human shouldn't be. Merciless. Brutal. Cruel. But it wasn't fear that gripped you when his eyes lit up and he gave you the most sinister smile you've ever seen.

It was excitement.

────────

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟏 - 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐡𝐢𝐫, 𝐛𝐚𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You were the stupidest woman Sukuna had ever met in his life.

You knew he hated you, knew he was dangerous, that taking another's life didn't affect him, that he was an arsonist who hid his crimes behind his pyromania, that he was completely crazy. Yet, you agreed to be near him for the entire season. A normal person should have escaped and fled when they learned of the transfer. No, you had given him back his grin in the conference room. Sometimes, Sukuna forgot that you came from the same realm of darkness.

While you were with your brother doing race simulations, Sukuna placed cameras in your hotel room. His family was wealthy and owned a luxury perfume company, Rose Noire, so he had the means to do whatever he wanted. Asking for your keys by sliding bills across the counter was easy for him.

His revenge had just begun. He was going to break you, make you cry until you begged him to leave you alone. Make you his in the most twisted way, fucking you until you're sorry to even exist.

────────

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

'I will make you so terrified that you will pray everyday that I leave you alone.'

You were reading your usual dark romance books—the kind of problematic, unhealthy bookq that allowed you to escape and experience your worst fantasies—when you received this message from an unknown number. You chuckled and ignored it. It was probably a joke. Immersed once again in your protagonist's story, you sighed when you received a second message.

'˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. 26 years old. Gojo Satoru's half-sister. On bad terms with your mother because your last boyfriend cheated on you with her. Want to have a fashion brand but is afraid of not living up to her famous mother. Enjoy CNC.”

Your whole body froze, a sense of dread taking hold of you. 

'Who are you?' you answered him with trembling hands.

'You don't need to know me. Just do what I want.'

'What do you want?'

'Destroy you.'

You swallowed with difficulty. Your heart raced, your whole body still. Your intuition told you this wasn't a joke; this person couldn't randomly reveal such private information.

'You want money?'

'You think money will fix what you've done, you fucking bitch?'

'I don't understand what's going on.'

'I know, you've always been dumb.’

Always been? It was someone you knew. It was even more terrifying.

‘You don't want to tell me who you are?’

The stranger stopped responding, but your heart was still racing. You took deep breaths to calm your anxiety and went back to reading your books.

'How are you?'

A notification flashed on your phone; it was Nanami. He was a driver at McLaren, and you had met him during the press conference on Saturday, before qualifying. A handsome man, you naturally gave him your number. You were always looking for your perfect man to spend the rest of your life with, so you multiplied your partners.

'I'm waiting for the race to start so I can go to the VIP area.'

‘You’re going to encourage me?’

You grinned.

'I'm here for my brother, Nanami. But I'll throw champagne at you if you're on the podium.'

The stranger sent you another message.

'What's making you smile?’

Your smile faded. You studied your surroundings, looking for cameras.

'Stop talking to Nanami.'

Your eyebrows furrowed. How did he know you were talking to that man?

'I do what I want.'

'You think I'm playing with you?' I will end the life of any man who touches you.’

‘I don’t know how you got that information about me, but I’m not going to be intimidated by a stranger.’

‘Dumb bitch ‘til the end, I guess.’

A door knock sounded in the room, and Satoru entered your room. He shot you a goofy smile.

“It’s race time. Ready to scream my name for two hours?”

“That’s extremely weird put like that, ‘toru,” you chuckled and put your phone away. You didn’t want to worry your brother with your new stalker; it would distract him from Formula 1.

“Sukuna qualified first and I qualified second on the grid as usual,” he grumbled.

“That just means you only have one person to pass, look on the bright side!” You got up from the bed to pat him on the shoulder.

Satoru was your safe place. You'd never had a real family before your mother remarried, and you were grateful to have met him.

Even though he'd been a huge obstacle in your relationship with Sukuna when you were teenagers, you loved him more than anything. The Ryomen and Gojo both lived in Merklay, a town generally inhabited by millionaires, near Beverly Hills. The two families harbored endless hatred for each other because they both had the same background: they were Japanese who had settled in California and owned a luxury perfume company. They were competitors in America, and they'd warned you not to get attached to a Ryomen.

It was too late the day they told you that. You were already seeing Sukuna secretly, meeting up at Merklay's central park.

“Father is here,” Satoru scratched the back of his head, and your voice softened.

“Are you nervous?”

“I'm just tired of disappointing him every day.”

Satoru's mother was the CEO of the luxury brand; Satoru's father was a successful former F1 driver and eight-time world champion. Satoru had always grown up in his father's shadow.

“You know he's proud of you, no matter where you finish.” You hugged him. He leaned into your touch. “You're the one who puts this pressure on yourself to be as good as him.”

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, they call me Cursed Toru because I always finish second.”

“You've already been world champion twice, you forget that quickly.”

“That was before that asshole Sukuna got into Formula 1. I don't know how he managed it when my dad did everything he could to avoid it. It's probably thanks to Yorozu.”

Your eyes narrowed. Yorozu was a girl who lived in the same neighborhood as you and Sukuna, and she was a childhood friend of Sukuna's (if he was capable of having friends). You had never been able to be friends because she was extremely jealous of your relationship with Sukuna. Your relationship worsened when Sukuna cheated on you with her. At least, that was your version. You hadn't forgotten how he claimed he'd never cheated on you. Maybe that idiot had a short memory. Or you didn't know something.

“Her family works for the FIA?”

“Yeah, her father is one of the assistant managers, and her uncle is the principal of the Red Bull team.”

Oh.

“Imagine if their relationship is fake and he got together with her because he knew your father would keep him out?” you mumbled, realizing it was very likely since Sukuna treated Yorozu like a pain in the ass in high school.

Satoru shrugged. “That manipulator would be capable.”

A hollow ache pierced your chest. If that were really the case, why did Sukuna have to break your heart and abandon you? Sukuna had never been anyone's first choice. His family only cared about his autistic brother. A glass child. The healthy child neglected while the rest of the family only paid attention to the one who was sick or disabled. That's why no one had ever noticed he'd been a victim of incest.

Sometimes, when you thought about his life, you wanted to cry. He was successful now, but he'd suffered so much. He was incredibly strong and resilient. But deeply damaged. That's why you'd loved him so much. Looking at Sukuna was like looking into a mirror. You had the same wounds and you knew how to heal them for each other.

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, are you coming or not?”

You shook your head. “Yes, sorry.”

────────

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

His gloved hands gripped the steering wheel as he slowed to take the turn. The landscape around him was a blur due to the speed he was driving. He couldn't wait for the race to be over because the red Ferrari suit was making him hot.

“There's no one near you, you can go full speed,” the race engineer told him over the radio. “You really are the best, Ryo.” Sukuna smirked. He recognized the voice; it was Kenjaku. He'd been around since Sukuna started in F1; he would have called him 'friend' if he weren't so heartless.

He pressed the accelerator and enjoyed the adrenaline rush this action gave him. The car sped along the straight, before reaching a second turn. The soft tires squealed on the asphalt as he boldly took the turn. The Sakhir circuit was a succession of straights and slow corners, lacking the sweeping curves that made Formula 1 so spectacular.

“Easy,” Sukuna chuckled, recording yet another lap.

“Satoru and Nanami are behind you.”

The sweet sound of the engines roaring filled his ears, his favorite music. His car sped like a red lightning bolt, zipping around the track with ease and confidence, even as Satoru's car closed in on him. Sukuna gave him the finger and used his maximum speed to pull away.

He crossed the finish line and ended the race with a yawn. Too easy. He let the mechanics take care of his car as he took off his gloves. Journalists rushed towards him, but Sukuna pretended they didn't exist.

He took off his helmet, and fangirls shouted his name with signs featuring his face in close-up. His lips quirked up, amused. Did these stupid women know he was a psycho?

Nightcrawler by Travis Scott was playing during the trophy ceremony as Sukuna, Satoru, and Nanami took the top three spots. Your brother wore a tense expression and glared at Sukuna.

“Cursed Toru always confirms his curse,” Sukuna sneered.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Satoru gritted his teeth. “It's only the first race.”

“And your first loss of the season. Congratulations.”

The tradition of splashing champagne brightened Satoru's mood, and Sukuna slipped away to the VIP floor reserved for his family.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his mother greeted him in a soft voice. Her long pink hair cascaded down her back as her body was wrapped in a fur coat.

“Kill yourself,” he muttered, walking past her without a glance.

His father was sitting on the couch reading a newspaper. He didn't look up, just gave him a thumbs-up. Sukuna's jaw tensed. Of course. Everyone didn't care about his victory except his brother.

A gentle look passed across his face when he saw his brother watching ASMR videos of soap cutting. It had always calmed him.

“Sup.”

Sukuna ruffled his twin's hair without hugging him because Yuji hated being touched. His brother lifted his head and offer him a smile that reached his eyes. Since Yuji was non-verbal autistic, Sukuna had learned to speak sign language to communicate with him.

Yuji would raise his hands and say 'congratulations'.

“Thank you, but you should be used to having a talented brother.”

A chuckle slipped out of Yuji's mouth. 'Of course, you are really THAT man,' he communicated silently.

Sukuna nudged his shoulder. 'The pride of the Ryomen.'

“I'm proud of you too,” his mother joined in. Sukuna's eyes darkened.

“What don't you understand about 'kill yourself'?”

“Talk to your mother better,” his father interjected.

“I talk how I want to whomever I want, and you won't do anything,” Sukuna raised his voice.

“Don't shout, Yuji doesn’t like noise.”

“As if Yuji is the center of the world!” Sukuna clenched his fists.

An uncomfortable silence fell in the room and Sukuna stormed out, slamming the door. Breathing rapidly, he ran to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he vomited. He'd met his mother's gaze for a few moments; it had disgusted him.

He wiped his mouth with toilet paper before going out and bumping into you.

“What the fuck are you doing in the men's room?” Sukuna asked, his voice cold.

“Why are you throwing up like you're sick? You should be in a good mood, your lame ass stole my brother's victory again,” you jabbed, your chin held high.

“The lame ass is your brother, dumbass.”

You washed your hands, ignoring him, and Sukuna's eyes fell on your ass and thick thighs, molded into your slim jeans. He licked his lower lips, his eyes predatory.

“Nice ass.”

“Kill yourself.”

“That's exactly what I told my mom earlier. She didn't listen.”

Your face softened. “You saw… your mother? Are you okay?”

“Don't be so stupid to worry about me. I'd kill you if I could.”

“I'm not an idiot. I just have empathy for anyone, no matter what's been done to me. Which you clearly lack.”

“Empathy is a weakness. I'm not interested in other people's suffering. But I am in yours, if I caused it.”

Your eyes shot daggers at him. “You're an awful human being.”

“You loved me before.” Sukuna left the room without looking at you.

────────

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟐 - 𝐣𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐡, 𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢 𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The crew filming the show arrived during the second week when you arrived in Saudi Arabia. They were there mainly for Sukuna and Satoru, but they occasionally interviewed you. Satoru was in his element; he had an outgoing and cheerful personality and loved being filmed. Sukuna, on the other hand, wasn't. He ignored most of the questions and often slipped away to escape the cameras.

'I know you're still talking to Nanami.'

You were taking off your clothes in the hotel locker room, getting ready to go to the private pool when you received a message from your stalker. You rolled your eyes.

'I already told you I'll do what I want.'

'I think you don't quite understand your position in our relationship. I'm a predator and you're my prey.'

'Stop this corny ass shit.'

'You really want to provoke me? I wanted to start slowly with you.'

You ignored his message and put on your swimsuit. The pool was empty because it was 10 p.m. You dove into the water and made a few strokes before letting yourself lie on your back, arms outstretched from your sides. With your eyes closed, you jumped when you heard the lights go out, the area illuminated only by the underwater lights.

“Is anyone there?”

Your heart raced, and you approached the edge of the pool, inspecting your surroundings. You hadn't heard the door open, which meant the person had been there since you'd been undressing in the locker room. It sent a chill down your spine.

You waited a few minutes, your senses alert, before starting to swim again, thinking it was a technical problem. You turned in the water and hummed music, moving quickly and easily around the pool. You stopped looking around, busy thinking about what you were going to do tomorrow and playing in the water. When you reached the edge and turned around, facing the exit, your heart gripped with dread.

You screamed when you saw an imposing man leaning against the doorway. He was so tall that his head touched the top, and he was impossible to identify because he wore a ghost face mask. Dressed entirely in black, he took a few slow steps toward the pool. Petrified, you were unable to move, your eyes wide with fear.

He circled the pool to get to you, each step accentuating the pounding of your heart in your ribcage. Every cell of your being vibrated with terror.

“You’ve been a bad girl lately, am I right? You think you’re in control here?”

His voice was vaguely familiar, but deeper than what you were used to hearing. You swallowed with difficulty. He knelt beside you and raised a large, tattooed hand to caress your cheeks with his rough knuckles. You stood frozen, your whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Your stalker slapped your face violently, making you spin your head and let out a gasp. He grabbed a handful of your hair to pull you back close to him. His grip was so firm that you moaned in pain.

“Next time you don’t act like a good prey, I’ll rape you. Do you understand?”

You gave him a shy nod, sweat trickled down your brow.

“But today, I’m going to give you a little punishment. Call that an appetizer, baby.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he plunged your head into the water. You struggled, clawing at his wrist until it bled to let you breathe. You held your breath with difficulty. A sense of dread, slow and cruel, crept your spine, making every second feel like an eternity. When you began to stop moving, death arriving, and he let go of your hair.

You coughed, taking deep breaths, your body panicking from the near-drowning you had experienced. By the time you had finally regained your normal breathing, your stalker had disappeared.

────────

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Sukuna was only 18 when he entered prison. He was used to fighting with people younger than him, but for the first time in his life, he was confronted by someone older, bigger than him.

The first week had been the hardest. His roommate had tried to rape him in his sleep. An old man with a beer belly, he had rubbed himself against him before trying to undress him.

“Ryomen…”

He had been paralyzed, because he immediately understood what was happening. Except it wasn't his mother who was slim, it was a man much larger than him. He let himself be touched; the man ran his hand over his stomach and kissed his neck. Sukuna fought not to vomit. It was when his hand slipped into his jeans that he strangled him, like a reflex.

He'd been forced into solitary confinement even though he'd explained what the man had tried to do. The prison staff didn't care about that. He posed a threat to other inmates, and he already had aggravating circumstances.

In an isolated cell for two weeks, he'd spiraled. Being alone with his thoughts for more than 24 hours, without seeing sunlight, with nothing to do but sit and pace in the small room, it drove people crazy.

Sukuna still had these kinds of nightmares. He relived the moments when he was locked up, alone, a scared young adult, cursing the only girl he'd ever loved for doing this to him.

Sukuna woke up with a knot in his stomach. A hollow ache in his chest made it hard to breathe properly. He hated it when he had these kinds of cursed dreams. He'd rather relive his rapes than be locked in a room and spiral.

Dressed only in his gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, he put on his sneakers and left the hotel. The hotel had a garden, and Sukuna began to walk around it, hands in his pockets.

“Are you a nudist?”

He turned his head where the voice came from and narrowed his eyes on you. Dressed in your mini pajama shorts and tank top, you had deep dark circles under your eyes.

“Don’t disturb me, I’m not in a good mood.”

“I almost died a few hours ago. A little traumatized, but you must be happy, right? Someone is granting your wish.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Tell me more.”

“I think they'll really kill me if I tell anyone.”

You already understood the implication of not telling anyone; Sukuna was doing his job well. Judging by your dark circles, you were already starting to get scared, and that was all Sukuna wanted. To make your life miserable like his had been in prison.

“Are you still cutting yourself?” you whispered, looking at the red marks on his wrist.

He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, taken aback. He hid his hands behind his back. If you looked too closely, you'd realize they were your scratches.

“None of your business.”

“I hope you see a therapist one day.”

Sukuna's face twisted into a scowl. “I would have been much better off if you hadn't sent me to prison. This is all your fault.”

“You talk as if you didn't actually commit these murders, Ryomen.”

“It doesn't matter, we promised each other we wouldn't tell anyone.”

“I would have kept my promise if you hadn't stood me up for our date and then I saw you in Yorozu's arms the next day, and you ignored me.”

Sukuna looked away, silent. In his contract with Yorozu, he was forbidden from explaining to you that his relationship with her was fake. Yorozu wanted everyone to think he was hers. It irritated Sukuna, but he had no choice if he wanted to secure his place in Formula 1. You folded your arms and gave him a glare at his silence.

“Are you ever going to explain?”

“You don’t deserve my time.” Sukuna stared at the flowerpots, avoiding your furious gaze.

“You're mad at me for sending you to prison, but what was I supposed to do? I was in love with you, Sukuna. So madly in love. I would have done anything for you. If you suffered in prison, how do you think I suffered when I waited for you at the restaurant and you never came? You think I didn't cry when you ate next to Yorozu the next day at school even though you knew she hated me? You think I was happy when I saw you blocked me everywhere without saying anything?” Your eyes stung, and your voice was hoarse. “I'm sorry you suffered in prison. I can't imagine what it's like to be locked up with strangers for five years, but you should have thought before breaking my heart. I'm not an idiot who lets people walk all over me easily.”

That's exactly why he loved you for so many years. Oh god, he loved you so much.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The love he felt for you was like a tsunami he was unable to control, overwhelming him in moments when he didn't want to be a slave to his heart. Then he remembered. The attempted rapes by his roommates. The solitary confinement cells. The indifference of the prison staff. The long training sessions outside to become stronger and defend himself better. The many times his life would have turned into a life of crime because of offers to work for a gang. His revenge, which he had planned long in advance. He remembered the hell of the facility, and he opened his mouth, his voice harsh.

“So for a few minutes of heartbreak, I have to suffer all my life? Do you think this kind of wound can be healed?” He approached you dangerously, a threatening look on his face. You backed away from the hotel wall. “You managed to move on while I'm affected every day.”

“Who told you I moved on?” you murmured. “You think I can move on from the love of my life? You think I don't think about you when I'm with other men?”

“You're talking nonsense, are you drunk?”

“I drank a few cocktails. I was anxious.”

“Dumbass.” Sukuna sighed. “There's no love between us anymore. I was never the love of your life. Stop saying stupid shit like this.”

“She'll never be me, you know that, right?” Tears of rage prickled at the corners of your eyes. “Understanding, acceptance, being seen for who you truly are without judgment, all of that, only I can give you that. She isn't even the half of me. You're miserable because you're making the wrong choices. You're staying with a woman who will never satisfy you, and you're breaking the heart of the only one who was your equal.”

Sukuna bit the inside of his cheek. You were pretty when you cried. He wanted to kiss you.

“Since when you're so sappy? Our relationship wasn't that deep.”

“We killed people together, Sukuna.”

“I killed people, you watched. You were never as crazy as me.”

“Oh, I need to kill people now to prove I'm the better choice?”

“Maybe, it will turn me on.” He rested his forearm above your head on the wall, his breath mingling with yours.

“I’ll never prove my worth to anyone, I know what I’m worth. Too bad for you if you can’t see what you’re missing.”

“Because if I left Yorozu right now, you would take me back?”

You paused. You sniffled and avoided his eyes. Sukuna smirked.

“Oh, you’re so down bad.”

“Shut up.”

Sukuna wrapped his hand around your throat and pulled you closer.

“You’re a lover girl, I forgot. Are you still reading your romances?”

You inclined your head, acknowledging.

“You know you'll never find protagonists like me. Crazy men who can kill, and can fuck you in a way that will earn me more years in prison? All your dark romance fantasies, you can have them with me. Too bad, I will never be yours. My type isn't the traitorous whore.”

He tightened his grip until your eyes widened and your breath hitched. You struggled against him, but Sukuna was stronger than you. It was when your eyes began to close that he let go of your throat.

“My love for you is in the past. You ruined everything when you betrayed me. Now, move on. Don't be so pathetic. I will end your life if you bother me again with your sappy shit.”

Sukuna put his hands back in his jeans pockets and moved away from you.

“You're the one who ruined everything!” you shouted. “Why is the blame always on me? Okay, five years in prison isn't cool, but you betrayed me first, you fucking asshole!”

Your outburst was met with silence as Sukuna walked back into the hotel without a word.

────────

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Nanami had won first place in this race, so to reward him, you gave him your body. Or was it the alcohol from the afterparty that had inhibited you?

The problem was, you were broken.

His slow thrusts bored you. You wanted him to treat you like a whore, to fuck you like he hated you. You thrived in pain. You wanted to be choked, spat on, hit, and slapped. Motionless and lying in the starfish position, you stared at the ceiling, absentminded and waiting for it to be over quickly.

It was moments like these that you missed Sukuna. Only he knew how to treat you in bed; he could fulfill any of your fantasies without judgment and in complete safety. He was an asshole, but he fucked you so well.

You avoided Nanami's gaze when it was over, hoping he hadn't noticed your moans were fake. You put on the miniskirt and bikini top you'd worn to the party again and left the hotel to smoke. Once outside, your eyes watered.

“Fuck,” you sniffled, wiping away your tears. You walked around the hotel and paused when you saw someone familiar.

Sukuna was still in the garden, looking at the flowerpots, his bare, shiny chest and messy hair as if he'd been struggling in his sleep because of a nightmare. Hands in his pockets, he had his usual cold expression.

“You fucked Nanami and are disappointed,” he stated bluntly, without looking at you.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, unable to stop them. You didn't even know why you were crying.

“It's none of your business,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse.

“I bet he was bad at it, he can't handle all that.”

His gaze roamed your body with a glint of appreciation and desire in his eyes, lingering on your breasts, accentuated by your bikini top.

“You wanna fuck me?”

“We both know you don't want to be fucked and you want something more sinister.”

“Will you give it to me?”

“I gave it to you enough when we were teenagers, find yourself another guy.”

“But what if I want you?”

Sukuna glanced at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Have you been drinking? You're always emotional like that when you're drunk. When you're sober, you'd rather die than say stuff like that to me.”

“I'm just…” You sniffled. “I don't know. I hate you, but sometimes I miss you. We were so compatible.”

“It was just sex.”

“It was so much more than that, you fucking asshole. Do you think Yorozu can do the rape roleplays we used to do?”

“I don't touch her, and I don't want to know.”

Surprise flashed across your face. “But it's been nine years since you're together?”

“And?” His voice was defensive.

The weight of realization made you dizzy. You gave him an arrogant smile.

“You still love me. You can't touch another woman because I was the only one you felt safe with.”

His face hardened and he remained silent, a storm in his red irises. You were awfully right. You burst into laughter, your shoulders shaking.

“I miss you and you can't move on, but we hate each other. Why are we so messy?”

“Shut up.”

“Just know if you wanted to rape me for revenge, you can,” you smirked.

He drew his lips into a thin line, a blazing fire in his eyes.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” He pushed past you and disappeared into the hotel.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟑 - 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

'I told you not to fuck Nanami. You need to be punished for real now.'

Goosebumps ran up your arms as you read the notification. Maybe something was wrong in your head, but you loved having a stalker. It was so much fun being afraid someone would hurt you. You were the worst prey, because being hunted was your kink.

You ignored the message and put on a pair of mini short and a sports bra in the gym locker room. The hotel you were staying at in Australia had a pool, sauna, and private gym. You waited until 11 p.m. to use the gym in peace.

To maintain your body shape for your modeling job, you did pole dancing. It was a tough sport that deeply worked your abs, arms, and thighs. You were still plus size, but your legs was so lean and pretty even with the fat, you were known for your figure in the fashion world. You'd been pole dancing since you were a teenager. Sukuna used to come see you at your sessions and ravish you afterward. 

Your heart ached. You missed that bastard painfully.

You grabbed the pole confidently, and in one fluid movement, you rose into the air and gripped your thighs around the metal bar. You spun and wrapped yourself around it with grace and elegance. Once you were hoisted to the top, your head touching the ceiling, the feeling of being watched paralyzed you.

You turned your head to inspect the room. The pole dancing room was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on the weight room, so if anyone was there, you'd see them.

Like vertical poetry, you began to continue your figures, one by one. With absolute mastery, you perched your body on top of the pole and sat down abruptly on the metal bar, performing a perfect pole sit.

As soon as your ass touched the ground, the lights faded, plunging you into darkness. Your breath caught in your lungs, your heart pounding.

Footsteps sounded beside you. Out of survival instinct, you silently rolled on the floor to press yourself against the wall. You held your breath to prevent the stranger from hearing you. Your cunt throbbed, adrenaline and fear coursing through your body, making you so turned on. You felt like you were in a game.

“Hide well because if I catch you, I fuck you.”

The stalker's voice made the hairs on your back stand up. You put your hand over your mouth, your breathing quickening. You shifted to find a better hiding place but instead kicked a flowerpot.

“Stupid bitch,” your stalker knelt beside you and reached out to touch your body.

He lay on top of you on the floor, his erection pressing against your ass. His weight on you was similar to Sukuna's when he fucked you in brone prone, and the thought made you roll your eyes in pleasure. He buried his head in your neck, his hot breath caressing your skin. His hips rocked against your ass, rubbing his body. You weren't sad, traumatized, or scared. No, you were fucking alive. Every cell in your body vibrated with excitement, and you moved your ass to meet your stalker's fake thrusts.

He paused when he realized you were enjoying what was happening. His body tense against you. He pulled your hair to lift your head off the floor, his grip firm and rough.

“That's rape, you dirty whore. Stop gyrating your hips against me like you enjoy it.”

His mouth closed around your flesh, he bit down hard, his teeth sinking into your neck. You gasped, a wave of pleasure snaking through your lower abdomen. His free hand dug into your mini shorts to grab your clothed pussy. He grunted at the feeling of the wet fabric. His hips crashed against your ass, your pelvic pressing against the floor, and your hipbones slammed against the hardwood, making you moan in pain.

“What do I have to do to make you afraid of me, huh? Don't you understand what position you're in?”

His fingers slid under your thong, stroking the glossy folds. You ground against his hand, pants escaping your lips. This was so much fun. A boiling storm raged within you and overwhelmed all coherent thought. You were just vibing, living your darkest fantasy.

He parted your lips, gliding through your folds, to shove two digits up to your cunt. He plunged his fingers in and out, the lewd, wet sound of friction making your cheeks warm. The tips curled at your sweet spot and your legs trembled.

“Please, keep going,” you moaned.

Your stalker froze.

“The fuck you’re talking about?”

Blood rushed to your cheeks, making the tips of your ears hot.

“Mhm…”

“You're enjoying being raped?” he asked, his voice gruff and furious. “You’re broken, baby. I can’t save you.”

He got up from you, and you made a noise of protest. He couldn’t stop now! You heard his footsteps in the dark, and a door slam. Your shoulders slumped in disappointment.

────────

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Sukuna watched you masturbate through the camera he'd left in your hotel room with knitted eyebrows and a clenched jaw. The bulge in his pants might have indicated he was enjoying what was happening in front of him, but the truth was, he was mad as hell.

He tried every way he could to scare you, but everything he did turned you on. He knew you had weird kinks, but he thought it was just the case with him. That if an unknown person did it, you will be scared. You weren't. Or maybe you spiritually knew it was Sukuna ? 

Right after his attempted rape, you'd run to your room to stick your fingers in your pussy and hump your pillow. His eyes lingered on how your breasts bounced with every movement you made, your hips undulating against the cotton fabric.

"Fuck it," he muttered, pulling down the fly of his jeans. He was about to start palming his erection through his boxers, but he paused when you started moaning his name. A shiver chased down his spine, and his eyes narrowed on you.

Of course, you were thinking about him. It was with him that you did consensual non-consent when you were teenagers. You lived with constant pressure from your mother, always having to be perfect, so you let go with him. Being submissive wasn't something degrading for you, but something liberating. It was as if you released all the anxiety, all the tightness in your chest every time you saw your competitive mother, and let Sukuna take care of you.

An uncomfortable feeling he couldn't name bloomed in his chest. Even with all the pain he'd caused you by breaking up with you for Yorozu, without explaining his true intentions, he was still the safe place you came back to when you needed him. His dick softened, no longer in the mood. He looked away, avoiding seeing you on the screen, his gaze fixed on the wall of his room.

The unpleasant hollow ache in his heart, reawakening like a wound that had never healed, made him sigh. He zipped up the fly of his jeans and his eyes fell on his gun on his bed.

It didn't matter that Sukuna still loved you. It didn't matter how his chest fluttered when he thought about how much you still needed him. He had revenge to exact. He had to end up traumatizing you like you did when you sent him to prison.

If raping you in the dark turned you on, why not threaten you with his gun?

────────

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟒 - 𝐬𝐮𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐚, 𝐣𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

In the tv show that followed you, Sukuna and Satoru had decided to go for a hike in the forest. F1 drivers needed to exercise, and sometimes they took advantage of their travels to discover new places to practice their sports.

Surrounded by dark green trees with brown leaves, you shivered in the breeze that swirled around you. Dressed in a miniskirt and a crop top, you hadn't expected the temperature to drop so much upon arriving in Japan.

“Satoru's sister is really fine as fuck,” one of the sound engineers murmured next to his coworkers behind you, admiring the curve of your fat ass. You instinctively turned around to see who said that.

“You only have one job and you're already bad at it. Should I show you what a real brother would do if someone talked like that about my sister?” Sukuna's heavy hand crashed down on the man's shoulder, as he wobbled under the force of his palm.

“Uh, n-no…”

“Right, so shut the fuck up.”

Sukuna took a few long strides away from the idiot, coming up alongside you. You cocked your head to one side.

“You're such a feminist, defending me when I'm objectified,” you teased him.

Sukuna's cold eyes remained fixed in front of him, his palms tucked into his jeans pockets.

“I just want him to focus on his work. It's my reputation that'll suffer if the show is poorly recorded.”

“Right, Sukuna. You care so much about people's opinions.”

“I do.” His voice grew lower. “Why do you think I'm an F1 driver? Only attention whores would like my job.”

“Is my evil ex-boyfriend confiding in me about his mysterious personality?”

“You're the one who normally talks to me as if we don't hate each other's guts.”

You let out a heavy breath.

“I decided to be nice to you just for the duration of the Formula 1 season. We're constantly being filmed, I don't want to get backlash just because I was a bitch to the fan-favorite driver.”

His lips quirked up, curving into a wicked smile.

“Oh, you're going to be nice to me? How kind of you. I can break your heart and you will still be mature. You're the perfect woman.”

You crushed his foot and walked away, rolling your hips, fuming with anger. Behind you, Sukuna chuckled and licked his lips, staring at your body. The sound engineer had a point.

────────

Lost in thought, you walked along the forest path, not noticing that the group had moved away from you. You thought about Sukuna, your stalker, your mother, and your future fashion brand.

Being a model wasn't your dream; what you wanted to do was be a fashion designer. To have your own clothing collections and be able to showcase them at fashion week. But your mother criticized every choice you made, competing with you to ensure you were never the best anywhere. Want to be a model? You'll never be better than her because she was the best black model of her generation. Want to be a fashion designer? You'll never be better than her because she was now the art director of Chanel.

Focused on your thoughts, you didn't notice the man behind you.

“I'm back. Missed me?” He asked in your ear, pressing the barrel of his gun against your temple. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to explode. “Let's play a little game together.”

“Y-Yeah?” All your senses were waking up, alert and hypersensitive. But it was the excitement coursing through your veins that was the most overwhelming feeling.

“I'll let you escape, but what if I catch you? I'll fuck you like you've never been, you hear me? And I won't stop even if you cry, you fucking traitor. Someone needs to ruin you for you to realize the consequences of your actions,” he threatened, his voice harsh and gruff.

He shoved you in the back, and you staggered but didn't dare run or turn around yet. You took a few steps before he fired on you, and it grazed your ear, which turned bloody. The fear of dying invaded you, like a sweet poison in your body, and you ran towards the deep forest, away from the group where your brother and the cameramen were.

The sweat on your back was building up quickly as his heavy footsteps echoed behind you, intensifying the frenzy that was about to take over your entire body. This was so much fun! Your breathing quickened, you took deep breaths every time your foot touched the ground, crushing the dead leaves.

You jumped and screamed every time he fired between your feet. He had frightening accuracy in his shots; he was probably a sniper. You hadn't thought about him much because you treated him like a real-life fantasy, but you were curious about who he was. After Sukuna, he was the first man who had really made you wet.

You scampered between the trees, but a branch that hit your head made you fall. You crawled to hide under a pile of leaves, not having time to get up, but your stalker easily grabbed your calf and pulled your body towards him.

He knelt between the leaves, and with his gun, he ran over your body, pressing the barrel of it. Your chest rose and fell frantically, your breathing ragged from the chase, and he pushed his gun against your clothed breast, making a dip in the soft flesh. You remained motionless, staring at his ghost face mask as your cunt throbbed and you took quick breaths. You hoped he was really going to fuck like crazy like he'd promised because you hadn't been satisfied with Nanami.

“Strip,” he commanded, positioning his gun in the direction of your head.

You swallowed hard and nodded. You slid your skirt down your legs, the wind caressing your skin covered in goosebumps.

“Why are you already wet?” The man glared at you through his mask.

“It's kind of my kink,” you murmured, your voice shy. “I'm not afraid of you. You could have killed me several times, but it seems like you're just trying to scare me.”

Fed up, your stalker removed his mask and your eyes widened when Sukuna shot dangers at you.

“You fucking whore, what do I have to do to get revenge on you?” He leaned down and grabbed your throat, squeezing it hard. You struggled against him, but in vain. His red eyes were furious, full of lust and madness. The eyes you loved the most.

“So you were the one doing all this? You're trying to get revenge for the years in prison?” You managed to utter in a frail voice with a weak smile. “Why can't you just kill me?”

“You know exactly why I can't kill you,” he snarled. “You're…”

He closed his lips, looking away, his face hard. He released your throat, and you coughed, hand on your chest.

“Rape me.”

His whole body tensed, but he remained silent.

“Kuna, rape me. Show me how much you hate me.”

“As if I'll give you the thing you want most,” he huffed.

“You don't want to see me cry and beg you to stop?”

He looked around to make sure no one was around to overhear their morally black conversation. His eyes fell on you, dark and burning.

“Take off your top.”

You grinned, and he wanted to hit you to make you stop smiling like that. But you knew he was never going to actually hurt you. His hatred came from a place of hurt, not malice. You had both hurt each other a lot and now had a messy relationship because of it. A mixture of hatred and love that few could understand.

Your top met your skirt in the grass, and he caught sight of you wearing only a thong. He missed your wide hips, which he could cling to when he thrust into you, and the pudginess of your belly that made you authentically you.

“You gained weight since the last time I saw you.”

“Is that supposed to hurt me? I don't care if you don't like my body.”

“Never said it wasn't a good thing and that I didn't like it.” He smirked. “Now, open your thighs.”

You spread your legs as he wanted, wincing as you felt the twigs dig into your flesh. Sukuna positioned himself between your thighs and rubbed the barrel of his gun against your clothed pussy, running along the clothed slit. Your thighs clenched around his hand, a heat crackling in the pit of your lower abdomen, the danger heightening the thrill of the situation. He slapped your leg and you flinched.

“I said open these fucking thighs.”

“Sorry.”

“Ah.” His smirk widened into a full sly grin. “Are you already in sub mode? Did you miss it?”

Before you could reply, he yanked away and ripped your thong and threw it somewhere in the forest where he didn't care. You made a sound of protest, but it was quickly replaced by pants as he stroked your slick folds with his weapon. It was so wrong and unhinged, but you were hooked. You rocked your hips against the revolver to push it deeper inside you.

“Needy slut,” he muttered. He leaned down, spread your lips with his fingers, and spat on your tight heat. He lifted his head, your gaze locked as he thrust his gun into you. A blazing red in his eyes, his stare electrified you. An 'o' formed on your mouth as you felt the metal sink into you, your walls clenching painfully around it.

“Kuna, you're such a bastard. You didn't prepare me beforehand.”

“You love me that way, am I right?”

You let out a chuckle, but your chest tightened. If only you didn't have this mutual hatred, this resentment, you'd be a happy couple. He'd encourage you in your career as a fashion designer, tell you to not care what your mother says, tell you that you're the best in his eyes, like he always did when you were teenagers. You'd be there for him every time he saw his mother, rub his back when the sight of her made him vomit, and not judge him for the way his brain worked, knowing that it all stemmed from trauma.

“You really ruined everything, ‘kuna,” you said, hurt in your voice.

“I don't deny that I did things wrong, but you didn't need to send me five years to hell.”

“What was I supposed to do? You—Oh my god!”

With his free hand, he stroked your throbbing bud, his index and middle fingers tracing circles around your clit. His other hand continued to move back and forth, plunging the gun in and out of you. Lewd, wet noises came from the union of your weapon and you. He angled his hand perfectly to hit that spongey spot inside you, making you writhe and moan.

“You're still the same unhinged bitch.”

“Speak of me with respect because we're the same.”

His eyes almost softened, almost. He quickened the pace of his gun-thrusts, his gaze narrowing on the way you were milking the weapon, a white ring around the rear sight. He stopped touching your clit to press a hand on your lower pudgy belly.

“Pochari,” he whispered, pressing harder to increase the sensations of his gun inside you.

That was the nickname he always called you when you were little. You always fought with him, thinking it was an insult, but over the years you'd learned it was a cute Japanese word for "chubby." Heat rushed to your cheeks at the sound of him calling you that, your chest fluttering.

“Don't call me that.”

“Why not?”

“You're the one who wants revenge and I'm the victim, there's nothing more between us than that.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He pulled out his gun—you protested, wanting your orgasm—slicked with your arousal, and brought it to your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the weapon, your cheeks burning. After that, he set it down in the grass and pulled down his pants and boxers just enough to be comfortable enough to fuck you. Your mouth watered at his pierced girth, thick and big, just like you remembered.

“Can I?” You held out a hand.

“Fuck off. You're my victim today.”

He pushed your hand away and wrapped your thick thighs around his waist, letting out a sigh at the sweet sensation of being surrounded by your plushness.

“Say red if you want to stop,” he murmured before sliding his dick between your folds, plunging between your velvet walls. He cursed under his breath at the familiar feeling of your warmth around him.

“Since when are you so considerate?” you teased him, placing your hands on his abdomen.

“Don't play with me, I've always fucked you with a safe word.”

His gaze lingered on how his girth disappeared inside you, gaining inches every time his hips moved forward a little more. He lifted his head and noticed your wince. He shot you a sly smile.

“What? Can't handle that dick?”

“Shut up. You gave me a safe word, but you're not doing anything special.”

“I'm not even deep inside, woman.”

You mock-punched against his muscular belly. “Don't call me that.”

“What do you want me to call you then?” His hips moved backward in an obscene wet sound before slamming against you. Hands gripping your sides, he was really getting into it, pistoning up into you. “Tell me, baby. What do you want me to call you? Sweetheart? My love? Do you want me to play the perfect boyfriend after you sent me to hell?”

“I was angry, I didn't want you to suffer so much, I—”

The sharp slap he gave you made your head spin, your cheek burning.

“You think I'm dumb, right? That you snitched on the police without meaning to hurt me?” He grabbed your throat again, his large tattooed hand wrapping around it. His aggressive and hard thrusts continued to abuse your cunt, making your walls spasm. “I see right through you, you traitorous fucking bitch.”

He squeezed your throat so hard that you rolled your eyes in pleasure, the sensations raised to the maximum.

“Keep fucking me like you hate me, please,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, panting softly as his dick plowed into you.

Sukuna's glare made you pulsate around him, turned on by how he was mad at you.

“You shouldn’t like this, woman.”

“I love how you fuck me, ‘kuna. You’ve always been the best at this nasty shit.”

A low chuckle escaped his mouth.

“Literally begging for my dick, aren’t you ashamed at all?”

“Nah, you won't tell anyone, it'll stay between us, right, 'kuna? You've always been the best at keeping secrets.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed him against you, forgetting that you were in a forest and you were going to have the marks of the twigs on your back.

Sweaty chest squashed your own, he fucked to oblivion as he rutted into you, cock buried deep in your cunt, your pussy swallowing him and glinding up and down with each of his strokes. His piercing nudged your cervix every time he bottomed out, making you squirm and whimper.

Your pussy clutched onto his cock, and every time he brushed against your G-spot, you gripped his hips, telling him to go harder, as if you were never satisfied with his pace. He laughed at that, a brief moment of affection before he released your throat to take his gun.

“You're not scared enough f'me.”

He pushed the barrel of his weapon into your mouth as surprise flashed across your face. The metal tasted like you. Once deep in your mouth, he placed his index finger on the trigger, making you shudder with fear.

“What if I shoot?”

Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Awww,” he cooed, “don't be so upset, baby. Isn't that what you want? To get killed by a big, muscular, tattooed man who hates your gut?”

The wet squelching sounds of your pussy coating his dick could be heard as he rocked his hips into you—with force, with aggression, with greed. He craved, needed to see your lips parted, your eyes watering as you nails digged into his back. He coveted your distress. Choking sounds came from your mouth as he pushed his revolver as far back as possible.

Ironic or not, it was how you came. Almost humiliated, your cheek burning from the slap, and strangulation marks around your neck, your body was riddled with spasms of pleasure, like an overwhelming wave that took hold of you and left you quivering.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his handsome twisted into a frown, as your pussy pulsated around him. Your walls fluttered around him, and he slid in and out of you again, his violent thrusting stopping brutally as he emptied himself inside of you.

He pulled out of you and lowered his head just to see his cum coming from your twitching hole. With a smirk, he got dressed and stood up. Without a glance at you, he grabbed his gun and was about to leave before you grabbed his wrist.

“I'm not a cumdupster. We do whatever you want as long as there's aftercare afterward.”

Sukuna looked up in exasperation but leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. The action made butterflies swell in your stomach, and you smiled at him like an idiot—the smile a woman in love would give her husband.

“Don't look at me like that, I'm still an asshole, I hate you and—”

“Aftercare isn't just a kiss, 'kuna. You could carry me, my legs hurt.”

“And why would I do that?”

“You ripped my panties.”

“It bothered me to fuck you.”

“It was a Savage x Fenty, it's expensive, you dummy.”

“You're probably richer than me.” Sukuna waited until you were getting dressed before wrapping his arms around you to carry you bridal-style. You played with his wavy pink locks, a deep smile on your face.

“Are we back together?”

He paused and glanced at you with his eyebrows knitted.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Why not? If you're still mad at me, come release your hatred in my bed.”

His lips curved into a devious smile as he walked through the forest to find the path where your brother and the cameramen were.

“Oh, now you plan to make me come to your bed when I have too much hatred inside me?”

“Why not?” You yawned, hand on your mouth.

“I'm getting married.”

Your whole body froze, his words creating a heaviness in your chest. Yorozu, of course. You'd forgotten about her, too happy to have "found" your boyfriend again.

“You don't love her, you love me." You frowned.

“Even if you're right, I'm under a contract.”

“Why, 'kuna? You do whatever you want, you don't respect any rules, so why would you respect a contract that separates us?”

“You should have asked your father-in-law to stop preventing me from entering Formula 1; I would never have accepted the contract otherwise.”

You fell silent, unable to find anything to contradict him. Their love story was forbidden, doomed from the start. Sukuna's family would never accept a Gojo in their home, and Satoru's family would never accept a Ryomen. And now, Yorozu entered the equation. Thinking about all this was making your brain foggy so you rested your head on his chest, letting him carry you, wondering how much longer you had with him before he went back to his life with Yorozu.

────────

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The weeks passed, punctuated by Sukuna's races and the nights he came to your hotel room to slut you out. There was nothing morally okay about your relationship: Sukuna was in a relationship and getting married, and you were his rival's sister.

Yet, it was impossible for the two of you not to touch and be intimate with each other. Grabbing your ass when you were alone, cuddling after sex when you were exhausted, a kiss on the forehead after a particularly violent intercourse... He even came to spend time with you when you were getting ready for the afterparties after the races, watching you do your baby hair, define your coils, and put on a short dress that revealed your voluptuous curves.

Sukuna loved you. He really did. In his own way, in a twisted way, with a little hatred, a little resentment. His love for you was like a rose, beautiful, blooming, but dangerous because of its thorns. Every time he saw you, he thought back to his misery in prison, to all those nights he fell asleep with a knot in his stomach, the fear that his roommate would try to rape him in his sleep because he was younger than him.

In a way, he had become a 'real man'—from a patriarchal point of view—thanks to you. Prison taught him how to defend himself no matter the size and age of his opponent, to trust no one, to be cold and impassive, and to observe people carefully, because you never know what's going on inside people's heads.

An uncontainable wrath was born within him after his release from prison—an anger directed at you. That's why he started underground fighting. Now, it's something that allows him to release the pressure of his job; it's part of him. He always wore a balaclava to avoid recognition, and was known worldwide for his tattoos, his muscles, and the fact that he never lost his fights.

As he pounded into you, one hand on the bedframe and the other around your neck, with your legs on his shoulders, he panted as if he were in the middle of a fight with an opponent. And it was real, because you were a formidable opponent—the guardian of his heart.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, you whimpered at every drag of his dick, the pace so brutal that the bed slammed against the wall with a deafening thud. His thick veins pulsed against your walls, the squelch of pussy filled the room, and your tits bounced with each of his hungry thrusts.

Sukuna was traumatized by incest, he was unable to have sex while being submissive, it reminded him too much of how helpless he was in the face of his mother's sexual abuse. You were a perfect match, you, the woman who needed to let go by being submissive, and him, the man who needed to regain control over his body by being dominant.

“You're really the best 'kuna, I love you so much,” you moaned, hugging him tightly.

His eyes lit up with amusement.

“The fuck you're talking about? I'm fucking you like you mean nothing to me.”

One thing Sukuna noticed about you was that you had trouble moving on from people you loved deeply. You were unable to cut ties with your toxic mother, and you were unable to completely hate Sukuna for breaking your heart. It wasn't naiveté, but more love. When you loved someone, it was so intense that it was impossible for you to let that love evaporate. You treasured your loved ones in your heart, and when they did something bad, you always kept a door open for them.

In contrary, it was already almost impossible to be close to you. You were a confident woman, a little arrogant and passionate. You had grown up wealthy, so you had very specific requirements for your boyfriends. You slept with Nanami because he was rich and successful, but he didn't meet all the criteria you wanted.

The only man who met them all was Sukuna. That's why you couldn't move on. This man was your perfect match, your safe place since childhood.

“I don't care how you fuck me, I know you love me. Besides, everyone adores me.” You gave him an arrogant smile.

You looked pretty like this, he thought. He leaned over to kiss you and traced your lower lip with the edge of your tongue to coax you to open your mouth. Your lips parted and your tongues tangled together. He continued to roll his hips at a beastly pace, your thighs clenching around his head, and heat pooling low in your stomach.

The scene was domestic, intimate. You still had your satin bonnet on your head, your nightie still pulled up to your waist, and his silver chain tapped against your forehead every time his hips snapped forward. With an affectionate gesture, Sukuna pushed a curl back into your satin bonnet.

After you were done making love, you snuggled up to Sukuna.

“Do you still hate me?” you asked.

“Let's say I tolerate you. And you?”

“I tolerate you too.” You grinned. “You're still a selfish asshole, but I've grown to like you that way.”

A lazy smile on his face, he rubbed soothing circles over your back. He rested his chin on the top of your head and let out a soft sigh.

Sukuna couldn't have sex with other women who weren't you; you were the only one he felt safe with. He wouldn't be able to hug Yorozu like he does with you now. He saw women as manipulative, abusive, and rapists.

Secretly, he was jealous of all the boyfriends you'd had since him, even though his heart had never forgotten you.

He lowered his head, taking in the sight of you dozing off, and he told himself that you were meant to be together.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟐𝟏 - 𝐬𝐚õ 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐨, 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐥 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Wrapped in your blanket, crouched in your bed in your hotel room, you sobbed. The rain outside tapped against the windows; the sound was comforting but couldn't soothe your inner turmoil.

Sukuna entered your room without knocking as usual, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, before tilting his head when he saw you crying.

“Who stole your smile so I could break their jaw?”

Sukuna didn't like it when other people made you cry. You were his victim, his prey, his to break.

He arrived at your bed and leaned down to dry the tears that rolled down your cheeks with his fingers.

“My mother,” you mumbled. “I showed her the clothing collections I wanted to do for my fashion brand, and she criticized everything as usual.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you persist in having a relationship with your mother when she hates you?”

“I don't know. You hate your mother too, yet you're still in a relationship with her.”

His face hardened. “Our situations have nothing to do with each other. I can't tell my father what my mother did to me, because… Fuck, baby. You know exactly why I can't tell anyone.”

A gentle look passed across your face. “I know, 'kuna. It's hard as a man to admit that you were sexually abused by a woman. But you shouldn't feel like this; you were a child. You can't defend yourself in front of an adult when you're under 13.”

“Let's focus on you and your mother and not on the bitch who acts as my mother,” Sukuna cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Show me your collections.”

You grabbed your laptop from your bedside table and opened the canvas pages where all your clothing designs were stored.

“The inspiration is Afrofuturism. It's the idea of ​​imagining Africa without colonization, but among Black Americans it became very popular in the 2000s with R&B,” you explained, your voice serious. “Music videos with black girls in futuristic outfits, platform boots, and lots of silver in their clothes, that's Afrofuturism.”

Sukuna's lips quirked up, amused by your nerdy expression and how passionate you were about your subject. But he never mocked you; he was as interested as you were; everything about you interested him.

“So I analyzed the work of an african designer Chris Seydoux, who brought mudcloth, an african fabric, to international fame. I took inspiration from Senegalese and Cameroonian fashion and researched different traditional fabrics.”

You showed your dresses, skirts, and tops, all with different patterns, inspired by different african fabrics, but with your own personal touch, so there were stars everywhere and silver.

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, it's amazing.”

Flustered, you lowered your head.

“I want my models to be exclusively black and plus-sized women. I don't really care if my brand doesn't appeal to everyone; my focus is black women.”

“Why is your stupid mother criticizing such a good idea? I don't understand why she wants to crush all your dreams like that when you're talented.”

You shrugged. “I feel like all the fame she had in the '90s made her afraid of getting old and no longer being famous. So me, her daughter, a girl in her twenties, makes her competitive.”

“That's bullshit. Her famous time is over, it's your turn now.” He wrapped his muscular, tattooed arms around you, and you found comfort in them. “Don't listen to what she tells you, you're talented. You've been doing this since you were little. That's how I met you, remember? You were drawing in Merklay Park, and I was fighting with some innocent guy who didn't ask for anything.”

You chuckled and nuzzled his chest. “Yeah, I remember. I thought you were super fashionable while you were fighting.”

“There's something wrong with your head, baby.”

“You like me that way.”

He held you tighter. “Don't listen to that bitch. You'll be one of the best fashion designers of our generation, I'm sure of it.”

“You're so cute when you're like that, kuna.”

“Do you want me to stay in my 'my girl is the most talented artist ever' mode?”

“I'm your girl?” You raised your heads to look at him, and your gazes locked.

“No, but I wish you were,” he whispered, his voice intimate.

“You know the SpongeBob meme with the huge handcuffs with lots of space, so he wasn't really restricted? That's how I see you.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “You don't understand. You're not even supposed to know that my relationship with her is fake, I'm already breaking the rules.”

“No sex tonight, you put me in a bad mood with your bullshit.” You pushed him away to sit up in bed away from him, and he sighed.

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

You ignored him and slipped your headphones into your ear to work on your fashion designs. Sukuna stared at you silently before leaving your room with a frown.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟐𝟐 - 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐬 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You hadn't spoken to him all week, not even to congratulate him when he won the twenty-first race. Sukuna was in a sour mood. He had found the girl he loved again, but his past choices had to ruin everything. He didn't care about Yorozu; all he cared about was getting a spot in Formula 1.

Hands in his pockets, he moved through the crowd of people at the party, grunting every time a woman brushed against him, trying not to strangle them. His eyes searched for you, and when they found you sitting on the lap of Suguru, a McLaren driver, his stomach dropped.

From where he was, he saw your tongue curling around his, your smile against his, and Suguru's hands on your ass. He hurried to find the nearest restroom and threw up his dinner. There were two things that made him vomit: seeing his mother, and seeing you with someone else.

Was this the future that awaited him? Marrying Yorozu, having children with her while his heart longed for you? Seeing you go from boyfriend to boyfriend because no one satisfied you better than him, seeing you kiss and fuck other men while your perfect match was waiting for you in New York, stuck with a woman he didn't love as much as he did for you?

He sat on the bathroom floor, running his hands over his face, his body trembling.

Nothing had gone as planned these past few months. He had to get revenge on you, destroy you, break you. But all he did was fall even deeper into the abyss of love. Now, going back to Yorozu felt like sin. The mere thought of having to undress in front of a woman other than you gripped his heart with dread.

Just then, as if fate were mocking him, Yorozu called. He stared at his phone with a grim expression, but took the call.

“What do you want?”

“I sent the wedding invitations to everyone, and everyone will be there. Your mother wants to make the cake, does that bother you?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths. It was Formula 1 or you. And the more time passed, the more he regretted choosing Formula 1.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝟏 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 - 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Yorozu's wedding took place in the park where you and Sukuna had met, ironic as the situation was. Dressed in a black suit, Sukuna kept his lips tightly closed throughout the ceremony. He didn't laugh at Yorozu's family's jokes, didn't acknowledge the compliments he received for having finished first at the end of the Formula 1 season and Satoru only second, and didn't play with the children who tugged at his pants to play with dolls in the grass.

No, Sukuna, he was contemplating the disaster of his life.

Spending those few months with you had reminded him why he loved you. It was the little things like your focused expression while working on your laptop, how you constantly held your chin high as if you felt superior to others—you really felt that—, how you curled your toes every time orgasm threatened to overwhelm you, how you smirked every time you found something funny to say against his mean remarks, how you never let yourself be pushed around by others but remained vulnerable in front of people like your mother and him.

Yorozu wasn't even half of you. She didn't have your passion, your intelligence, your beauty. When Sukuna painted pictures of the woman of his dreams, it was a black woman with short curly hair, who always spent hours doing dramatic baby-hair styles, who wore a proud smile no matter what, who had the most empathetic heart and had curves that made any man drool, not Yorozu. It was even an insult to compare you to her.

Yorozu's wedding dress was a sequined white, with a low back. Sukuna held back his cussing, thinking you would have killed it in that outfit with your wide hips. His face was cold and distant, and he let himself be led around by his fiancée, who held his elbow. He was even depressed, realizing how miserable it was going to be. Just thinking about his honeymoon made his hairs stand on in disgust.

Yorozu was saying his wedding vows, talking about eternal love, shit that Sukuna couldn't care less about. He looked away, toward the west, where your mansion was. You still lived with your mother. Sukuna didn't know why you were such a masochist, but he didn't judge you. He, too, had affection for a mother who didn't love him.

“Mr. Ryomen?”

The priest addressed him urgently, as everyone was staring at them, waiting for the pink-haired man's wedding vows.

“I have nothing to say, continue the ceremony,” he muttered.

The priest scowled but couldn't say anything more, as the ceremony had to continue anyway.

“I pronounce you husband and wife,” he stated, raising his arms as all the guests began to applaud. Yorozu leaned forward to press a kiss to Sukuna's mouth, but he pushed her away. The applause stopped, an uncomfortable silence in the park.

“‘Kuna?” Yorozu frowned.

“Don’t call me that.” His heart squeezed painfully. Only you could call him that.

Yorozu’s eyes darkened, and she grabbed his arm with a tight grip to forcefully kiss him. Sukuna froze, shocked.

This was what was waiting for him. This was how women operated. They took what they wanted by force, making abusive contracts, without asking your opinion, like when his mother raped him. Shock slowly gave way to fury when he pushed her away so roughly that she fell backward. Screams rose in the park, people rushed to help Yorozu up, but Sukuna was already far away, hurrying to find his driver who was napping, waiting to be called for the honeymoon.

“Take me to ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚’s house,” Sukuna ordered, sitting down in the tinted-window car. His whole body was shaking with rage, anger, and helplessness. How could he have chosen Yorozu for almost ten years when the woman of his life was right under his nose?

The driver, who had known Sukuna since he was little, wrinkled his forehead in confusion. He knew your address very well, because for years, it had been a secret between him and Sukuna to take him to your house when your parents were away.

He did exactly as Sukuna asked, parking in front of your mansion. Sukuna took off his seatbelt and turned off his phone so he wouldn't receive incessant calls from his mother or his fiancé. He knocked on your door, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Mhm, yeah?” A sleepy voice answered, you opened the door in your nightie, still wearing your satin bonnet. "Who—Sukuna?"

Surprise flashed across your face, and Sukuna's lips crashed against yours. He cupped your face, stepped back into your mansion, and slammed the door with his foot. Craving, want, need—everything he felt was reflected in his kiss as you parted your lips, shocked by his brutal display of affection. The soft presses of his lips against yours transformed into devastation as his mouth molded against yours, and his tongue slid over yours.

“Sukuna, the wedding—”

“I don’t give a damn about that thing right now.”

He put his arms under your ass to lift you up and carry you to your room.

“Sukuna, my parents will be here any moment…”

“It’s a bit like when I used to sneak in to see you, right?”

You chuckled against his lips and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Yeah, it’s like that. Except back then, you were mine.”

“The thing is that I’m yours, baby. Painfully, absolutely, forever yours.”

“And the Formula 1?”

“I don’t care!” he sneered. “I don’t give a damn about anything, I just want you, damnit.”

He laid you down on the bed and took off your clothes, his own joining the floor. He gave you a little foreplay, but he was too eager to feel himself inside you to really get into it. When his dick sank into you, he sighed with relief, his eyes watering.

“‘Kuna… My pussy is so good you got emotional?” You smiled sweetly at him, raking a hand through his thick, unruly pink strands.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I loathed you for so long, I planned my revenge for 5 years, I had lots of ideas, what I did to you wasn’t even 10% of what I intended to do, but the second I was with you, I… Fuck, I’m so sappy right now, it’s so embarrassing.”

His hips rose just enough to drag his dick against your walls, then sank back down with a slick, obscene sound. Your breathing quickened, and you clenched your thighs around his waist. He peppered your face with kisses to relax you because of the sudden stretch.

“I don’t even know what to do, my mother will be so mad, Yorozu will break my contracts with the FIA, but… I don’t know, I don’t give a fuck. I just want…” He kissed you. “To be with you.”

Your hands clapped in his back, his pelvis pressed against your clit, rubbing at each of his slow thrusts.

“Does this mean you’re mine now?”

Sukuna nodded, his gaze locked with yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Painfully—thrust—absolutely—thrust—forever—thrust—yours,” he repeated, each roll of his hips sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

In the privacy of your bedroom, a place he had long missed, you reconnected with the only man you had ever truly loved.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝟓 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

The São Paulo sun caressed the skin of Sukuna, you, and your 3-year-old daughter, Naya. Being autistic, Naya hated the feeling of sand on her body; she sat comfortably on her father's lap. He stroked her back, looking at her with affectionate eyes.

After the disaster at Yororzu's wedding, she complained to her father about ruining Sukuna's career. It worked because they replaced him with a talented rookie, who went on to win the next few races. But Sukuna was sure of his choice. He had decided to enter the world of professional boxing and was a famous MMA athlete. His years of underground fighting had taught him everything he needed; he just needed to learn the rules so as not to actually hurt his opponents.

A lot had changed in your life since you married Sukuna. Encouraged by him, you finally created your own clothing brand, and it was a success. Satoru's family didn't want to have any contact with you anymore, finding your choice unforgivable, but your brother still checked in from time to time. As long as you had him, everything was okay. You were now living in Brazil with your little family.

"Are you sure you don't want to go swimming, sweetheart?" you asked your daughter, and she looked at you with terror in her eyes.

A quiet laugh rumbled in Sukuna's chest.

“Don't torture our daughter, woman.”

“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, and leaned over to kiss her forehead.

This was the life Sukuna wanted. He wanted to protect his daughter as much as possible so she wouldn't have to go through what he had gone through when he was little with his mother. He trusted you, and that was the most important thing in your relationship. He had taught his daughter to always refuse to be touched if she didn't want to be, always asked her permission when he had to shower her, and was careful never to force her into something she didn't want. Consent was learned very early, and it was the focus of his education.

After your swim at the beach, it was late at night. You tucked your daughter into bed and started your favorite game. Sukuna, wearing only his sweatpants, hanging low and revealing his hip tattoos and sculpted abs, and his ghost face mask, with his gun in his hand, walked into your house. Hiding under your bed, you placed your hand over your mouth so he wouldn't hear your breathing, your heart pounding at each of his steps next to you.

Except he always found you. He grabbed your foot, trying to drag you out of bed, and you let out a small scream. You pretended to want to escape—you wanted him to slut you out like never before, but he knew that.

“Strip,” he threatened, his gun aimed at your head.

With a pout, you took off your clothes and knelt in front of him. Sukuna lowered his sweatpants and boxers, and gestured for you to come closer to take his erection in your mouth. You licked your lips, eager to please your husband. You took his hard length in your hand, looking up at him with soft doe eyes, making his dick twitch. When your lips wrapped around his cockhead, Sukuna closed his eyes in pure bliss.

It took a while, but you were finally together, the wedding ring around his finger glinting in the artificial light, a testament to his loyalty to you. And now you had all of eternity to have fun, do the most unhinged things, and heal from your traumas in a morally black way, but without judgment because you loved each other. You were bound. Bound by darkness.

“You from here?”

Even through the tsunami of bodies swaying slowly from the hypnotic waves swimming from the speakers, you held his attention like a cherished memory. His shaded hazel stare pierced through your curves, afraid that if he looked away for just a second, someone would be in your face begging for your attention. But you kept the crowd surrounding you at bay, only the people you arrived with being allowed into your domain.

He got in with easy access—no struggle, no weird glances from your friends when he squeezed through— almost like you wanted him there.

“Nah,” you shook your head—midnight spirals woven through your many braids rocking in sync with your disagreement. “All girls college, ‘couple hours down south, Boo” Slithering, sneaky hands occupied by your waist almost had you tripping over your own words. Even with platform heels you couldn’t quite reach his towering shoulders resulting in him slightly bending over to hear you over the drunken crowd and ear splitting bass bouncing off of the walls.

He hummed, dark eyes roaming your soft features protruding through the fluorescent lights. You stared back through your full lashes, your gaze almost pulling him into a paralyzed state. You smelt sweet, like a fresh cherry pie with a vanilla finish. He’d wish you spoke more so he had a reason to emerge deeper into that aroma that swept him from his feet.

“South, huh? ‘Can hear the accent on you. What’s your name, pretty?”

His cologne was something dangerous, similar to a mermaid’s voice; once it had you, you were hooked and gone. A buzz cut dyed a deep twilight was his signature haircut, a tattoo that peeked through the ocean fuzz curved sinisterly above his pierced ear.

“⧼★⧽,” you purred into a grin, heart shaped lips spreading to reveal your teeth.

God, he was built. Now prior to even meeting him, you stalked his instagram. Safe to admit It was nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh. All of the speculations that you’ve made about him editing his muscles were thrown out of the window along with your morals.

His arms alone were an attraction ; hard muscle under soft skin, similar to a pillow stuffed with bricks. Thick veins wrapped around his arms like cords. His black shirt suffocated his torso, one wrong move you thought the fabric would give up and disintegrate on the spot.

“⧼★⧽,” he parrots softly. His thick tongue darted to the side of his lips that curved into a grin. He shrugged, “Has a ring to it. Rolls off the tongue. Sweet like candy, too”

The surrounding crowd was almost nonexistent, extras in your book that had no significance to the conclusion. You stepped closer, your gaze still holding him captive. “So..what brings you he—“

“—Look, I’m just going to keep it real with you, Connie,” His ear perked up at the call of his name, surprised that you even knew it without him mentioning it; thick eyebrows rose to his crisp, straight lineup. A red cup that he’d been babysitting since you’ve first noticed him finally touched his lips, his adams apple bobbing with each swallow of his poison.

Curved french tips toyed at his rock-hard abs that were bulging through the thin elastic. You were careful not to rake his navel piercing. Blinding jewels sparkled in the dim light as he nodded slowly to the music bleeding from the speakers.

“I heard ‘bout you Con, and to be completely transparent with you, I just want to fuck.”

He grinned at your boldness behind his cup, sharp canines flashing under the low light. “Heard ‘bout me how?”

“Jus’ some pillowtalkers.”

He hummed, nodding shyly into his cup. “‘S that how you know my name?”

You nodded with a grin. Soft fingertips raked his muscles.

“Yep.”

He hummed again. “My room or yours?”

“My room is two hours away, genius.”

“My room it is.”

Just how he weaved through the crowd, he got out the same way: quiet and light on his feet. On a mission.

Hunger fanned from his pink spit-soaked lips. Oh how Connie’s tongue worked wonders. If he wasn’t using it to talk shit then it was swirling around your puffed clit with his fingers curled softly into your velvet sponge. He worked hand-in-hand with his tongue piercing like it was his personal sidekick, forcing sounds from you that you’ve only heard during solo sessions. You could barely keep your heavy eyelids ajar, Connie’s face unrecognizable from the constant motion blur.

“Con—baby! Mmh!”

Your hands scatter desperately as you try not to flinch out of his addicting touch. French tips scratch at his scalp, tugging him deeper into your sopping cunt as you chase after your release. Your thick thighs hovered over your naked chest—pedicured toes bent and pointing toward where they see fit.

His knees engraved itself into the fluffiness of the carpet below. The necklace that shined so beautifully under the fluorescents and claimed all attention when in public, swung with every jerk of his head. His golden pendant rocked—advancing just enough to also get a taste of your dripping cunt.

“Thaaat’s it, Pretty girl. Open my shit up.”

You obeyed, thick thighs separating to see Connie becoming one with your pussy. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Siren eyes low and dilated, leaving the golden hue of his iris nonexistent.

His dark goatee was soaked in your fixed flow of arousal, dripping hesitantly like cold honey when he came up for a few seconds of air. Pedicured feet rested on each side of broad shoulders, his rough palms having to push your thighs back more so you’ll spread like a rumor.

“Focus on me, Pretty,” Connie purred, soft golden eyes glancing up at you through his full roll of lashes. Your hips rolled in circles, unsure if you wanted to run away from the pleasure or to soak deeper into it.

“Mmm! I’m goin’ to make a mess, I feel!” You whisper, voice cracking with desperation. You couldn’t look at him—even through your shaded eyesight, his gaze was intimidating.

A deep chuckle broke through your hyperventilating. “A mess, huh? ‘You one of them?”

You nodded shyly, swollen lips tucked behind your teeth.

Without missing a beat Connie pulled his lips from you, a thin string of his spit being connected to his chin. His hazel eyes were fully dilated, his pupal similar to an infinite void.

“Connie? W-what are you—“

Interrupted by a kiss that held you in a trance—your words were swallowed. You lingered on his tongue, your DNA seeping deeply between his tastebuds. “‘M goin’ to have fun with you,” he groaned. That cool metal bar that tore through his flexing tongue tickled the roof of your mouth. He moaned between your lips, your soft hands working the strings of his sweatpants.

“I want to see it, Connie.”

He grinned against your lips before slowly standing to his full height. “I got you.”

And right as he revealed his known secret, your jaw visibly grew slack.

“Big, ain’t it?”

Words are clogged in your throat like five o'clock traffic, all you could do was swallow to prepare yourself for the workout of a lifetime. Grey sweatpants dropped just below his twitching, thick thighs. His dick looked so heavy; the weight of his muscle incapable of holding its own against gravity. His balls alone were huge, capable of rebuilding the human race from scratch. You’ve noticed that they’re more melanated than the rest of his body while his shaft was a couple shades lighter and his tip tinted a light pink, giving the illusion of neapolitan ice cream.

“Wh— how is this even possible? It’s like the size of my head, Connie.”

A deep chuckle and a nonchalant shrug later, “‘M not even that hard yet. This is like…. fifty percent.”

Thick cord-like veins fenced his shaft, throbbing in sync with his sluggish heartbeat.

“So you just…walk around with this just swingin’?”

You were hesitant to touch him—well his weapon that stared a hole through you. It looked like it had a mind of its own; almost like it thought its own thoughts and moved at its own accord aside from its owner. You almost jumped out of your skin when Connie took a step forward.

“I mean, yeah. ‘Can’t leave it home, now can I?” His voice was now deeper. Slower. Hungrier. Now you were just playing on his time with your timid ways and he was growing impatient.

You were certain that his dick smelt the fear venting from your pores—growing centimeters each second to evolve into its final form. Still, the pure heaviness kept his tinted tip pointed towards hell. Ironic.

“I’m guessin’ this is how you know ‘bout me?”

You nodded, swallowing pending drool forming at your lips. “Yea. ‘S so much bigger in person.”

He hissed when your hands wrapped around his throbbing shaft. Its pure thickness prevented your fingertips from touching. “W-Which video did you see?”

“‘Was the video of the girl on all fours. Her hands were tied up with her panties I believe. I want that.”

A sinister grin flashed above you. “I got you.”

Biting pillows was never in your rotation of things to do at a strangers' dorm, especially ones that belong to a frat boy. Their unhygienic ways made your skin crawl. But after being informed that his roommate was home and in the next room, muffling your moans with the closest thing to you, felt like the smartest thing to do.

At the time that is. Connie had the brightest idea to dilate your moans with music. Failed miserably. If anything, it broadcasted you.

You somehow found yourself going vocal for vocal with Brent Faiyaz; he’d hit a high note, his beautiful voice straining the poor speakers on Connie’s phone, and you shot one right back seconds later from the result of Connie’s ruthless, calculated strokes.

“I’m workin’ your shit, baby. You feel me?”

The outdated pillow, that definitely saw better nights, was snatched from under you in a quickness, leaving you bare chested on his sheetless mattress. You weren’t even in the right headspace to cringe at the current situation. In any other equation, you would’ve wasted no time packing your belongings and driving back to your dorm in pure silence—high and dry with regret radiating from your skin, but it was almost like Connie held you in a trance. Working his body as if he had a point to prove. Nothing surrounding you seemed to matter. Not even his roommate.

“I feeeel you, Con!”

His pink tinted dick was already lathered in your cream, a wet, sticky echo of your bodies bouncing wall to wall in his cluttered room. His balls were heavy and swung with a purpose and precision, knocking against your puffed clit with each stroke. You tried so hard to swallow your moans—keeping them hidden behind the jumping springs of the mattress. You were successful until Connie’s fingers rolled tiny circles on your clit. You jumped, doe eyes slightly crossing at the sensation.

“Oh-oooh! I don’t want to be too lou-loud, Con. I’m gonna—” your begging knocked against deaf ears. His hips snapped harder and faster against yours, scooting you toward the headboard inch by inch. Since his dick was so heavy, his curve guaranteed pleasure with every plap!

“Let that shit out. Let me know I'm doin’ good, Baby.”

“O-oh my gosh,” you squeaked between slurring words, thick thighs buckling beneath your rocking weight. The loud applause from your ass clapping against his pelvis had you tucking your face in your elbow. Sweat rained down his flexing abs; the glimmer of his bellybutton piercing adding that extra shine.

You were certain his roommate heard everything that happened on the other side of the paper thin wall. Embarrassment claws at your bones before quickly being replaced with pleasure.

Jean was deep in slumber, warm webs of drool slowly seeping from the corner of his open lips and pooling onto his pillow. His snores were so ear piercingly loud that it'll make your eardrums bleed from rooms away. He slept flat on his stomach, left leg hiked up while both beefy arms hugged the plush, drool-soaked pillow providing extra comfort to his head.

It starts off quiet. Too quiet. Hushed high pitched giggles and occasional low smacking from the kisses bounced off the walls of the peeling paint that decorated Connie’s room. Brent Faiyaz played quietly on the speaker on the night stand. It was low enough to keep Jean at bay, so it wasn't an issue.

It became an issue when the rhythmic knocking of Connie’s headboard made its presence known. And poor Jean, still in a dream state, mistaken the knocks for someone banging at the front door.

"The door, Con," He incoherently slurred, voice deep and groggy. Tiredness lingered in his voice along with slight irritation. Who would the fuck would want something at this hour? Jean still had his eyes wide shut, drowsing in and out of consciousness. His voice was no louder than a mumble, but with the walls so thin, he's sure his roommate heard him.

Then he heard it, the unmistakable long feminine moan of his roommate's name.

"Y’so deep, Con!”

“‘Feel you through the rubber, Pretty. Soakin’ my shit, huh?”

“Mhmm!”

Once he heard that, he heard everything else; the slow and sensual music, the deep grunts and dirty talk, the high pitched whining, and how could he forget the headboard beatboxing against his wall. It was like pieces of a puzzle slowly coming together in his dazed mind.

Now, hours later, Jean laid motionless on his back, his left eye twitching in a type of anger that could only be expressed through violence. This was the third person Connie had over on a two day radius and the number is increasing by the day. He’s convinced that Connie purposely removed the pillow from his headboard to toy with his emotions.

It was working.

“‘M gonna’—gonna’ cum again, Connie!”

“Mhm. You don’t have to tell me, I know.”

Eren is truly the man that he and everyone else thinks he is. He is a star, shining brighter than the cell phone lights glaring in his face and the spotlight illuminating his handsome features as he glides across the stage.

“How’s everybody tonight?” he asks, his smooth voice filling your eardrums. “Thank you for comin’ out to party with me. We tryin’ to have a good time tonight?” 

The crowd erupts into cheers as one of his most popular songs starts, the popish R&B beat filling your eardrums. You swallow hard as you watch him interact with the fans as he sings into the mic, often moving it away from his face for the crowd to sing back at him. He grins, flashing those pearly whites, all charm and an aura of magnetic energy that pulls at everyone, including you. 

Against your will, you’ll add. You, luckily, have been blocked by the crowd of adoring fans that have come to watch by the bar, blocking you from Eren’s view. You plan to purposely move to the far back at the other end of the bar that is most secluded in an effort to stay as lowkey as possible. You don’t want Eren seeing you at all. 

It’s bad enough to see him look so happy and so sexy after months of not seeing him at all. But to look into his eyes again? That would hurt. So you sneak another shot from the tray Jean ordered before you slide off of your stool, making a beeline for the back.

“Y/N!” you hear Mikasa call. You turn to her, finding her staring at you questionably. “Too loud!” you mouth. “Moving to the back!” 

She nods and ends up following you, leaving two young girls in mini skirts to fill her spot with Armin and her friend. No one notices as all eyes are on Eren, but of course, Mikasa notices that you’re trying to move. The girl notices EVERYTHING! 

You two stand at the corner of the bar as Eren switches to the next song, luckily not yet playing the song you are dreading. His recent hit that your “situationship” influenced. You would just about die from embarrassment if he does (which you have a dreaded feeling that he will).

Quickly, you hail down the tatted bottle girl from behind the bar and raise your phone at her after typing a message, the music too loud to yell over. “More shots?” you mouth to her. “Tequila please!” 

The bottle girl nods and gives you a thumbs up before moving to get your shots fixed up for you. You smirk at Mikasa as you put your phone away in your bag, leaning in to whisper into her ear. “I think it’s time for another shot,” you whisper. You miss her reaction to it because the new tray of tequila shots is already being put in your face. 

You two take one each, clink glasses, and down the shots in one sitting. Despite the burn, it goes down a bit easier. It also makes you a lot dizzier. You can’t quite focus or keep balance, so you have to hold onto the bar to keep steady on your feet. This is your fourth shot and something inside you is telling you to slow down, but you keep drinking. And drinking. And drinking.

Soon, you’re on your seventh shot and chug down a glass of water that Mikasa orders for you. Now, you are good and drunk, grabbing onto Mikasa’s arm as you dance to one of Eren’s songs. So far, he has done four songs and you have no idea how many others he has in his setlist tonight. You don’t care either…or do you? God, he looks so sexy in jeans. 

“Uh…was that a thought that was supposed to stay inside?” Mikasa suddenly asks. She is standing with a Long Island iced tea, looking utterly confused next to you. You hiccup and drunkenly giggle, clapping a hand over your mouth. “Aw, shit, my bad!” you shout over Eren’s voice. “Oooh, is that a Long Island?!” 

Before Mikasa can answer, you turn to the bartender, a guy this time, and wave at him. “A Long Island please!” you holler as loud as you possibly can, right into the ear of an irritated man. “With extra ice!” 

Mikasa stares at you warily, stirring her straw around her tea. She looks the least bit drunk, her cheeks only tinged with a blush and her eyes slightly glassy. “You sure you want more, girl? You’ve been throwing back a lot.” You, however, are a hot mess: you’re struggling to stand upright, your smile is sloppy, and your makeup is about on its last leg. 

And then, dreadfully, that song begins to play. Through your drunken haze, you hear it, loud and clear, blaring from the speakers on either side of the stage where Eren stands. The crowd erupts into even louder screams, overjoyed to hear the new hit while your heart is falling into the pit of your stomach. 

“M’fine,” you grumble, but all you’re thinking about is getting the fuck out of here. “We should go outside for a smoke. You got your vape pen on you, right?” But as Eren begins to sing those lyrics that stab you right in the heart, his voice silky and smooth, you can’t take any more of the torture. 

“You know what? Nevermind. I’mma just go for a breather.” You don’t wait for Mikasa to protest or tell you anything or even breathe—you just move. It is as if your body cannot physically hold still, your heart and stomach pushing for you to move your feet and legs towards the nearest exit. 

“Y/N, wait!” you hear Mikasa yell, but you can’t wait. You can’t stop. You know that if you continue to hear Eren croon about his need to make things right with you and continue your relationship when there wasn’t one (at least, that’s what you tell yourself), you’ll turn to stone. 

You can feel tears of stress and anxiety prick your eyes, making your vision slightly blurry. That isn’t good when you’re drunk.

Still, you manage to make it to the exit through the throng of sweat bodies packed together and the marijuana smoke hanging in the air like a storm cloud. You practically barrel through the door to get outside, the frigid air smacking you dead in the face.

But as soon as you’re outside, you’re bombarded with camera flashes. Click, click! Flash! You gasp, staring wide-eyed into the hot, white camera flashes like a deer caught in headlights. There are about twenty paparazzi you can count flashing pictures of you, about twelve of them wearing those damn “Hollywood Dirt!” hats. 

You try to hide your face from the cameras as you stand in front of the club, trying in vain to look for an escape route. The camera roaches bombard you with questions, wanting to get the perfect headline for their next blog or story:

“Y/N, did you see Eren perform his new song?!” 

“Are you and Eren seeing each other again?!” 

“Y/N, is it true you and Eren had a secret relationship that bloomed into something more? Are you the reason for his new hit single?” 

“No comment!” you shout. “Stop, I can’t fucking see!” You block the flashing with your purse, trying to hide your face. As you do, someone snaps at her paparazzi to stop and you’re suddenly looking into the eyes of fucking Janice herself. Owner of “Hollywood Dirt!” and the thorn in your side. 

She reminds you of a witch with her long nose and the wicked glint in her eye. The woman is wearing a whole powersuit like she’s at some kind of work meeting and smiles as her men lower their cameras, a manicured hand up to get them to stop. This is the first time you’ve ever met her in person and you already want to forget this ever happened.

“Chill with the cameras,” she tells her crew. “Just answer a few questions for us, Y/N, and we’ll move on.” That’s when she takes out a microphone and shoves it dead in your face. This bitch. You ignore her, still looking for an escape route. You manage to take a step forward, bumping into a man with a camera as you do. “Please move!” you growl. 

And then the cameras resume, much to your dismay, catching your every move. “C’mon, don’t you want a few minutes more of your fifteen?” Janice calls over the shouting of prying questions and telling you to look “this way”. 

You know you should ignore her, but you can’t. The alcohol won’t allow it. You turn to stare at her, irritated by her attenuation, but before you can tear her a new one, she is looking towards the side of the club with a rather perturbed expression. “Shit, he’s coming!” she suddenly hisses. “Keep snapping photos!” 

As she quickly scurries off in her heels to her “Hollywood Dirt!” truck parked across the street, you turn around, confused. And then you see Eren, fresh off the stage and looking enraged at the flashing lights. “What the hell?!” he grunts. “Aye, back up!” 

He shoves at one camera as he comes towards you, placing one arm on your waist and the other pressed against the screen of a  nearby camera despite the others in his face. “Where the fuck is Levi?!” 

“Eren, I can’t see!” you say, panicked. “I’m gonna trip!” You can barely see your feet, the flashing lights too much to focus through. You are completely swarmed, making you feel like an animal. Eren grabs your hand, pulling you close. “C’mere,” he pants. “This way.” 

He quickly pulls you away from the club and makes a mad dash around the corner, the camera roaches following you close behind. You try to keep up with Eren’s long strides, stumbling slightly in your boots, but you don’t stop moving. “Over here!” Eren calls over his shoulder. 

You have no choice but to follow him when he rounds the corner of the nightclub and runs down the narrow alleyway before stopping between a bar and a hookah lounge that you can hear buzzing with activity and music. You and Eren wedge between the little slit between the two buildings, your face nearly in his chest. “We’ll wait ‘em out here; they’ll get bored eventually.” 

He peers down at you, panting slightly from the run and his time on stage. “You okay?” 

You nod, unable to speak, frazzled by the paparazzi and his closeness. “Sorry. I should’ve known fuckin’ Janice and her crew would’ve came here. Levi must’ve still been fightin’ valet ‘cause he would’ve gotten rid of ‘em. I didn’t think they’d get to you though.”

You still don’t speak, unable to. All you can focus on is how sparkly his chains look around his thick neck; the smell of his cologne on his clothes; the heat radiating from his body. Eren swallows, taking your silence for something different. “I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know that you’d be here tonight and when I saw you leave, I–” 

You cut him off with a kiss, surprising both yourself and him. It just happens, as quickly as lighting striking in a storm. “Mmph!” he moans against your lips, his hands reactively grabbing your waist while you grip his collar. He pulls away, putting some distance between you. “Y/N,” he exhales. “W-Wait, babe, we can’t–” 

“Yes, we can,” you breathe, gripping him, pleading with him. “Just kiss me back, Eren.” You lean in before he can reply and kiss him again, deeper this time. You let the alcohol take over, bringing up that longing and that need for a distraction. 

And just like you want (but don’t particularly need), Eren kisses you back. He kisses you with the same kind of urgency you have, his hands grasping your hips, pressing you against him. His lips are soft and sweet, spiked slightly with the taste of tequila. You can’t get enough of it, but as if he is teasing you, he pulls away, staring at you in awe. “What are we doing?” he asks. 

He cups your cheek, running a thumb over your lush bottom lip. “I don’t know,” you reply. But it feels damn good. All you know is that you want more of his touch. His kisses. His everything. And judging by the lustful look in his eyes, he wants that too. 

“Not here,” he murmurs, but he still leans in to kiss you again before trailing down your neck. You softly moan, tilting your head back to allow more of them. “If you want this, you’d better tell me now.” 

You know that you should say no. You should put a stop to this before it continues. But that throb between your thighs is insistent and impatient, clouding all sense between what is right and what is wrong. “I want this,” you whisper. Eren pulls those lips away and gives you another searing look, trying to size you up and see if you’re toying with him. You’re not. 

Realizing this, he takes your hand and holds you close to him as he leads you out of the alleyway. “Follow me,” he says. “Keep close.” 

You barely pay any attention to the five-star hotel room that Eren books when he gets you to the nearest hotel. 

He doesn’t give a chance to either. As soon as you’re in the door, away from the prying eyes of curious people in the lobby who recognize Eren and passerby on the street, your ex is on you like a tiger pouncing on its prey. He has you pinned against the door, his muscular body against yours, and his lips locked against your mouth. 

The kiss is hot. Lustful. Passionate. Sloppy. Nothing calm or romantic about it. This is two people, drunk off of the liquor and their lust, feeding off of one another. Your moans and hot pants drift into each other’s mouths, increasing your arousal that is quickly reaching new heights in the luxurious hotel room. Within the privacy that the walls and the locked door provide, you can finally relax and let yourself be free in the arms of Eren.

Yes, your ex-boyfriend. He pulls away, panting, his mouth a lustful O as he runs his hands over your ass in your jeans while you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight. “God, I missed this,” he groans. “Missed you so–” 

“Take off your clothes,” you interrupt him, impatient. “I need you naked, Ren.” You don’t want to talk about missing each other or any of that. No romance. No reminiscing. No wistful memories uttered through silky, sweet nothings. You want to forget about how you’re feeling right now and you know Eren can give you that. 

Despite the taken aback look on his face, Eren does as you demand and strips off his skirt, exposing his toned muscles and tattoos to you. His silver dog tags glimmer in the moonlight cutting through the wall to ceiling window overlooking the city several feet away from you, illuminating the gorgeously-decorated living space and the king-sized bed on your left-hand side. 

Your ex doesn’t get a chance to go for his pants because you’re too busy kissing him again as your fingers hungrily run over his muscles, drinking in how they feel under your fingertips. Eren moans into the kiss, pulling away with a soft pop as your gloss sticks to his lips. His teal eyes graze over your form, lustful and salacious. “You’re wearin’ too much too…though that top looks so fuckin’ good on you.” 

The appraisal makes you hot with arousal as you begin to strip, untying your blouse from the neck and shrugging it off. While you toe off your boots, Eren works your jeans down your hips, tugging them down your legs to expose your naked stomach and lace thong to him. He stops and stares for a moment, starstruck. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands gliding down your hips to your thighs. “I haven’t fucked anyone since we ended, y’know. Nobody else.” 

You roll your eyes, wanting to tell him not to say things like that, but the soft kisses he peppers over your tummy make your brain stutter. “Y-You’re just sayin’ that,” you stammer. Your ex stares up at you, his arms locked around the back of your legs, his expression hot and serious. No bullshitting. “I’m not. It’s the truth. I didn’t wanna be with anyone but you.” 

He then begins to kiss you through your panties, his pierced tongue gliding along your slit that has quickly soaked through the fabric of your underwear. You softly moan at the soft touches and kisses, your hands gripping his shoulders as he settles onto his knees before you. The more he teases you, the more desperate you become. “Eren,” you whine. “Take ‘em off.” Eren smirks and looks at you, lazily and cockily. “Magic words, baby.” 

When he takes his tongue and gives your puffy, swollen slit a hot lick through your panties, you nearly cry with impatience. Why must he be such an asshole and make you beg? Though your bratty side screams to resist and persist, you cannot deny how horny you are for him. “Please,” you whisper, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Eren smiles a dazzling, pretty smile that leaves you breathless, proud of your begging. “Good girl. Still so good after all this time.” Quickly, he tugs your panties aside and hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, making you squeak. Then there is no more talking. Nothing except for the dirty lines made for a porno leaving your lips as your ex eats your pussy the way you’ve been craving. 

You gasp as Eren’s tongue swirls along your slit and dips between your folds, the cool metal of his piercing combined with the hot flash of his tongue and mouth making you feel overstimulated in the best way possible. “O-Oh, s-shit!” you stutter. “Fuck, Eren, yes! Just like that…” Your head leans back against the door with a low thud as your hands grip his long, black hair, gripping the locks. 

“Like this?” he teasingly asks, his eyes teasingly gleaming at you. He does the exact same thing with one roll of his tongue and it draws a long, loud moan out of you that bounces off of the hotel walls, giving the neighbors a big indication of what’s going on next door to them.

Eren hums in arousal and satisfaction at your sounds, pressing a searing kiss to your clit that makes you flinch. “You’re so loud f’me, baby. Like your new man ain’t doin’ this to you.” 

You whimper at his words, unable to even speak from his kisses against your throbbing pussy. “N-Nuh….” You can’t get the two-worded reply out. Not when his tongue is back to flicking and slurping away, taking every breath of air out of you. “Does he do it like this?” he asks before giving your slit a long, sultry lick along your slit. “Or this?” 

His tongue suddenly sinks deep inside of your hole and curls forward, caressing your G-spot.

“Eren, fuck!” you moan, nearly banging your head back against the door. The pain is masked by the pleasure you’re feeling coursing through your veins like rapid fire. “Keep doin’ that! That’s so good!” 

Eren knows it. Suddenly, he hooks your other leg up over his shoulder and proceeds to fuck your pussy with his tongue. It takes you to new heights–literally, because you’re hooked around his neck like a koala bear while you grip his neck to avoid falling, pressed back against the door as he slurps you and laps at your cunt like it’s his last meal. His sloppy tongue quickly pulls you under and over, making your moans grow loud and unabashed. “E-Eren, I’m gonna cum,” you warn him through a series of pants. “I’m gonna…oh, fuck!” 

“Mmm-hmm!” Eren moans into your pussy, coaxing you to cum on his tongue by keeping up his quick tempo with his tongue, his nose nudging against your clit, pushing further and further, closer and closer to your end until… 

“Fuck, Eren!” With a loud wail of his name, you come completely undone. Your moans grow louder and more intense, bouncing off of the hotel walls, until finally, with a loud moan of release, you cream all over Eren’s tongue and lips, filling his senses with your taste. It is exactly what you need: intense, hard, and dizzying, knocking all the sense of the world out of you. It is bliss. 

After a few more beating seconds of pleasure, Eren finally settles his tongue-fucking and has gotten his fill of you. He stares up at you, lips wet with your wetness and eyes lust-blown, pleading for you. “So good,” he exhales. 

But you have yet to get your fill of him. And you’re not leaving here until you do. “Help me down,” you softly wine and he does, carefully lowering you to the ground. “Shit,” he groans. “Fuck, babe, your hand.” 

“Fuck me, Eren,” you plead. “Right here. I can’t wait anymore.” A flash of lust appears in Eren’s darkening eyes and you know that he wants this too. Quickly, he unbuckles his belt for you and loosens it to reach into his pants and expose himself to you. 

Finally. He is thick, hard, and ready for you. Just as you need him to be. He digs into his pocket, produces a condom, and rips the wrapper off with his teeth before you help him roll it on his thick length. 

“Jump,” he orders and you do so, wrapping your arms and legs around his body, pressing your body against his like glue. Without a word,–just one look dripping with need that he gives you–he lines himself up with your entrance and you feel your stomach flip over what is soon to come. 

His tip comes first, gently stretching you out, making you moan. And then, inch by inch, he gives you more. “Fuck!” you both exclaim when he slides in, completely at home inside of you. Your head lulls back against the door and your eyes roll back, your body and mind in total bliss as Eren slowly fucks you against the door.

It is perfect. It is hot. It is quick and sinful. And it is so wrong. You know that it is. You understand the consequences that will be waiting for you when you leave this room, like the guilt over making such a huge fucking mistake, but you can’t care right now. Not when your ex’s big cock feels so fucking good stroking your insides, his pelvis rubbing your clit as your legs lock around him tight.

He can’t take it. You can tell from the way he softly grunts through gritted teeth and struggles to keep going slow as your soft, wet, velvety pussy wraps around him tight. He stammers through his moans, the sounds he is making so hot that you can’t help but drip. “Y/N,” he groans. “F-Fuck, baby, you–mmm, shit–feel so good!” 

You agree. It feels too good. You need more. So much more. You need to feel this so you can’t walk the next morning. You want to feel the sweet ache in your muscles tomorrow, reminding you of tonight…yes, that’s just the booze and the lust talking, but the temptation is too intense to resist. “Don’t do it slow,” you groan. “I want more, Eren. Give it to me harder!” 

Eren stares up at you, shocked, but bites his lip as he groans when you roll your hips, grinding your pussy down onto his dick. Without waiting for another order, he takes you off of the door and adjusts his arms around you, making you bounce slightly as he carries you over to the bed. “Gotta get you on the bed,” he grunts. “Make sure I fuck you right.” 

He walks carefully, kicking his pants and shoes off in the process (which you now realize he never took off before he started fucking you), never dropping you or his tight hold on you faltering. Then you’re lying on the soft, cool bed, your legs still squeezed around his narrow hips. You stare up at him, teeth sunk into your lush bottom lip. 

Eren stares back at you, less lustfully and more…intimately. Lovingly. It makes you flush. “What?” you ask, feeling the urge to cover your naked nipples and your pussy stretched around his cock. His stare is too personal for what you’re doing. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, and he reaches out a hand to gently stroke your jaw. “You’re beautiful like this.” 

You swallow the lump that has appeared in your throat, suddenly feeling tears prick your eyes. “E-Eren,” you stammer, but his cock cuts you off. You gasp as he sinks himself deep inside of you and proceeds to fuck you into the mattress standing at the edge of the bed, pumping his hips in and out, in and out. 

It is a rhythm that draws the wildest, sluttiest noises out of you as you bounce on the bed, your titties bouncing with you and your pussy squelching around his dick. “Oh, fuck! Ren, yes! Fuck me just like that!” With every moan, whimper, and gasp that escapes you, Eren fucks you harder. Faster. Rougher. 

He slaps one hand on your ass while the other tosses your arms above your head, pinning both wrists to the bed. His face is flushed and glistening in sweat, just as handsome as “Like this? This is how you want it?” he growls, soft pants and grunts leaving his lips as he pounds into you. 

You feel yourself getting closer and closer with every thrust and roll of his hips, leading you to rub your clit between your bodies when Eren releases your wrists. He watches, his eyes lust-blown and dark with possessiveness. “Bet no one can do it like this for you.”

He pauses to lean down to suck on your throat, making you let out a loud, open-mouthed moan. “Nobody can ever do it for me like you do.” 

And you’re starting to believe it…or maybe that’s just your oncoming nut talking to you. “Eren!” you moan. “Please more! Just fuck me!”

He does just that, fucking you so hard and fast that the bed moves, squeaking and creaking bedsprings filling the air with your moans and his hips slapping against yours. “God—h-ha—baby, you’re fuckin’ amazing!” he groans. “Got me so close!” 

You can feel it–his cock has begun to swell and throb inside of you, signaling his end. You want him to cum. You need it more than you need air. Than water. Than anything. You stare into his eyes, through your lashes. “Cum for me, Ren. I want you to fill me up.” 

Eren pauses and tosses your legs off of him just to hold them up straight in the air. When he thrusts, he strokes a spot inside of you that makes you see stars and grip the bedspread below you for dear life. “Beg me,” he growls. “Beg for my cum.” 

Plap-plap-plap goes his hips as they smack against your ass, your hand locked around your thighs as you continue to rub your clit. “Eren,” you whine. “I’m close.” You’re right there, teetering on the edge. 

But Eren doesn’t care, still fucking you while standing, his abs and tattoos glistening in the moonlight. “Then beg, you little minx. Beg nice and pretty for me.” You don’t know what possesses you, but you do, bellowing loud and proud, “Please! Please give me your cum, Eren!” 

That tears the last thread of self-control Eren has and soon, he is chasing his orgasm inside of you, taking you right with him. His mouth goes slack as he moans, the sight so fucking hot that you nearly explode. “I’m cumming!” he gasps. “Cum with me right fuckin’ now, baby!” 

And just as he unloads a hot load of cum inside of the condom, you let out a gasp of his name and cream all over his cock. You soak him as he grips your hips, his hips stuttering as he continues to rock into you, doing so as if he’s pushing his cum inside of you. Briefly, you deliriously think about him stripping off the condom so he can cum inside you raw, wondering what it would feel like. 

But the deliriously lewd thought passes just as your orgasm does. The intense high only lasts as long as your pussy twitches and spasms around Eren’s dick, coaxing more of his nut out before he finally stops moving his hips. He leans down to kiss you and that is when reality kicks in. You turn your head to avoid his lips, the moment ruined. “No,” you whisper. “I can’t.” 

Eren pauses, just a sliver away from your mouth. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I forgot. M’sorry.” Quickly, he lifts off of you, letting out a soft grunt as he pulls himself out of you. His cock is semi-hard and the condom is slick with your cum. You sit up on the bed, panting and sweaty…and feeling oh-so empty. 

Eren stands before you, still naked, hands on his hips. He is awkward and unsure, clearing a frog in his throat. “Um…that was nice.” 

You nod, saying nothing, wondering if you even should. Then, as if God is saving you from your mess, you hear your ringtone in your bag across the room: a Megan Thee Stallion song reserved for your friend. That’s right! Your friend! “Shit, that’s my friend,” you sigh, facepalming yourself. “She’s looking for me.” 

Gentlemanly, Eren crosses the threshold of the room to get your bag…and your clothes. He holds them out for you, awkward and tense. “Guess we should get dressed then.” To your surprise, you are disappointed that he even suggests it. 

After sending your friend an apology text, you sit on the edge of the bed and get dressed. Eren sits behind you on the other side, dressing himself in silence. The room is tense with a thick silence that is almost unbearable. Maybe you should say something. Apologize. Anything! But your ex beats you to it. 

“So does this still count as break up sex for you?” Eren suddenly asks as you zip up your jeans. “Or are you gonna still act like you don't want this?” 

You turn to him, your curled braids flipping as you do, springy like corkscrews going down your back. "What?" you ask, irked at his loaded questions. "Want what?" 

Eren turns to you on the bedside, still shirtless, the moonlight illuminating his muscles, tattoos, and that damn chain around his neck. “You know what I'm talkin' about, Y/N,” he replies, his voice a near growl. “Don't play dumb with me. You're smarter than that.”  

His grey eyes twinkle with simmering irritation, making you irritated too. “You don't have to be an asshole about it, Eren,” you argue, buttoning your hip-hugging jeans. "This was a surprise for me too, okay? I didn’t plan none of this.” You snatch your blouse up from the floor and yank it on, fixing the front so it collapses between your tits. 

Eren scoffs, watching you get dressed. "Obviously not. Otherwise, you wouldn't be hoppin' on my dick again when you've got a new boyfriend.” He pauses, thinking on this. “Or maybe you would. Like you said, I don't know you anymore." 

Without even thinking about it, you pick up a pillow from the floor and hurl it at him. He catches it with one hand, lowering it onto the bed. "Fuck you, Eren," you hiss, enraged at his harshness. "And for the record, Reiner just broke it off with me tonight outside the club. Does that make you feel better?" 

You widen your arms at him, smacking them down at your sides as you glare at him. His face softens, his brows knitting together. "He broke up with you?" he asks, confused. "Why?" 

You scoff with a dry, raucous laugh. “Why does it even matter? It’s all because of fucking you!" you snap at him, almost rueing the day you ever met him. "Because you wrote that song about me! What the fuck were you thinking?!" 

"Hey, I never said that song was about you," he argues. "I never said that song was about anyone." 

You scoff, waving him off with your hand, turning to face the expansive hotel window of the cityline instead of him. "Please. Now it's your turn not to play dumb with me, Eren; you know damn well that shit was all about me." 

“Yeah?” he challenges, now standing up from the bed. You can tell from the creaking of the bedsprings. “And so what if it was? Da fuck, I can't sing what I want to sing?” 

You turn to him, throwing your shoe at him this time. He ducks and the heeled boot lands on the bed. "You're making songs about our relationship!" you snap, your rage, and the guilt for having sex with your famous ex, building. "You're making money off of me and a private thing between us! No one else needed to know!" 

He raises his studded brow at you, his top lip curling up in that way he does when he’s irritated. "Did you ever think that maybe I dropped the damn song for a reason, Y/N?" he asks. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I fuckin' love you and I want you back in my life?" 

Suddenly, it feels like the world stops spinning. You stand there, frozen, his words slowly processing in your tipsy-and-fucked-out brain. "What?" you dumbly ask. 

Eren stands there, jaw set firm and eyes hot. "I said I lo–" 

"Don't," you interrupt, putting a hand out to stop those three forbidden words from coming out. “Don't say that.” He has never said those words to you before. Even though his song is basically a love confession to you, hearing them actually come from his mouth is like a slap in the face and a punch in the gut all at once. 

He loves you. He loves you. Oh, no. 

“Why?” he pushes, inching towards you. You try to step away, but he grabs your hand, keeping you in front of him. “‘Cause you know you feel it too? ‘Cause you know that breakin’ this off was a mistake and you refuse to see it?” 

You look away from him, feeling your eyes burn with tears. Why must he make this harder than it should be? 

“Look at me,” he whispers. His voice is temptation, oozing over you like sweet honey. Against your better judgement, you look up at him and you see nothing but utter adoration in his stormcloud eyes. 

“I’d make a million fuckin’ songs about you if it meant I had one chance to get you back in my life, baby. And that’s the truth.” 

Those words hit you like bullets and you quickly retreat in on yourself. Into your head. “No,” you whimper. “No, no, no! This was a mistake! I never should’ve done this!” Quickly, you grab your boots and purse, and head for the door, but Eren stops you by grabbing your hand. 

“Y/N, wait!” he protests. “Don’t go. The bloggers could’ve followed us here.” But you bat his hand away, not wanting him to touch you. Hold you. You’re afraid that you’ll stay if you feel any more of his touch. “I don’t care! Let me go!” you wail, fighting against him. 

Eren’s hold on you falters and you quickly yank the door open before barreling out into the hallway. “Y/N, hold up! Come back!” he calls. But you don’t, gunning down the hallway with tears blurring your vision. 

You don’t start crying until you get outside, ignoring the strange and curious looks of the staff and guests as you rush out. After checking your GPS for the way back to the club, glad that it’s just a straight walk away, you dial the one number of the one person you know you can count on always. Through gulps of air and soft sobs, you click on Connie’s contact and pray that he answers. 

He does and it’s like the universe throwing you a bone. “Was poppin’, sissy? How’s the club?” He’s in a joking mood, but you’re not. “Con,” you whimper. “I need you to come and get me.” 

As soon as he hears you crying, Connie immediately shifts into protective brother mode, no funny business. “What’s goin’ on?” he asks, his voice becoming rasped with seriousness. “What happened? Was it your boyfriend?” 

“No, no, it was…it’s…” You pause, regret taking over and making your sobs more intense. “I fucked up so bad, Connie. I don’t know what to do.” You sniffle and wipe your tears, your eyeshadow and mascara for sure destroyed. 

“Where are you?” he demands. You tell him the nightclub since you’re heading back there anyway and you hear his footsteps padding on the floor as he hurries to get up. “Stay right there; I’m on my way. It’ll be okay, Y/N, I promise.” 

You don’t feel like it will be, but you just tell him, “Okay” and hang up before you keep walking. In the winter cold. Alone. It is the perfect punishment for you for committing such dumbassery, you believe. How could you do this? How could you so easily fold over your ex just because of some stupid memories and an argument with Reiner?

The guilt only intensifies when you make it back to the nightclub that is still bumping with activity despite the late hour. But you’re not interested in participating. All you want to do is go home, take a hot shower, and– 

“Y/N!” A sudden shout comes from up the street. You look towards the club doors to see your friend rushing over in her heels and hurrying over to you. She wears a panicked expression on her face, probably caused by you. Armin follows behind her, on the phone with somebody. “There you are!” your friend gasps. “Where the hell did you go? We thought someone snatched you up or something!” 

You can’t speak, still too frazzled. Your brain is still catching up with you after the past two hours. Your friend doesn’t notice what’s off at first; not until Armin meets up with you both and notices your red eyes. “Are you okay?” he softly asks. Your friend’s eyes widen at your appearance, now close enough to see your mascara stains. 

But before you can answer, you hear another familiar yell your name…because everyone is just looking for you tonight. You turn and down the street, you see Eren running up to you. Shit. “Jesus, you can’t run off on me like that,” he huffs, panting heavily from running after you. “I thought somethin’ happened to you.” 

Armin and your friend look between you, Eren, and then at each other. “What are you doing with my friend, Eren?” your friend demands, quickly putting herself between you and your ex. Eren turns to you, knowing yet silent, not wanting to air you out. But you stand there, completely shaken, looking like an idiot. “I-I–” 

HONK-HONK!

You jump, turning towards the loud honking car that has pulled up next to you, double parked. Judging by the type–a silver Jeep–you know that it’s your brother. Oh, no. 

Connie, in his grey sweats, hoodie and kicks, ignores the gawking of the club goers and bouncers as he walks up to you. “Sis,” he says, but he stops whatever he wants to say when he locks eyes with Eren. Instantly, Armin steps between you, your friend, and Eren, putting as much space between Eren and your angered brother as possible. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ on here?” Connie demands, glaring at Eren. “Why is she cryin’?” He comes up on the curb, causing Eren to take a step back. “Connie, just let me explain–” 

But Connie isn’t listening, red in the face with rage. “Don’t you understand that it’s over for you two? When are you gonna leave my sister alone, you dickhead?” 

FLASH!

You turn at the sight of a sudden flashing light of a camera shutter from behind a car. Damn paparazzi. Now you see it: the audience you’ve conjured. Club hoppers, bouncers, passerby, and Eren’s fans have all come to watch the show. ‘What have I done?’ you think.

You turn to Eren, wanting to warn him, but he’s too busy glaring at Connie who has somehow rounded all of you to stand in front of your ex. “You’d better watch who you’re talkin’ to,” Eren growls. 

But Connie isn’t afraid, used to people barking at him in the ring before a fight. “Or what?” he challenges, his voice dangerously low, his chest hitting Eren’s in a way that is aggressive and confrontational. Eren doesn’t react, but you can tell from his tense jaw and muscles that he is struggle to control himself. 

“Guys, let’s stop,” Armin tries to persuade them. He steps between them again, trying in vain to stop him. “Please. We don’t have to fight.” 

Connie smirks, cold and cocky. “Yeah, exactly, Eren. You don’t want none of this with that pretty face.” You resist the urge to slap Connie. He’s making this so much worse than it has to be. “Maybe I do,” Eren challenges, shooting your brother with a challenging smirk of his own. “You come up to my waist, bitch. You ain’t gonna–” 

Connie cuts him off with a punch, clocking him right over Armin’s shoulder, making you and your friend gasp in horror. And then Eren is on him. Poor Armin is shoved out of the way before Eren is clocking Connie in the chin, making your brother stagger. The two throw fists and wrestle standing up, trying to knock the other down. 

The bouncers don’t get involved, so you’re forced to take matters into your own hands. “Eren, cut it out!” Armin yells, grabbing Eren by the waist and forcing him back away from a bleeding Connie. 

Connie tries to lunge at your ex again, blood pooling from his mouth, but you stop him. “Guys, no!” you wail, grabbing at Connie’s arm. “Con, stop it! Leave him alone!” Your friend backs you up, standing behind Connie while you stand in front of him, blocking his view of Eren. 

But Eren is still pushing at Armin, trying to get by. If it isn’t for Jean, Hange, and Mikasa appearing like the Avengers, you know for sure that the two men would have been bucking again. Mikasa quickly intervenes by pressing her hands against Eren’s chest while Armin holds him back by his arms. “Eren, chill!” Jean yells. “Don’t let your fans see this!” 

But it’s too late: cameras are flashing, phones are recording, and people are watching. “You fuck ass bitch! This is all your fault!” Connie screams from above your head. “You hurt her!” 

Eren looks wounded by this despite the bruise appearing on his cheek. “I didn’t–” 

BANG! 

The whole group flinches and ducks at the sound of a gunshot popped in the air. The entire block ducks, terrified screams erupting in the air. You all turn to see Levi standing next to his truck double parked behind Connie, a glock pointed to the air. “That’s enough,” he growls. “I’m not about to have anyone with a black eye.” 

You all stay put, stunned into silence, as Eren’s personal bodyguard storms up to the scene. He grips Eren up with no problem by his collar, yanking him over to the car. “Whoa, hey, what are you–” 

“Shut up,” Levi demands, and glares at all of you still crouched on the sidewalk. “I suggest all of you go home now before more paparazzi show up. Hange, open the backseat.”

Quickly, Hange hurries over to the truck and pops the backseat open. Levi shoves him inside before telling Hange to get in. 

All three pull off without another word, leaving you to stand in the aftermath of your mess. After assessing the damage, Mikasa, Armin, and Jean go in to clean up, wanting to call it a night. Your friend follows them to get some ice for Connie (and Armin’s number). 

You turn to Connie wiping blood from his mouth, his bottom lip swollen. “You okay?” you ask. Your brother still looks irritated, but not at you. “Yeah, m’fine. What the hell was his problem?” 

You look down the street where the truck is taking off with your ex inside, leaving you to stand in the cold, shivering. You wrap your arms around yourself, guilt making you colder.

the adrenaline rush you got from having his unloaded gun pointed at you had you feeling fucking feral, and don’t even get me started on when he wanted you to point it at him while he was slurping at your pussy.

that was the first time you ever held his glock, and even though it was unloaded, the mere feeling of the cold metal underneath your fingertips had ice running through your veins.

and just now you got that same feeling, only this time, his gun was very much loaded, and ready to be used.

eren has shown you how to use his gun plenty of times for safety reasons, so you knew how to handle it without causing harm to yourself or others, but you’ve never actually held it and felt it out until now.

it was definitely heavier with bullets inside. you couldn’t help but wonder how he walked around so casually with it.

“geez . .” you muttered, french tipped nails tracing along the barrel. it was cold to the touch, bringing goosebumps to your bare skin.

you were supposed to be journaling, and scheduling out the next few weeks in your planner, but curiosity eventually got the best of you.

eren was in the living room, man spreading on the couch with a blunt perched between his tatted fingers while he spoke to his supplier. that kinda stuff bored you, and it was only time eren wouldn’t entertain your antics. paw at his thigh one time, and you’re suddenly met with the scariest death stare of all time, and a deep frown.

the man was very serious about his business.

so while he talked about god knows what with levi, you brought your pretty ass to your shared room, and well . . . here we are.

the thing about your boyfriend, though, is that he has these spidey-like senses that alert him whenever you’re up to no good.

so when it was too quiet in the other room for more than ten minutes, he definitely had some suspicions.

“yeah . . yeah, i gotcha. i can stop by tomorrow night if that’s cool with you. my girl, and i got dinner plans tonight . . mhm. yeah, that’s cool. i’ll see you tomorrow night then . . bye.”

click!

eren tossed his phone aside with a sigh, and looked towards the bedroom, where still not a peep was heard.

thank god you really couldn’t hear for shit, so it was pretty easy for him to sneak up on you, and see what you were up to.

and it was just as he thought—instead of journaling and planning out your week like you said, you were on his side of bed, crouched over like you were hiding something.

he noticed that his bedside drawer was open, and that’s when the dots started to connect. a smirk curled at his full lips.

“whatcha doin’?”

“a-ah?! ren, you dummy, y-you scared me!” you huffed, quickly setting the glock back in the drawer. heat rose to your cheeks, and bells of embarrassment rung back and forth between your ears. “i just wanted to hold it for a second . . i’m sorry.”

eren was quick to shake his head, slipper clad feet slowly making their way over to you. “don’t be sorry, baby. you know i’ve been wantin’ you to get your own, so don’t feel embarrassed for being curious.” he plucked a raw cone that was sitting behind his ear, and brought it to his lips, “you wanna light this f’me?”

you didn’t know what it was was, but there was something so attractive about him smiling down at you with that cone dangled between his pretty lips.

blindly, you searched for a lighter, and luckily found one next to the glock. the metal grazed icily against your skin as your fingers wrapped around the lighter. “of course i do.”

he leant down a bit more, emerald eyes never once leaving yours.

a thick, yellow tinted cloud of smoked escaped past his lips before he inhaled it back in. “thank you, pretty girl,” he hummed, exhaling the smoke just a few inches above your head. “now may i ask why you were messing with moira?”

“i wasn’t messing with nothing, babe, honest! i just wanted to hold it for a minuteee,” you arms slithered around his slim waist, pulling him in closer. “i don’t know how you carry that around with you all the time. it’s so heavy.”

your lips parted in a breathy sigh when he caressed at your jaw, almost like you were waiting for him to do something.

“you get used to it after a while. feels like nothin’ to me now . . and i don’t mind that you wanted to hold her—”

“why do you call it a her? i thought that was just for, like, cars, and boats, and stuff,” you interrupted with a raised brow. “and why moira of all names? is it from the nineteen-hundreds?”

eren just laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling together cutely. “here,” he muttered, placing the raw cone between your parted lips.

“i call her a she because . . i don’t know. it just feels right, and i referred to her as moira as a joke at first, but it kinda just stuck.” he plucked the cone from between your lips, and brought it back up to his own. “as i was saying before—i don’t mind that you wanted to hold her. you already know i been wantin’ you to get one of your own.”

the world was a dangerous place. and during a time when men were on constant power trips, and hurting random, innocent women, eren wanted you to be fully prepared for any, and everything if he wasn’t there.

but you were just not into guns.

you let out a small laugh, nimble fingers making their way up to the drawstrings on his sweats. “the day i get a gun is the day i take your credit card off my apple pay. never gonna happen, baby.”

“so pepper spray, and a pink, bedazzled pocket knife it is, hm?”

his breath hitched only slightly when you tugged lightly at his sweats. “alwayssss,” you grinned, resting your chin on his lower abdomen.

for a moment, you both just stared at one another. the sexual tension was thicker than the tinted smoke eren french inhaled, and with each passing second, you could feel his cock growing harder.

“you know i’d kill for you, right?”

your lashes fluttered, a dopey smile spreading across your lips. “yes, baby. you tell me that at least three times a week.”

“and you know m’serious too . . if anybody ever put you in harms way—i wouldn’t even hesitate.”

“yes, ren. i know.”

“does that scare you?”

he placed the cone between your lips against again, and you shook your head. this made him raise a brow, “not even a little?”

god, you were stroking his ego so bad, and you probably knew it by the way your were looking at him, and talking in that syrupy sweet voice that had his dick twitching.

“no, rennie,” with a final inhale, you were stubbing the bitter tasting weed out, and refocusing your attention on him—specifically the waistband of his sweats. “i think it’s really sweet actually . . that you care so much about me.”

in an instant, eren’s wife beater was pushed up just above the hardened ridges on his abdomen. kiss after kiss from your plush lips littered the entire area, bringing him to a full hard on. “touch it,” you heard him rasp from above.

your tongue poked out, wet and pink, and trailed over the throbbing bulge. the look on his face was priceless. feral with a tinge of shock.

“mm, kiss this instead.”

and then you felt something cold against your temple. a shiver ran down your back, and goosebumps blossomed around the entirety of your body.

the only thing that was almost better than your orgasm face was the look you had right now. scared, but also pathetically needy.

a whimper bubbled in the back of your throat as you pressed a kiss to it, and then another. eventually, you poked your tongue out, but justttt a little bit.

“look at my two favorite girls french kissin’.”

“ugh, ren! don’t be crude!” your lips pushed into a pout making eren laugh harder. he nudged the weapon underneath your chin, forcing you to look up before setting it back inside the drawer.

“heh . . cute.”

when he started bunching up his hair, you knew it was go time—the shirt you were wearing now tossed to the side without a second thought. this left you almost bare, the only article on clothing on you being a pair of baby pink panties.

“you excited for our date tonight?” he asked you, casual as ever like he wasn’t about to give you some serious work. “been waiting to take you there for months.”

as he pulled off his shirt, your doe-like eyes immediately zeroed in on the swirls of ink that covered his arms and chest. his bottoms were next to go.

“y-yeah, i’m really exci—oh!”

before you could even get four words out, eren was pulling you to the edge of the bed by your legs in one, swift tug. “you gonna wear that pretty dress i bought you? the pink one with the lace?”

while he awaited for your response, his fingers curled into the waistband of your panties, pulling them just below the soft mound of your cunt. when you didn’t say anything, his eyes flicked to yours. “well, are you?”

“y-yes, rennie. i am, i promise.”

he let out a hum of approval, and tugged your panties down the rest of the way, exposing your slicked pussy to the cool air.

“i like when you pick out my outfits,” you added, batting your lashes up at him.

his hand instantly wrapped around your throat, applying little to no pressure, meanwhile the other grabbed ahold of his twitching cock. the thick head swiped between your chubby folds once, twice, before slowly pushing in.

“slow, rennie,” you gasped out, trying your absolute best to ease up for him. “k-kiss me?”

“mhmmm.”

then his lips were against yours, the new angle causing him to push more of his dick between the tight confines of your silken walls. he just kissed you like that for a while. all slow n’ nasty until he was able to build up a steady rhythm.

“don’t stop,” you mewled against his lips, parting them more so he was able to slip his tongue into your mouth. it laved over yours, and then he was sucking on it making you whine.

the bun he put his hair in was messy, rushed, and was falling apart within minutes of him fucking you. soon, a curtain of brunette hair covered you both much to his dismay. “ngh, s-stupid hair tie. hold on, baby—”

“just leave it, honey—don’t stop,” you repeated desperately, bringing your hands up to cup his cheeks. “y-you feel s’good!”

“shit—yeah? you like when i fuck you all sweet?” there was nothing sweet about the way his cock was drilling into you, but it sure did feel like it with the way he was talking you through it. “don’t forget to breathe.”

just as he said that, you released a long breath you didn’t even know you were holding, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “good girl. jus’ keep on breathing, and let rennie fuck you like you deserve.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, your body going completely limp as eren fucked into you harder, deeper. a tatted hand gripped at the back of your knee, and slung it over his waist, the new angle bringing hearts to your eyes.

then eren’s phone started ringing.

and it wasn’t just anyone, it was levi. you could tell by the ringtone because eren has designated ringtones for all his important contacts—you included.

with the sound of skin slapping and heavy pants, you were hoping he wouldn’t hear the familiar sound and stop. this was not the case.

“a-ah, fuck. that’s levi callin’, baby—”

your man let out a noise of confusion when you covered his ears, and pulled him in close, smushing your lips against his. “just ignore ittttt,” you whined into the kiss, only for eren to let out a groan of disapproval.

“if you pull out m’not letting you back in.”

“oh really?” the brunette chuckled. “you better hold on then.”

he swooped you up with ease, apologizing in the form of a kiss to your chin for the sudden movement. his cock was deep and snug inside of you, the thick veins that wrapped around the base now throbbing erratically against your gooey walls.

it felt good, like, really good, but you couldn’t let him know this because he found a loophole out of your threat!

“you’re so, so annoying—i swear you’re the most irritating german man to have ever walked the earth!” you whined into his neck, manicured fingers threading themselves into his tousled hair.

“what—is me being german supposed to be derogatory or sum? da musst du dir schon mehr mühe geben, um meine gefühle zu verletzen, baby,” he chuckled into your ear. with every long stride he took to search for his phone, you could feel everything.

and now you were even more annoyed because you knew you’d have to be quiet for him.

“sei brav,” he muttered, making sure to be extra careful as he settled you both on the couch with you now pretty, and perched in his lap. “makin’ me miss his phone calls n’ shit.”

“we’re supposed to be fucking if you didn’t remember you big brute—a-ah!” you were interrupted by eren’s thumb pushing past your kiss bitten lips, and pressing down roughly on your tongue.

he pressed the phone against his ear, emerald eyes now gone completely dark. ‘ride me,’ was all he said before the other line picked up.

“hey . . yeah, i’m sorry i missed your call. i was just a lil busy . . mhmm . . yeah, everything is fine with her—what’s up?”

the couch creaked underneath you as eren rested his back more into the plush cushions, his thumb still resting heavily on your tongue.

you wanted to be annoyed, you really did . . but he just looked so handsome. especially when his brows pulled together in sensitivity when your hips lifted up, leaving only the tip inside. your hands, soft as rose petals, rested on his broad shoulders, then slowly drifted upwards until you were cupping his jaw.

“definitely get more sativa heavy strands. i noticed the warmer it gets, the more people been buying it . . mhm . . oooo, y-yeah, i’m sure the earthy girls will love that shit,” he snickered into the phone. his teeth caught onto his bottom lip as he ran his thumb over the soft muscle of your tongue.

a whimper bubbled in your chest when he suddenly pulled it out, rubbing the excess saliva over the plush of your lips.

everything suddenly felt too hot. you wanted to move faster—you wanted to bring moira back into the mix honestly. but every time your ass clapped against his thighs too hard, or you whined a little too loudly, he was pinching at your nipple, each time harder than the last.

“r-ren,” you whispered, low and desperate. your eyes were glassy, filled with bratty tears because you wanted —needed more. eren was quick to grip your jaw roughly between his tatted fingers, halting your movements completely.

ouuu, you’ve done it now!

eren didn’t let you move an inch, his hand slithering down to wrap around your throat. your cunt clenched wildly around his cock, almost as if you were trying to milk his orgasm from him.

“yo, you mind if i call you back? my girl needs me n’ you know how she can get . . . heh, yeah i know. i’ll call you back in forty.”

you were relieved he was finally off the phone, but you weren’t so crazy about the look on his face. it made you feel small—breakable.

because if anyone was able to mind break you into a puddle of smeared mascara n’ tears, it was eren.

“sorry,” you mumbled, and then his hand tightened around your throat. “s-sorry! m’sorry ren.”

his grip loosened a tad, but not a lot. “you’re so impatient, you know that? can’t even wait—what, five minutes?”

when you shook your head no, he actually smiled. it was an amused one. “what are you thinking about?”

never the one to censor yourself or your feelings, you said, “taking you to bed, n’ riding you.” your lashes fluttered innocently at him while your pussy creamed him with every small movement. “wanna make you finish inside me, rennie.”

his brow twitched, and so did the corner of his lips that adorned an adorable beauty mark on the top one.

ten minutes later . . . .

“yeah, yeah, yeah, y-yes, o-oh my—!”

your lower half spasmed against eren’s as you came with a loud, tearful cry. he laid beneath you with a twisted snarl, and scrunched brows as he tried not to cum along with you—but it was almost impossible with the way your pussy was suffocating his cock.

a thick ring of cream started up around the base and only got frothier and messier the more you fucked him.

“ngh, you like that? ‘like creaming my dick, and makin’ it all messy?” a tatted hand came down on your ass, a loud smacking sound echoing throughout the room. “god, and it’s so loud. you’re gonna make me nut real soon.”

your brain was on overload, a million thoughts racing through it at speeds you didn’t even know were possible.

“can you—can you get it out please? please, ren? ‘wanna feel it on me. you feel how wet it’s makin’ me?”

oh yes. he could feel, hear, and see it.

his hands gripped at the fat of your hips, moving you back and forth, back and forth. “mhm, i feel it, baby. grab her for me?”

before your hand made contact with the weapon, eren mumbled out a low, “go slow, and careful, pretty girl.”

there was a slight shake in your hands when you grabbed the glock, careful not to squeeze anything or bring it over too fast. eren’s warm fingers grazed over yours as he took it from you.

the sound of a click had ice running through your veins. did he just—?

“safety’s off,” he muttered, now holding the icy metal against your lower belly. “better ride me real good, yeah?”

your feet planted into the mattress, teeth clamping harshly on your bottom lip. “i-i will, daddy. you wan’ me to move like this?” your hips moved back forth slowly, the exposed bud of your clit rubbing deliciously over his skin. “or—hah, maybe like this?” his chest felt scorching hot beneath the skin of your hands as you leant forward, now raising and dropping your lower half against his with obnoxiously loud claps.

“am i doing good?”

he circled the gun around your nipple, then carefully pushed it more into your breast. “mm, i’ve seen you do better.” a lie, but he needed to get you amped up. “show me how bad you want it. show rennie how bad you want my nut.”

while you ground your sticky cunt in eren, he held the glock firmly against your temple while his other hand gripped the plush of your ass.

everything was wet and sticky; from your thighs, to the bottom your behind, to eren’s pelvis. each time your hips lifted a lewd fwop! sound could be heard, bringing heat to your cheeks.

but now was not the time to be embarrassed—now was the time to make eren proud. that was the only thing that mattered, and will ever matter.

the minutes were ticking by quickly, and before either of you knew it, twenty more minutes had passed. it wouldn’t be long before levi was calling eren again, because he was just punctual like that. eren respected it, and levi as a whole, so you best believe he’d stop mid-fuck again to answer him.

you needed to make him cum, and fast.

“i-i’m close, daddy. cum with me? please?” you had your best doe eyes on for him, the same ones that he could never resist, and had him melting into a puddle of love and warmth every time. “hah—pleaseeee,” you whined out, bringing a hand up to wrap around the wrist that was holding the glock.

“fuck yeah, i’m close—c’mere, baby,” swiftly, he set the glock aside on the bedside table with a small thud. every nerve in his body was screaming at him to pull you close, and hold your body captive against his warm chest.

so that’s what he did.

while you mouthed at the lipstick print tattoo he had dedicated to you long ago, he cradled the back of your head, uttering nasty praises and promises to bring you closer to your peak.

“gonna . . *huff* gonna cum, daddy. s’gonna be big, i can feel it,” you whined in his neck, every song and word you let out coming out muffled. eren just hummed, and planted his feet more into the bed, his hips pistoning upwards so fast it had you seeing stars and streaks of white. his balls, heavy and full of warm cum to give you, slapped harshly against your ass with every thrust.

“i know, baby, i can feel it. that little pussy wants to cum bad don’t she?” he chuckled into your ear, pink tongue lolling out so he could lick over it.

four bruising thrusts later, and your body was full on trembling as a steady stream of your cum dripped down eren’s shaft, and onto his throbbing balls.

“fff—huck, ren!” you sobbed into his slightly sweaty skin. your brain was completely fried, and it wasn’t until now that you could finally go limp, and let eren use you like the ragdoll you so desperately wanted to be in this moment.

“oouu my fuckin—!” eren growled out, his hands now finding purchase on your ass once more. with ease, he lifted your lower half until only the tip remained inside your tight heat. he was in full control, moving your backside up and down, up and down, until you finally felt the first streak of cum coat your walls. “tighten that pussy up, c‘mon, baby. milk this fuckin’ dick.”

his words had you tightening up out of instinct, giving him exactly what he wanted.

when he lowered you back down, he moaned in bliss at the warmth that greeted him, long lashes fluttering shut.

“hold me,” you whimpered into his shoulder. the shaking you were experiencing from your orgasm seemed to be never ending, and although your boyfriend had both arms lazily slung over your form, you needed more.

and eren knew exactly what you meant without even having to ask, his arms tightening around you until he heard you let out a hum of content.

“you know i was serious about you keeping this in you all night, right? m’gonna get hard against just thinking about it,” you heard him chuckle, his fingers playfully pinching your side.

he could feel the scrunch in your nose, and grinned wider, “what—too nasty for you?”

“just shut up, and answer the phone.”

he raised a thick brow, his smirk only faltering slightly, “but the phone ain’t—”

before he could even finish his sentence here came that same, familiar ringtone that interrupted you not too long ago. this brought a smirk to your lips, “exactly. now answer, and lemme sleep.”

it’s his pet names that linger instead— sounding all soft and familiar, worn warm from use. the ones he returns to without thinking, like second nature. schatzi. simply sweet. ever so precious. the word curls from his mouth with an ease that feels almost absentminded, yet never careless. and liebling, his favorite, his darling. it’s usually spoken quieter, closer, like it belongs to you and him alone.

those are the few words you come to know. not by translation, but how they’re given. by the way his voice lowers around them, the way they brush against your skin like something tangible.

mixed by blood, eren's heritage lives in the small details about him more than anything else; his cadence, his features, his mannerisms. he doesn't necessarily talk about it. his tongues, german and turkish, live elsewhere. like in fleeting moments on the phone with his family, voice softened with a familiarity different from the kind he shows you.

it's admirable, how effortlessly he slips into the rhythm of home when catching up with his mother and father. you hear it only then, in fragments and tones, something distant. you try to glimpse into that part of him, but he leaves it unshared. 

it isn't that your boyfriend withholds any aspects of his life, or his culture, from you. rather, he lets untranslatable words fall as they come, shaped more by his feeling than intentionality. there's a certain intimacy in that. he thinks that you don't have to understand every syllable to feel the weight of it.

because with him, it's about how it lingers in the space between you long after the words have fallen away.

you know eren doesn’t make much use of deutsch in his everyday life, no. it remains tucked away as the one thing he doesn't reach for, but something that exists all the same. and maybe, that's what makes it all the more enticing, when it surfaces in the moments his control finally begins to slip.

it’s in those instances, when his breath grows uneven and composure frays at the edges, that something from deep within him begins to rise unbidden. words he doesn't consciously choose, tones he typically wouldn't shape, leaving him in a low, broken lilt. there's nothing intentional about it, just the rawness of instinct when the sensation is so overwhelming that he can't help himself any longer.

and in that unraveling, there's something disarmingly sensual. not just the act itself, or the hot slide of his hands when he touches you, but a side of him that can't be hidden away, revealed only when he's too far gone to hold it back.

"scheisse!"

it slips out of him without warning. his mind’s so muddled by the way your dewy walls squeeze his cock that he doesn’t even think to translate. he’s drawn fully into the hilt of your gushing pussy, his presence heavy both in-and-outside of you. he's got you splayed out on your back, displayed ever so beautifully, soft textured hair fanning out on the pillows, like that of a halo. how fitting, for his precious angel. 

eren has you tucked under the breadth of him and slovenly folded into missionary, your body immovably pressed beneath the heat and heaviness of his imposing frame. his attention narrows on you, you, you, until nothing else seems to exist outside of it.

your trembling leg is held in his left palm, secured at the pit of your knee as he guides it up against your shoulder as a means to fucks deeper into you. his other hand rests hot upon your waist, grip tightening whenever you react, kneading at warm brown flesh whenever you clamp down on him. he's unrelenting with how he draws out, plows in, does it again, again, again. dense clapping resounds in hollow echoes throughout the dim-lit bedroom of his paradis-city penthouse.

"e—ren! eren, erennn,” his name falls fractured from your lips, each syllable hitching as it leaves you. he hears it, and something in him shifts. a slow, unmistakable reaction that pulls at the corner of his mouth before it fully settles into a smile. it spreads wide, brazen and sharp in a way that looks as feral as he feels; all teeth, cutting sharp and boyish across his face, features drawn tight with ardor.

pleasure has already taken hold of him; face flushed, sweat gathering and rolling in narrow paths down his skin. his dark manbun sits slightly undone at the base of his head, loose strands slipping free to cling to his temples and the nape of his neck, his tattooed body damp with the same heat that coats him. his brows, thick and dark, knit tightly together, while his bright-teal eyes stay intense and wild, fixed on you with a look that doesn’t waver. you’re his maker and weakness alike, the only thing holding his focus together as he unravels for you.

"komm schon, engel," eren dips low, his large frame folding over yours, shoulders rounding as he closes the space between you, brushing the plush of your lips with his own. "hngh, wha—?" you whine against his mouth, needing of clarity. his breath is warm and close when he murmurs, earnest for a taste of your lips, "küss mich."

you don’t fully comprehend him, but eren closes the gap regardless, until there’s nowhere left for your voice to go but into him. his large hand lifts up, cups your jaw nice and steady, tilts you upwards just enough to meet him as he presses his lips to yours. firm at first, then deeper, more claiming than it is gentle. when he pulls back, it’s only by a breath’s width, enough for the curve of his smile to linger against your mouth. 

his hips take to a slow roll, grinding into yours so sweetly. the rounded end of his hard cock nudges the inner pudge of your softest spots, with the lean ridge of his pelvis brushing over the sensitive peak of your clit. the both of you hold no inhibitions, breaths pouring into each other's mouths in uneven waves, panting and moaning with not a sound refrained.

him and you, you and him, him in you. all sense becomes lost in a heated slew of sloppy strokes and the wettest kisses. he's making such a mess of you; stealing your breath, bruising your flesh, fucking stirring your insides.

for eren, countless sensations begin to merge. your velveteen walls are clamping down, tight, on his pulsing dick, dripping and sobbing all over the length of it. then there's the way you cling to him, just ferocious. the powder-white arch of your fresh nails do well at drawing fiery marks down the broad plane of his tatted back. his olive skin is warm and damp under your palms, glowing sheen with a film of sweat. 

your breath brushes against the reddening shell of his pierced ear, sounds uneven and soft in a way that makes him grow impossibly harder. eren responds in kind, groans amplified, his hold at your waist tightening just enough to keep you anchored to the you-shaped dip in his king sized mattress. you're so pretty, so perfect; behaving so well that all he wants to do is just give you more. 

so he does. 

"shh, lass mich einfach . . stillhalten." eren’s hands span down your shaking thighs, dancing around around your calf until they close around both of your ankles. his fingers wrap fully, thumbs rubbing circles while the rest of his grip adjusts you without effort. he translates what he knows you didn't catch, "don't move." 

eren shapes the physical space between you, and he continues to bend you at angles until the right silhouette is captured. he brings your knees toward your shoulders, folding the form until thighs press firmly against the core of your tummy. shifting his weight low, he transitions into a deep squat, strong thighs flexed as he assumes the position of sitting on his haunches, all without pulling out of you.

with the new vantage, he drives forward and plunges into the tightness of you with sudden, intense momentum that draws the sharpest, most involuntary cry from your lungs— a sound that brings a knowing smile to his face. eren frees self-satisfied laughter, for he always manages to pry out the very reaction he sought to provoke. he finds your body familiar. so easy to mold, too easy to play with.

"ffuuuck! p-please, papaaa, please—"

his response comes rippling out as an unintended growl, sourced from the depths of his chest, and the bass of it makes you clench helplessly around him. with every surge, every thrust forward, he loses another piece of his restraint. an especially taut squeeze of your soaked pussy is all it takes for his snark to dissolve into total surrender.

"fuck . . du bist so eng," his words grow reckless to match just how you undo him. he rambles on about just how tight you are, freeing terribly desperate praise and german incoherencies. he's too far gone to realize he'd even switched languages. frankly, eren doesn't even know what he's saying anymore, and you sure as hell don’t either. it’s hard to follow when he’s digging you out like that; hips slamming down, the fat of his balls clapping against the seam of your ass with every thrust.

more foreign words tumble from his lips— dark, guttural, yet somehow melodic, leaving you in a haze of both lust and confusion. despite it, your body understands the intent perfectly. the way you arch into him, cunt swallowing every known inch of his dick whole, slick walls clamping around him like a desperate vice, tells him everything he needs to know. 

eren finally seems to be returning to himself, eyes clearing as he grows aware; and with that, comes the teasing. another predatory smirk pulls at his mouth as he realizes just how cockdrunk he’s made you, sensitive even down to the veins that drag within you. and so, he draws out the friction, slows his pace to an agonizing crawl, buries himself into you with impossible depth.

each heavy thrust knocks at your cervix and prods at the very limit of you, blunt and demanding, as if he’s trying to leave his mark on your very soul. he's so all-consuming that the heady scent of his skin and the licking heat of his salt-slicked body fills your lungs. you’re crying, you think, unsure as to when it started. all you know is you’re breathing him in, tasting the raw, primal edge of him with every gasp and tear you choke on. 

"aww, poor baby,” he croons, tone darkened with condescend, “macht dich das an, schatzi?" he murmurs, the grunted slew of german humming against your skin. he’s asking if it turns you on— the suddenly rough shift into his mother tongue, and though the meaning of his words escape your mind, you can only nod helplessly, teeth sinking into the swell of your spit-streaked lip as a flush burns across your chest.

"feels good, yeah? i'm fucking you so deep, aren't I? mm, c'mon, angel . . . talk to me, talk to daddy." he eases more of his weight onto your pressed frame, feeding you deep, languid strokes so slow you can hear the wetness sloshing.

"yeahhh, it's good, er-en . . hnn, feelssogood, daddy," his name tears out of you in a pulled shudder, the syllables breaking over one another. it’s the type of sound that invites his wolfish grin, curled with a special kind of satisfaction. his smile is purely predatory when he gets to hitching your leg up higher, rocking into you faster. the lewdness of unfiltered noise begins to swell throughout the room.

before long, you're both trembling over the pace he’s taken; his fingers twitching along your pushed-up thighs, while you're left grappling for purchase along his bulging, corded biceps, your fingers digging into the sinuous centipede inked across his firm rounded muscle. frantically, you cling to one another as the world outside seems to fade away.

eren leans in, ink-dark strands escaping his hairtie, feathering your neck, and cascading over his shoulder to curtain your faces. overzealous, he captures your lips with his own once more, silencing your soft sounds with a deep kiss that tastes as saccharine as love itself, wettened by the salted twinge of adrenaline. his moans tumble out of him helplessly once you get to licking at his tongue. he juts it out for you to suckle on.

the tension brews to a fever pitch. you’re close, and so is he.

"komm und hol mich," he wants—no, needs you to cum for him, pleads in breathless sounds so gritty that you can feel them pass through your bones. those bright-teal eyes, glassed over with brimming tears of pleasure, desperately lock onto yours. his touch is just as urgent.

eren brings the calloused pad of his thumb to your clit, each deliberate rub a targeted press that sends fresh jolts of heat spiraling through your tummy, makes your hips buck up into the onslaught. his breath comes out in ragged puffs as his fleshy, kiss-bruised lips meet your ear, grazing the shell, words unfamiliar yet sweet all the same. “komm auf meinen schwanz, bitte.” the vulnerable rawness of his voice is a love language all in its own. something in you knows to follow his command, even if the meaning is a mystery. 

that building pressure low in your gut begins to coil, tightening into a concentrated knot that demands release. it’s a heavy, mercurial ache that pulses in sync with his movements, making your vision swim as you reach the precipice. your every nerve-ending screams for the sweet, sweet release that only his next deliberate strike can provide.

as for eren, his focus is simply fractured; hands moving with a restlessness that betrays how close he is to the edge. he lifts his free hand to knead and possess the soft weight of your right breast, his grip firm and demanding, before his fingers lift to heedlessly lace around your neck, as a means to keep you pinned in the middle of storm of his movements. 

that same grasp trails away from pressing your artery, slinks down, and squeezes a big, greedy handful of ass into one palm alone. he delivers one smack— two, three. the fourth leaves red in its wake, blooming faint along warm-brown flesh. he merely smiles when you mewl at him. 

the combination he grants you is far too much, too fucking frantic; the stinging heat of his palm against your skin and the possessive weight of his hand at your throat leaves you feeling hazy and unmoored, your thoughts dissolving into a thoughtless, honeyed fog.

a few more of those slowed, plunging thrusts, paired with how nicely he toys with your puffy clit, is what finally shatters the dam and sends rolling waves of your orgasm to crash right through you. it washes over, heavy and thick, the feeling purely electric as it zips through the base of your spine all the way down to your tightly curled toes. your quivering legs lock around his lean waist as he fucks you through the height of it, dark-chestnut hair swinging over hunched shoulders.

"don't you let go yet— m'not done." eren rasps against your agape lips, voice a broken wreck. he taps your soft cheek in two firm pats when your eyes begin to flutter shut, peers at you through hooded eyes, forcing bitten words out through grit teeth, "look at me, schatzi," his fingers tangle into the soft, dense curls of your hair to tilt your head his way. "you came so fuckin' hard, tell me you felt that—shit! mm, p-please, baby . . tell me you’re mine."

you manage to open your mouth, try for an answer, but every brutal impact of his hips knocks the air from your chest, splintering your voice into meaningless little sounds. the rhythm of his pounding, loud and heavy, turns shaky and imprecise as he utterly loses the battle for control. you can see the strain in the way his adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his breath hitching as he teeters on the edge. 

eren frames your face with a sudden tenderness, his large hands encompassing either side of your head as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth itself. he pulls you in until your foreheads touch, eyes locking in a feral, heavy-lidded stare that teases at his release. you babble out his name with every sloppy knock of his hips.

your inner walls clamp down in a steady, involuntary pulse around him, and the friction becomes too much for him to bear. then comes a guttural sound, ripping straight from his chest, followed by a smaller, vulnerable whimper that echoes out, almost like a plea:

"scheisse, ich komme— fffuuuck!"

he jolts forward with an almost animalistic force, burying himself to the very hilt as the first warm, heavy spurts of his release spill free from his cockhead and into your awaiting womb. you feel him throbbing deep within your silken walls, the pulsing erratic as he stuffs your cunt with thick loads of his cum; emptying himself, filling you.

a hushed stillness sets over eren's thirtieth-floor apartment. all movement drifts to a weighty pause; until, eren eventually collapses his full weight onto you with a long, shuddering sigh. the solid, unyielding mass of him drives a soft huff out from your throat, pinning you into the charcoal sheets in a way that feels strangely grounding.

his inked forearms bind around you like vines, pulling your bodies flush-tight until there’s no room left between you. in turn, you drape your arms over the broad expanse of his back, your thumbs tracing soothing circles over the angry, reddened lines of the skin you tore. 

"ugh— rennie, you're heavy."

"mmn." is his heedless response. you both lie there in a tangled, breathless heap of afterglow, your lungs working for shallow air as the adrenaline begins to recede. after threading through the dark, damp silk of his long hair, weaving and undoing braids in the same sitting, your arms finally loosen their hold around his nape. eren nuzzles his face into the soft swell of your breasts, the tip of his nose grazing the sensitive bone of your sternum as he seeks out your warmth.

a small, balmy laugh escapes you, the sound light and surreal against the dense, syrup-thick atmosphere. the air is heavy, saturated with the salt-sharp scent of skin, the musk of his cologne, the lingering sugar of your arab perfume, and the sweet, pungent tang of your collective release— a sensory memento of every orgasm you just shared.

"damn . .” the silence breaks around his voice, low and winded, “didn't think y’had a kink for that."

"hmm," you blink slow, the wisps of your curled lashes fluttering. "for what?"

"uh-uh, don't play dumb now," eren noses your jugular, tickling your neck with a nudge so fleeting you can’t help but break, a shy giggle bubbling up and out into the open. "could've just told me you wanted me to switch languages, princess."

“i didn't even know it was something i’d enjoy that much," you bite down on a drowsy laugh, manicured fingers lifting to idly twirl a stray, dark lock of his hair. you’re secretly glad his hair-tie finally snapped under the pressure.

"i like the way your brain just . . . shorts out when you hear it. makes you so . . ." a kiss, breaking the pattern of speech, is pressed to your upturned lips, so pink and soft.

“—much more," another, then a suckle to your jaw, "—responsive." there's a gravel-like texture to the sound of his teasing. "i don't think i've ever heard you get that loud before, baby.” eren hums aloud onto your skin, a low rumble of pure satisfaction that thrums low in his throat and vibrates against your chest.

he shifts his weight just enough to pepper wet, uncoordinated kisses along the sensitive expanse of your throat, his every movement sluggish with pleasure. 

“verdammt gut,” he murmurs against your skin, testing the effect he has over you, simply wishing to witness how tightly you’d pulse around him in response. sure enough, he smiles to himself when you do, walls clamping down where he remains stuffed inside you. a whispered moan falls from you, eyes screwed impossibly tight. 

his lips latch to your pulse as he mouths praises you don’t need to translate to understand. the meaning sounds as sweet as his kisses taste. “du bist so gut, liebling.” even though his brain's misted over with lust, and his dick is still warmly nestled deep inside you, he can’t help but nip playful marks into your flesh. you find yourself cooing at his affections, your fingers tangling in the deep-brown spill of his hair as you shallowly rock your hips onto his softening cock. 

he mumbles more foreign little nothings into the damp, sweat-slicked crook of your neck, the tone so tender it feels like a physical caress. 

“ich liebe dich so sehr, angel . . .” he breathes, the confession soft and embracing against your skin. the meaning devotional, so unmistakable; he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. 

the ardency of the past hour's lovemaking seems to evaporate, leaving only the two of you sinking in the cooling sheets. from the crevice of your chest to his broadened one, your hearts beat heavy against one another in a synced tempo.

with one last, lingering kiss to your collarbone, eren lets his heavy eyelids fall shut. the silence that follows isn't empty. instead, it’s full and warm, smelling of salt, sandalwood, and the raw fragrancy of his adoration.

the darkness of the room feels like a protective veil. in the stillness, with his warmth still grounding you and his scent filling your lungs, you finally let your own eyes close, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep cradled in the arms of the man who loves you more than he has the words to say.

© 𝒫𝐼𝑁𝐾ℳ𝐼𝑅𝑇𝐻.ᐟ ⸻ all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. reblogs are highly appreciated! please and thank you! ❤︎

"You feel that baby? Feel how deep I am?"

You couldn't respond, not when he was pounding your guts like he wanted to break you. The bright white ring light on your screen perfectly illuminated your dark skin perfectly, highlighting your face that was glistening with sweat and tears slipping from those pretty doe eyes. Eren never got tired of the way your face scrunched into an ugly expression filled with pleasure as he kept feeding you slow, nasty thrusts.

It all paired perfectly with the way your mic picks up every raw, guttural moan punched out of you and the groans Eren let out near your ear, each slurred moan of his name slipping your trembling lips, and the sound of tour pussy making obscene wet sounds.

"F-fuck! Mmhph.."

Something about this position always had you tearing up. From the way Eren spoke to you, the love he poured into you contrasting how mean his thrusts were as his tip pressed up into that spot that had yourgripping the sheets.

A shiver ran through your body when you felt his hands slide through your curls to pick your head up, molding your body into doggy with your ass arched just the way he liked it. He hit deeper now, settling deep inside you with his balls pressed against your ass just the way you like it.

"I can't...can't do it Rennie!" your breathless pleas fell on deaf ears as he not only laughed in your face but sped up his thrusts, finding pleasure in the you gasped and the way your legs start to slightly shake.

His silky brown hair fell on the sides of your face as he leaned down to suck on the supple part of your neck, your pussy clenching as cream dripped down between y'all. He looked directly into your camera, his eyes locked on how messy beautiful you looked in this state.

"Can feel this- hah! pussy squeezing me. You close baby?"

A dumb nod was all you were able to let out at his question, that warm sensation in your tummy getting closer and closer to the point where you could practically taste it. A silent scream fell on your lips when the thick pads of his fingers rubbed your swollen clit.

"Wait stop….” You could barely warn him as your climax snuck up on you and you gushed all over him, soaking the bed and his legs. You flopped down on the bed, completely limp and exhausted.

Eren spilled into you with a guttural groans at the feeling your cunt spasm around him, spreading your ass to take a look at the way his cum spilled out of you and onto the soaked sheets.

His hands crept down to the mousepad, switching to picture mode while cupping your pouty face while he laid there next to you licking the shell of your ear.

"Say cheese baby."

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ - Did not mean to leave for so long, sorry! Quick little draft to get me back into writing cause I literally forgot how.

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.”