STICKY ☆ eren yeager.

☆. warnings ~ 2.8k. fem!reader, black coded, self pleasure, eren gives us a massage w oil, blowjob, dj on the clit, unedited, kissing, praise, pet names dnt feel like listing, vulgar language, teasing, mention of cycle, dry humping, titty sucking, neck kisses, minors do not interact! reblogs & comments are appreciated.

because this just happened to me and i had no choice but to write it. but imagine eren giving you a full body rub down massage with some shea butter scented baby oil while the two of you watch crime documentaries on netflix. it’s playing soundlessly in the background while the two of you lay comfortably on the black velvet sectional sofa in your cozy studio apartment. it’s raining outside, nighttime nearing. your home smells like salted lemon meringue pie; a candle eren bought for you because he said it reminded him of you.

𝓢𝓦𝓔𝓔𝓣𝓔𝓢𝓣 𝓣𝓗𝓘𝓝𝓖.     eren yeager.

❤︎ . . . 12k. fem!reader, set in 03’, established relationship, pregnant!reader, southern!eren, domesticity, difficult pregnancy / doubts, home birthing, marriage / vasectomy talk, mention of healthcare discrimination, lots of crying, oral ꒰ f. ꒱, gentle sex kinda, lots of kisses! + affirmations, praise, thumb in bootay, unprotected, sensitivity play, choking, lactation ‘n eren tastes it oopsie, nasty talk, creampie, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama, papa ꒱, spanking, daddy kink. minors aren't allowed! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . officially obsessed w this couple so i couldn’t help myself by writing a third part teehee. happy belated valentine’s day <3 visual.

baby . . . i’m lonely. think i w’na baby. 

a conversation starter like that would only skyrocket the heart rate of any husband. eight years of marriage with just each other, and three with the addition of honeybelle, including the fifteen chickens, four piggies, and two baby goats on the farm alongside two of the cutest tawny cows you named tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum. every moment felt rewarding, so you questioned lately why you felt so . . lonely. for the longest time you didn’t quite understand what you were missing. the life you lived with eren was perfect. it was romantic, soft, relaxing. you couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

tending to the animals on a warm sunny day, you hum tunes to yourself as the goats follow and nudge at your toffee cowboy boots, giggling and picking juicy strawberries from their stems, enjoying their company. waffles, the tan goat with blotches of white rolls serenely in the grass while the other, miss daisie, who’s an all black goat with an almost heart-shaped spot on the surface of her skull, screams and sniffs at you, craving your attention. occasionally, you’ll reach down to give affection to satisfy her. 

𝓢𝓤𝓖𝓐𝓡.       eren yeager.

‎𐦍 ₊˚♱ ෆ . . . 5.1k. fem!reader, set in 01’, country!eren + bluecollar!, housewife!reader, established relationship, domesticity, ovulation, oral ꒰ f + m. ꒱, kreaming + squirting, rough sex, nasty talk ofc, unprotected, daddy kink, spanking, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama ꒱, praise, hair pulling, check ins + aftercare, choking, breath + sensitivity + salvia play, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . a lil sum i thought of randomly. this is related to the dangerously in love couple. <3 visual. visual. visual. wish i had a link for the exact position i have in my head, so here’s a small example. hopefully i explained them well. :<

ivory sunflowers are imprinted along the frilly apron that hugs your body cutely, the coquette lace floral dress with a baby pink ribbon to create a corset style underneath. the warm scent of strawberry pie baking in the matcha green vintage oven blooms your heart. dusting flour over the counter to roll and mush at the dough you’ve created for the chicken pot pies, one of eren’s favorite meals. the sun was fairly hot today, your eyes fixating on the two beautiful tawny cows roaming your farm, their mouths chewing at grass as the wind blows serenely.

you told eren to keep a close eye on them while he was outside, watching your husband stand halfway down the driveway with sweat dripping from his brow as he tinkers with the engine of his polished black 1968 ford f100. he’s been having troubles with it this past week, and constantly handling it became tedious. he expressed his anger a few times now, this truck being his first big purchase for himself and he was having issues only a year later.

his light blue levi jeans and classic wife-beater was streaked with grease, clinging to his muscular thighs as he crouches low, peering intently at the mechanical innards. every so often, he wipes his hands on a rag before reaching for another tool, his calloused fingers moving with practiced ease. the sun casts a glow on the definition of his biceps as he lifts and maneuvers heavy parts. angelic brown strands held back by a black cap turned backwards.

He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.

Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”

He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”

His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Not Now!

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Sylus

Sylus sat in his office, fingers drumming against the desk as he stared at his phone. His calls kept going to voicemail. No, not voicemail—his calls were being declined.

He narrowed his eyes, dialing again.

"Come on, sweetheart, pick up," he muttered under his breath.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then—

Call declined.

Sylus exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation prickling beneath his skin. He had told you to keep your phone close. You were out running errands, and he didn’t like when he couldn’t reach you. With the kind of business he ran, being unreachable meant something could be wrong.

Still, he tried again.

Declined.

His jaw tightened.

This time, instead of calling again, he switched to texting.

Sylus: Sweetheart, answer your phone.

No response.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He was about to send luke and kieran. Then, A message.

Your Number: No.

Sylus blinked.

No?

His fingers immediately moved to type, but before he could, another message came through.

Your Number: Go away.

His eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like you. Not exactly. What happened to you? Did E.V.E.R get their hands on you?

His phone rang. A video call.

He answered immediately, expecting to see your face. Instead, a small figure appeared on the screen, curled up on your side of the bed, holding your phone in tiny hands. Their round face scrunched up in annoyance.

"Daddy," Elena huffed. "Stop calling Mommy."

Sylus let out a slow breath, his irritation flickering into something amused. "Is that why my calls are being declined?"

Elena nodded, her little fingers tapping at the screen. "You’re too loud. Mommy’s busy. She said she’ll be home soon."

Sylus leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. "You’re hanging up on me, aren’t you?"

"Uh-huh," she said sweetly. "Bye-bye, Daddy. I wanna watch yutuube"

The call ended.

Sylus stared at his phone for a long moment, his amusement fading into something else. His little girl had declined him—multiple times. And worse, she hadn’t even looked guilty about it.

With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood. Work could wait.

When Sylus stepped into the house, it was quiet.

He slipped off his jacket, draping it over the couch before making his way to the bedroom. The door was slightly open, and when he pushed it wider, he found his daughter still curled up in bed, your phone clutched in her small hands.

She looked up, her big red eyes widening when she saw him.

"Daddy!"

"Princess," Sylus said, voice slow, deliberate. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she quickly tucked the phone under the pillow. "I see you’ve been busy."

She blinked, tilting her head. "Mommy is busy," she corrected.

"Is that so?" He reached forward and grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap despite her squeal of protest. "Now, tell me, Princess. What should I do with a little girl who ignores her father?"

She squirmed. "Nothing!"

"Nothing?" His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make her giggle again. "Are you sure about that?"

Elena kicked her legs, laughter bubbling up. "Okay! Okay! I won’t do it again!"

Sylus smirked before giving her forehead a kiss. "That’s what I thought."

Just then, the sound of the front door opening made them both pause.

"Mommy’s home!" his daughter gasped, suddenly wiggling out of his grip. She scrambled off the bed and ran toward the door.

"Kids and their videos these days" Sylus let out an amused huff before going to greet you at the door.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀Caleb

Caleb sat in his office, his uniform jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up as he stared at his phone. His brows furrowed as he hit redial.

Once. Twice.

Declined.

His jaw tensed.

He tried again.

Declined.

Caleb leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. He knew you were out shopping, the messages were lighting up his phone

"thank you for your purchase at xxx store"

but you had given Noah the phone in case he needed anything, the shops were noisy and you couldn't hear the ringing

So why the hell was his own wife declining his calls, did something happen to you?

He dialed again. This time, instead of a decline, the call went through—but no one spoke. He could hear faint background noise, you were definitely outside.

"Y/n?" Caleb said, voice firm.

A beat of silence. Then, a small huff.

"Daddy, stop calling," Noah finally said.

Caleb blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You’re calling too much," Noah complained. "Mommy said we’d call you if we needed something."

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. "And what if I need something, huh?"

Another pause. Then Noah sighed dramatically. "What do you need, Daddy?"

Oh, this little—

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Put Mommy on the phone."

"No."

Caleb froze. "Noah—"

"Mommy’s busy," Noah said in a tone that was far too smug for a four-year-old. "She’s looking at boring grown-up stuff. And you’re distracting us."

Caleb clenched his jaw. "I am your father, Noah."

"Yeah, I know," Noah said casually. "But Mommy said ugh, Caleb is calling again and told me to ignore it."

Caleb’s eye twitched. "She said that?"

"Uh-huh."

"…Are you lying to me?"

A long pause. Then, a quiet, "Maybe."

Caleb let out a slow breath. "Noah."

Noah giggled, and before Caleb could say another word, the call ended, Caleb stared at the blank screen.

As soon as he stepped inside, he heard Noah’s laughter coming from the living room. He walked in to find him sprawled on the couch with a snack in hand, looking far too comfortable.

Noah turned his head, eyes widening when he saw Caleb. He immediately sat up, gripping the phone he had confiscated like it was a lifeline.

"Daddy!"

"Son," Caleb said, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze held no mercy. "We need to talk."

Noah scrambled off the couch. "Uh—Mommy! Daddy’s home!"

Caleb caught him by the back of his shirt before he could escape. "Nice try, bud. You and I have unfinished business."

Noah wriggled in Caleb’s grip, his small hands flailing. “I didn’t do anything!”

Caleb arched a brow. “Didn’t do anything? Didn’t do anything?” His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “Son, you declined my calls like I was some kind of scam number.”

Noah squirmed harder. “You called too much!”

Caleb exhaled through his nose. “I called twice.”

“Exactly! Too much!”

Caleb stared at him, unimpressed. “You’re gonna stand here and tell me you had zero problem ignoring your father?”

Noah hesitated. “Uhh…” His grip on the phone tightened. “I just—Mommy was busy! And you always talk forever!”

Caleb scoffed. “Forever? I would’ve been on for two minutes. That’s not forever.”

Noah puffed his cheeks. “It is when I was watching cartoons.”

Caleb took a deep breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this. My own son, my own blood, betraying me like this.”

Noah huffed. “I had to, Daddy.”

Caleb let out a dry chuckle, crouching so he was at Noah’s level. “Had to? Had to hang up on me? Where did you learn that, huh? You got someone else teaching you bad habits? That a bad influence I need to deal with?”

Noah shifted guiltily. “Nooo…”

Caleb narrowed his eyes. “Are you lying to me again, Noah?”

Noah swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Unbelievable,” Caleb muttered, shaking his head. He pointed at the phone clutched in Noah’s hands. “Hand it over, soldier.”

Noah gasped, gripping it tighter. “No!”

“I outrank you, kid,” Caleb warned, voice low. “Don’t make me use my colonel voice.”

Noah’s lips wobbled. “But—but—”

“Three… Two…”

With a dramatic whimper, Noah finally surrendered the phone. Caleb took it and stuffed it in his pocket. “Now, what do we say?”

Noah shifted on his feet. “...Sorry?”

Caleb nodded. “That’s right. And?”

Noah sighed heavily, like Caleb was really putting him through it. “I won’t hang up on you again.”

Caleb smirked. “Good. Now, what should your punishment be?”

Noah gasped. “Punishment?! Daddy, no! It was a mistake!”

Caleb tapped his chin. “Hmm… I could make you do laps in the backyard. Maybe push-ups. Or—" his eyes gleamed—"no dessert for a week.”

Noah gasped again, even more dramatically. “Mommy!” he wailed, turning toward the kitchen. “Daddy’s being a tyrant!”

Before Caleb could grab him again, Noah sprinted off, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could.

A second later, you poked your head out of the bedroom, blinking. “What’s happening?”

Caleb sighed, standing up. “Your son is staging a rebellion.”

Noah clung to your leg. “Mommy, Daddy’s bullying me!”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at Caleb. “Are you bullying our son?”

Caleb smirked. “Teaching him discipline.”

Noah tugged your sleeve. “Mommy, I was so good today.”

Caleb barked a laugh. “Yeah? Good at declining my calls.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Caleb, you’re an adult. You shouldn’t be getting into power struggles with a four-year-old.”

Caleb scoffed. “He started it.”

Noah giggled from behind your leg.

You groaned, rubbing your temple. “You two are exhausting.”

Caleb smirked, stepping closer to wrap an arm around your waist. “And yet, you love us.”

Noah nodded rapidly. “Uh-huh! Right, Mommy?”

You sighed, looking between them. “Unfortunately.”

Caleb chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before ruffling Noah’s hair. “You’re lucky your mom’s here to protect you, kid.”

Noah grinned up at him. “I know!”

Caleb shook his head, amused. “Unbelievable.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Rafayel

You had been invited to an exclusive art exhibition downtown—one that featured some of Rafayel’s earlier works. Since he despised public events and would rather gouge his own eyes out than attend, and Thomas would respectfully gouge out rafayel's eyes if he did not attend, you went in his place, both to support him and to keep up appearances.

Seraphina, your four-year-old daughter, had come along for the car ride but quickly grew bored when you arrived. The moment she saw the endless rows of paintings and the adults murmuring about “artistic depth” and “symbolic brush strokes,” she looked up at you, unimpressed.

“Mommy, this is so boring.”

You sighed, crouching down to smooth out her dress. “I know, sweetheart, but it won’t take long. Daddy worked hard on these paintings, and I have to talk to some of the nice people here, okay?”

Seraphina pouted. “But I don’t care about paintings. I wanna watch cartoons.”

You pulled out your phone and handed it to her. “Here. You can call Daddy if you need anything, alright?”

Her eyes lit up as she clutched the phone. “Okay!”

You smiled, kissing her forehead as you left her at the staff room and locked the door with your keycard so no one could enter other than Thomas, after everything was secure you turned toward the exhibition hall.

—

Back home, Rafayel was in his studio, adding the final details to a massive canvas when his phone vibrated. He wiped the paint off his hands and glanced at the screen.

Landlubber 💜 is calling…

A small smile tugged at his lips as he answered. “Sweetheart, are you finished already?”

Silence.

Then—

Click.

The call ended.

Rafayel blinked, staring at his phone.

What?

He lowered the device, then brought it back up, frowning. Had the signal dropped?

Before he could think too much about it, the phone vibrated again.

Landlubber 💜 is calling…

He answered immediately. “Sweetheart?”

Silence.

Rafayel stared at the phone in disbelief.

What the hell is going on?

The phone buzzed again.

This time, he answered with narrowed eyes. “If you hang up on me again—”

“Oh. Hi, Daddy.”

Rafayel exhaled through his nose. “Seraphina.”

His daughter hummed in acknowledgment.

“Why are you calling me just to hang up?” he asked, his voice carefully restrained. “Is everything alright?”

“I didn’t hang up,” she said cheerfully. “I was just checking.”

“Checking what?”

“If you’d answer.”

Rafayel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seraphina—”

“I miss you, Daddy.”

Rafayel’s frustration wavered, replaced with something softer.

He leaned against his desk, rubbing a hand down his face. “I miss you too, little fish.”

“Then come get me.”

Rafayel sighed, he could already imagine thomas chasing him down the exhibition “I can’t. Mommy is working in my place.”

“But I’m not. Please daddy” She whined.

“Mommy will bring you home soon.”

Seraphina made a displeased noise. “That’s too long.”

There was a pause. Then, her voice turned thoughtful. “Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not painting without me, are you?”

Rafayel glanced at his half-finished canvas. With a pause he answered. “Of course not.”

Seraphina gasped. “You are!”

“I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t deny it!”

Rafayel chuckled. “You caught me.”

Seraphina huffed. “That’s not fair. You promised we’d paint together!”

“And we will,” he assured her. “I’ll wait for you.”

Another pause. Then—

“Okay. But no touching the pink paint.”

“No pink,” Rafayel agreed solemnly.

“Or the sparkles.”

“No sparkles.”

Seraphina hummed. “Alright. You’re forgiven.”

Rafayel smirked. “Good.”

There was a brief silence before he heard her yawn.

“You sleepy?” he asked.

“…No.”

He smiled knowingly. “Close your eyes, little fish.”

Seraphina whined. “But I wanna talk to you.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“…Promise?”

“Promise.”

A beat of silence. Then, a soft rustling as Seraphina got comfortable.

“Okay,” she murmured.

Rafayel listened to her breathing slow, his heart aching with warmth.

He didn’t hang up. Not yet.

Instead, he stayed on the line, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his daughter’s breath.

Minutes passed before he finally spoke.

“I’ll come get you soon,” he whispered.

Then, finally, he ended the call.

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. nanami kento always hurries home towards his pregnant wife, you, to compensate for the time he spends at work.

you’re comfortable laying on the couch, nibbling on a piece of bread, when you hear the familiar footsteps on the porch of your cozy home. the front door opens with a faint creak and reveals no one other than your husband, kento, in his work uniform. he’s home earlier than he normally would be.

“evenin’, sugar,” kento steps into the house, his tall frame filling the doorway. he looks over at you, a small smile spreading across his exhausted face as he takes in the sight of you sprawled out on the couch.

the first few stages of emotions satoru feels upon seeing and holding his healthy, newborn baby girl in his arms are 1) relief, 2) joy, 3) surprise, and 4) confusion.

as he stares down at the child in his arms, that big mouth of his opens once and all havoc wreaks loose.

“this baby isn’t mine.”

the words are simple but not in meaning as it invokes such a reaction out of the nurses and you.

with a few, shocked gasps ringing in the air, you feel all eyes in the room aside from satoru’s (whom is still fixated on your newborn) come onto (the both of) you.

the heat on your cheeks in that moment is nothing compared to the utter rage brewing within you at his audacious behavior.

disbelief written all over your features, you try to ignore the avoidant side eyes of the medical staff. of all the times to spout some ridiculous nonsense, your husband chose now? — what the hell was he playing at? was this bastard accusing you of cheating?

“excuse me?! have you lost your mind?”

“i mean —” he licks his lips as if choosing his next words carefully (which he doesn’t). “she looks nothing like me. are you sure we got the right one?”

you can hear the whole world go silent aside from the beeping monitors in your hospital room. the nurses quickly (and wisely) hurry out.

“looks nothing like you?”, your eyes narrow, repeating his words dangerously low as if you were about to combust. he could practically see the steam coming out of your ears and holds back a chuckle.

“gojo satoru,” he winces at his full name. “that is your daughter — your daughter that i carried inside my stomach for months!”

and it was no easy feat.

perhaps it has something to do with satoru being the strongest, and in that way he has a mutant’s sperm — but your pregnancy was more difficult than the typical one which left you bedridden at only four months. and that is without even mentioning how your child felt the need to come earlier than her due date.

there should be absolutely no doubt in his mind that this is his child, one who is full of surprises right from birth.

“i know… but she doesn’t even have my hair or my nose or my lips! not even my big ears,” he pouts as he inspects the baby, turning her all sorts of (safe) ways to get a better look.

“all that there is, is you.” he finishes, gaze softening with a double meaning to his sentence, and he finally looks up at you sitting on the hospital bed.

“is this what this is about?”

“yes!”, a pitiful whine leaves his lips. “she should’ve come out looking exactly like me — my twin!”

“why does it even matter, ‘toru? she’s still yours in every way but appearance.”

“because, i want everyone to know i did this to you, that we made this child together — but my genes didn’t even put up a fight! how else will everyone who sees us together know you belong to me in such an irreversible way?”

then his sights dart to your stomach, hidden behind your thin hospital gown, his white brows furrowing. “maybe i didn’t fuck you hard enough…” he ponders, lips pursed.

his tone is low, but you hear it. your hands fly over your tummy to shield it from his piercing gaze, heat returning to your cheeks as you let out the scandalized gasp of the century.

there is a certain gleam in his eyes at your reaction — and you don’t like it one bit!

you think about hitting his head with the pillow to knock some sense into him (though it’d likely prove fruitless since his head is so big and boneheaded), but you’d save his beating for later when he isn’t holding your precious girl.

“you —”

with a sudden gasp, he reaches out a hand to you, waving it slightly to satiate your temper. he shushes you gently, whispering, “wait wait — she’s opening her eyes!”

quieting down, the both of you lean in, curious and in anticipation as your little one’s lashes flutter open slowly.

at what stares up at you, your lips part in sheer awe — and your husband stays uncharacteristically silent beside you.

“oh, satoru.”, you absolutely melt.

with a coo, you whisper, “she has your eyes.” the very cerulean color you fell in love with once before and have again right now for the second time.

noticing how he hasn’t uttered a single thing, you look over next to you, before your eyes widen at the sight that greets you.

satoru, your husband, is crying. salty tears slip from his ducts and down his flushed cheeks, cute brows scrunched, blue clashing with blue for the first time.

“aw, baby. are you okay?” your own eyebrows knit together in worry and in contentment, noting his tears are of happiness.

all you get in response is a nonsensical blubber and a sniffle.

satoru’s heard it over a hundred times — how his eyes are pretty, beautiful, ethereal — even from you. he’s never cared much for it. to him, they were just eyes and the only value he saw in them is the power they gave him over others.

but now, he understands. and he thinks he’s starting to fall in love with them too.

“she’s so beautiful…” his lip wobbles, voice shaky and quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“i know,” you breathe.

putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, you smile. “happy now?” you’re barely able to conceal the amusement in your voice.

“mhm.” he hums, eyes still shimmering and glassy, lips in a pout.

“wanna go home?”

“yes, please.”

there’s nothing more that he wanted to do in that moment than take his baby girl to the loving sanctuary he deems the closest thing to heaven, his paradise — and he’s never letting her go.

“i can’t believe she only has my eyes, though. i guess i’ll just have to try harder next ti — ow! that hurt!”

construction!ony...

... who you hire to redo your first big girl purchase. girl you a whole a homeowner!! sure, it was a fixer upper but it was PERFECT. the space, the location, the potential, the price?? - you had to. you called up the first construction service in the area with the best & most reviews, asking if someone could come by for a quote for... the whole house..

... who comes by about a week later after a short phone call with you asking when you would be free. you clocked he sounded fine from the two seconds on phone but what you were NOT expecting was the physical. he shows up cargo pants equipped will full tool belt, work boots, tighttttt white tee, tattoos everywhere like a masterpiece… a few gold teeth complementing his gorgeous pearly whites.. you bout have a heart attack at the door

... who can’t stop grinning, like hes already knowin you bout to be a problem. who’s even more excited once he finishes the walk through & quote, because although he can easily fulfill all your needs - for the house of course - this is gonna be a lengthyyyyy project. i mean he has to demo the whole thing first bcs the house is not exactly in amazing shape, then some restructuring and electrical, probably some plumbing. THEN interior and exterior design and aesthetics. but standing in the doorway you already know you don't care how long the project is - you dont even want him to go home when hes done today

... who pretends to be super focused on the quote but spends most of the time peeking at you out of the corner of his eye, imagining you complete bare.. and possibly oiled up.. even he'll admit he got a lil carried away. he assures you that him and his guys will be by very soon to get started on demo, casually asking for your number as he's leaving - just to coordinate ofc courseeee! since you'll be staying with your bestie while the house is getting done. you temporarily get arthritis while attempting to put your number in his phone but hes to busy staring at the way you anxiously nibble at your soft, juicy lips, your tongue peeking out to keep them from drying up. hes only snapped out of his trance when you awkardly shove his phone back at him with a soft chuckle, a wave, and a "see you soon!"

... who can't help but smirk when you start coming by while him & his team are working. claiming you want to "check up on progress" but its literally day two?? he alreadyyy knowin you just want to check HIM out. you wander off ever now and again, admiring your house but you always seem to pop back up when hes locked in, muscles bulging, skin coated with a sheen of sweat making his chocolate skin look literally edible, ripping down drywall or cabinets, hammering, drilling, stripping... like you're actively wishing he would do to you. "you gon keep eye-fuckin' me or you gon help, ma?" he grunts out, turning to look you up and down with a lick of his lips. you suck your teeth and say sum smart back to compensate for the fact that your face is hot and your panties are already sticking to you

... who teases you RELENTLESSLY - you dont even know why you keep stopping by (yes you do, he fine as hell and sweaty). but once you're there its like you can't leave, its the only time you get to see him! and it is your house after all... but you don't know how much more of this you can take. ofc hes physically respectful, ever the gentleman as he was raised to be, but his mouth is NASSSTTTYYY girl. and with his proclivity for deep, intense eye contact, you're going through panties quicker than you ever have.

“you know... i meant to thank you ma. you got all the guys puttin they back in it when you come around. lil’ motivation walkin’ in here wit’ allat ass i guess.”

“bet you like watchin’ me work, huh? that why you always here? i got u feelin a way baby?” you sputter out some response, too hot to think of something coherent, eventually running out of reasons to show up. so you start bringing them lunch! ofc duh, i mean they're working so hard, the least you could do is bring them some hoagies and beers. but it just makes his shameless eye fucking and dirty comments worse. i mean you're not any better, always letting a little "mmm" slip when hes working real hard, flexing and shit. and he catches that shit every time! turning to you with a smirk

"been watchin’ you all day, tryna be good… but you just had to come over here with that, didn’t you?"

“you keep bringin’ us lunch, gon’ make me think you tryna take care of me or sum.”

“I’m just being nice, ony.”

“mmm, yeah? im tryna be real nice to you too, mama.”

©  alanisstonedd 2025 — do not steal, plagiarize, or modify my content.

hope y'all liked this! likes, reblogs and all the rest are much appreciated!!!

xoxo, lana 💋💋💋

౨ৎ satoru hates the idea of cock-warming. he thinks it's pointless, getting the opportunity to be in you, and not even bothering to make the most of it.

his idea of making the most, well, it would consist only of fucking you so hard, you won't be able to move the next day. that's what good boyfriends do, right?

"good boyfriends do whatever their girlfriend asks them to do," you counter.

satoru whines in response, looking up at you. all pretty, you're seated in his lap, as he lays on the bed. strands of white hair fall into his eyes, and you brush them away.

he pouts, "i am a good boyfriend." satoru's getting impatient, wanting to just feel your snug cunt around him. his throbbing cock sits hard on his stomach, red-tipped and leaky.

"then, please?" drawing out the syllables, you give him the best you can: puppy eyes. he caves. instantly.

grumbling, "fine. i guess you can put her in you. willingly choose not to move, too, or whatever."

you clap your hands, emerging victorious. you're not willing to test your luck, though, not commenting on the fact that you've told him multiple times not to refer to his penis with she/her pronouns.

he groans as you sink onto him, his thick length pushing past your spongey walls. there's a filthy squelching that fills the room, paired with your quiet whimpers.

satoru's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the flesh. "shit, pretty girl, tight 'n' wet f'me. taking me s'good." his words slur into one another, lost in the depths of arousal.

there's always a certain amount of self-control it takes, to not immediately cum the second he's all the way in. "'toru," you murmur, accidentally clenching around him.

"fuck," he mutters, "you can't do that, squeeze your little pussy like that, if you aren't gonna do anything about it."

"sorry," you say, sheepish. his eyes flutter shut, a hum dismissing the apology.

"now, what? just... stay like that?" satoru tilts his head at you, questioningly. sassy, if you may add. he just really can't believe you'd rather be doing this.

shifting above him, you lean down, resting your head on his bare chest. "yeah. isn't it nice?"

his arms wrap come up, to wrap around your waist. there's a beat of silence from him. begrudgingly, your rigid boyfriend shrugs, "maybe."

you're too content to roll your eyes. he wouldn't admit it, but satoru was filled with love, in this moment. his shoulders relax, and his entire body seems to ease, a breath of satisfaction leaving him. he feels at peace. he's always at peace, when he's with you, but this is different.

more real. more raw.

it's incredibly intimate. he feels like he's a part of you, like there's nothing keeping you separated. satoru inhales your scent, holding you just a little tighter.

"baby, i love you," he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

you smile against him, "i love you, too, 'toru."

to say the least, cock-warming is his new favorite thing. there is no sitting beside him on the couch anymore, not when you're alone. no laying next to each other on bed, either.

if he was clingy before, he's a monster now. if you're near, he wants to be inside you. not to have sex, but just to rest. it's not like you're complaining, anyways. at the end of the day, you're down bad for him, just as much as he is for you.

suggestive content.

what if he sex bans YOU. what if he threatens YOU with the lack of delicious sex?? what if he punishes YOU with no sex—to see what would happen to you, how pathetic you would become, hm? begging him to forgive you and for him to just relent and fuck you?

AND WHAT IF HE REGRETS IT, NOT A WEEK INTO THE MONTH-LONG SEX BAN HE PROMISED YOU. WHAT THEN???

"please, pretty baby~ 𖹭" he'd coo so fucking pathetically. it doesnt matter what position you could be in, in the end, he's the pathetic one. he would bat his eyelashes, trying to woo you over with his velvety words, all the while he tries to hide the tears that's gathered in his eyes from the soulful desperation of not being able to rut his hard cock on your thigh, let alone fuck you. "ive already forgiven you, so let's just stop this whole thing, yeah?"

oh stars, he's trying—trying to act as if he didnt put you in this situation.. as if he didnt put himself in this situation. you clicked your teeth. it's truly so cute how he thinks he still has the choice.

"but baby," you start, also batting your eyelash in false innocence. "you were right, i needed this punishment, so im taking full responsibility!" the slight growl and grunt thet came out of his irritated mouth was enough for you to know that your acting was perfect.

"don't act so mature now!" his grip on you tightens. underneath these calloused hands that hold onto you with a rough and wanting motive was the hidden sea of desperation. the hold youve got on his hips, keeping him from touching you, its pissing him off.

"come on, honey, you wanted this for me, right?" you mumbled under your breath, looking through him with those big eyes of yours. its taking everything in him to not just rut into you. anything'll do.

and he couldnt help it.. he was desperate!

"fuck.. come on, please? sh-shit i cant— i cant do this 'nymore. need- need to feel ya, baby, please?" he's fully given up at this point. he curses out his sex drive for giving up so early, and silently curses out to you. how could you endure this further than him? surely this is of your doing. somehow.

yes. it has to be you. youre too pretty doing whatever you want. its not like he can help it, youre too addicting. looking at you is a treat for him, a privilege to others, is it not? thats why. thats why he cant go much longer than a week without feeling you

he's deep into your neck, nose pressed against your soft skin, inhaling the scent of you. whatever he can get backfires cause his cock just becomes harder in the confines of his pants. strong arms envelope you, quivering in the need to fill you. look how you have him wrapped around your finger, clinging on to you as he pleads in your ear.

"im sorry, please, just fuck me."

he doesnt remember why he even punished you in the first place. all he wanted was to know how long it would be before you'd come crawling to him, begging to put his dick inside you. turns out he folded way before due. all he can think about is shaming his own hand for not being able to replicate how your pretty cunt squeezes him just perfectly. just enough to force his eyes into the back of his head. nothing could replicate you.

you feel too good. better. youre his ecstacy, dont you get it?

ni yao de ai — ryomen sukuna.

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 6k words.

Note: i'm working on the actor nanami fic, so here is something for you to enjoy while you wait for that. also, i keep thinking about how sukuna would have been like pro-hero bakugo had he not been dating reader. like, he would be so good at volleyball, but he would be so eager to be blunt about absolutely everything and just be so crass, you know??? anyway, our sukuna managed to not be like that, cause he's #1 lover boy first. enjoy this!!! see you in a couple days!! i love you!!! <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

lovesick playlist

knocked out up!

pairing: baby daddy!Sukuna x f!Reader

content: mdni, pregnancy, friends to strangers to coparents, messy relationship history, ex-bf!Gojo, leaving a toxic relationship, one night stand, oral (f! receiving), face sitting, reverse cowgirl, multiple positions + povs, sukuna is obsessed, reader stands up for herself, pining, more tags to be added

index

prequel

first taste

the way things are

honey

comment to be added to tags | dividers by @bronzewasp

knocked out up!

first taste | chapter index

pairing: baby daddy!Sukuna x f!Reader

content: mdni, pregnancy, friends to strangers to co-parents, messy relationship history, ex-bf!Gojo, leaving a toxic relationship, one night stand, oral (f! receiving), face sitting, reverse cowgirl, multiple positions + povs, condom breaking, sukuna is obsessed, pining

art by @winterrbluess + divider by @bronzewasp <3

Getting dumped and knocked up in two hours was probably a new world record.

Clingy, your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend called you. Too fucking busy to text you back half the time and too tired to pay you an ounce of attention when he did make the time for you. You guessed you weren't even worth the effort it took to show up to the stupid date you'd been looking forward to all week - just getting his can't make it message when you were already all dressed up and parked outside his favorite restaurant.

Gojo didn't even pick up your call.

Just coldly suggested you needed to take a break if you couldn't handle his schedule. Like his hours were what bothered you instead of his attitude.

So why should you fight for something he clearly had no interest in saving?

Even if cancelling the reservation felt like nailing the coffin shut on years of your relationship, you blocked his number, but instead of going home to box up his stuff, you pulled up directions to the nearest bar.

You noticed him on drink number three.

But he'd been watching you since you stepped inside.

If he recognized you (he absolutely did), you couldn't tell, his piercing gaze looking straight through you before going back to scanning the crowded room. It's not like he'd have any interest in you outside of your now non-existent connection to Gojo. So what if once-upon-a-time you'd all went to college together? If you shared lunches and test answers with him before everything went to shit?

Those two had issues.

The sort that usually got settled in bar fights rather than social media comment sections. You didn't know how it started and Satoru Gojo refused to ever share, but the competition between him and your former friend hadn't died years after you all graduated, it seemed. They went into the same industry post-college, worked at competing companies, a rivalry both refused to put an end to long after they stopped playing the same sport.

Gojo kept you out of it though, but you guessed he'd been keeping you out of everything lately too.

You were painfully aware of how not-drunk you were, the buzz not even there, the warmth in your chest feeling more like a fever than a pleasant fuzz. You nudged your still unfinished drink forward, starting to consider this as just another terrible idea to wrap up a terrible day, about to push up off the counter to stand when you felt the pressure shift, the weight of someone's presence lingering behind you suddenly choking the air out of your lungs when you glanced back over your shoulder just for him to practically tower over you.

"Your boyfriend know you're out here drinking alone?" Sukuna scoffed, his disgust dripping down at you. His muscled arms were folded across his chest, veins bulging against his smooth skin, a tight scowl on his lips.

"He's not my boyfriend anymore, so if you want to be an asshole, go bother someone else," You returned his glare, shrugging your purse higher up over your shoulder.

"Yeah? You finally dumped that loser?" He actually laughed. "Or is he even dumber than I thought?"

(part 1 here)

yes—it felt good. heavenly, even. feeling him fill you up without a contraceptive barrier between you might overlap an ego death on the life-altering-experiences venn diagram.

but now your boyfriend throws a tantrum whenever you tell him to wrap it. he pouts and whines and stamps his fucking feet like a child at your child-preventative measures. he’s too tall to act like a toddler—if you didn’t secretly enjoy the pining you’d hit him upside the back of his head and tell him to stop sulking.

“we’re too young to be parents,” you’d tell him as he rubs his uncovered cock through your folds, from your entrance up to your sensitive clit and back down.

his counter? “the earlier we start, the longer we have to try for more.”

“maybe youre forgetting the whole ‘jujutsu sorcerer, could-die-at-any-moment' thing?”

“are you forgetting that i’m the strongest? plus, i think i’d look hot saving the world wearing a baby carrier… not that i would endanger our kid like that. bad point, ask me a new one.”

“we aren’t playing trivia.”

“cmon,” a tap of the head of his cock to your clit. “humour me.”

“alright, children are fucking expensive.”

“babe, you’re not serious—you do know i’m filthy rich, right? capitalism fears me. i’m like that rich disney duck with the top hat and—”

you point a finger in his face. “put a goddamn condom on or you’re banned from sex for a month, scrooge.”

not even in an ‘i can’t feel a thing’ frat-fuck way either. he just wants to be close to you. he’s touch starved as it is and being inside of you is quite literally the closet he can be to you. why would he want a barrier between his achy length and your silken walls?

he hates condoms. hates them like they’re pointing south on his moral compass. hates them like they hurt to use—which they do, in a way—the mental anguish feels real to him, at least. he picks up a fuss in the grocery store when you pull a pack of ribbed condoms from the shelf to try because why would you seek pleasure from artificial ridges when the protruding veins of his cock would feel just as good if not dressed in a condom?

sometimes he eats you out for twice as long as usual to get you really fucked out and dumb. he’ll make you cum hard and fast and so much that your mind is a mess in the hopes that you’ll forget all about your safety precautions and let him feel you from the inside out. but you always catch on. with a tsk and a finger pointed to the draw where he keeps the horrid things out of sight.

so when you let him fuck you raw for the first time, gojo is reeling. it’s on the condition that he promises to pull out, and promise he does—with a pinky finger hooked around yours and his lips to his thumb—he promises to pull out.

he decides on missionary, because as much as he loves the hundred different positions he knows how to wrangle you into, he wants to connect with you. to make love, not fuck.

and even your wetness against his tip is enough to jolt his stomach downwards. collecting your glossing over his angry head as he rubs himself up and down your folds—he would cum just like this if he wasn’t so stuck on feeling all of you. you’re warm and wet and tight as he pushes against your entrance and oh god he’s going to cum already.

“oh,” he stills, eyes deadset on yours as he slides into you. his tip is rubbing against that spot that makes your back arch upwards and it takes everything in you not to laugh at the distraught look on his face as he says “i have to pull out.”

“you’re joking, right?”

“i really wish i was baby,” he looks pained. he’s never felt something so heavenly and ungodly at the same time. he wants to do bad things, to fuck you into the mattress and breed you full of himself until you’re too weak to care about the aftermath of such recklessness. “i can’t pull out.”

“what?” you laugh, his balls tighten at the sound.

“if i move—” satoru has never looked so serious, “—i will cum. this was a bad idea. why would you let me do this?”

“you’re the one always—”

“actually don’t argue with me, you know what it does to me.” he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on anything other then the way you feel around him. he does math in his head, thinks about the people he’s killed, how much he loves you… how pretty you look right now… growing old with you.

“i swear you’re getting harder inside of—”

“imsorryiloveyoubutpleasebequietorelseyouaregoingtogetpregnant.”

it takes him a minute of mental gymnastics to feel confident enough to start slowly sliding out of you, but all hope dies when the heel of your foot presses against his ass and with a smile made of sin you pull him deeper inside of you.

he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he is not joking and all that comes out is a beautiful strangled moan that makes you tighten around him. for a man who claims to be the strongest he is rather weak-willed when it comes to your pussy. he needs to cum so hard that it hurts, but a fear of maybe ruining your life and relationship digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“don’t do this to me,” he whines.

but you’re smiling. you’re so tight and wet and beautiful and everything he’s ever dreamt of having and holding and you’re smiling. “satoru,” you say, and he’s weak. “cum inside.”

anything for you. it’s gorgeous: the way he lets loose, falling forward to press all his weight into you as he groans and his balls release in hot spurts that you can feel painting your insides white. it’s the connection, the intimacy, the tears that prick at his eyes.

and he doesn’t pull out. no, he presses his hips forward to fuck his cum as deep into you as he possibly can and he vows to throw out every condom in the goddamn house.

god he hates condoms.

part 2

oopsies! ony x blk!fem!reader <3

“ony, can you help me?”

upon hearing his friend’s voice, ony raises his fingers to pull the gaming headset from the studded shell of his ear and he pauses the game. then he drags his attention from the flat screen tv and instead to her. his irises settle on the girl nestled in the palm of his loveseat. “what’s up?”

she doesn’t immediately raise her wispy-lash-framed marbles to meet him. instead, she only uses her manicured thumb to swipe back and forth between something indiscernible to him at his current position. her lips are twisted into a billowy pout though, a pensive expression etched into her features. so he deduced that she’s trying to choose between two things.

after about five seconds, she relents and twists her wrist around to show him the cause of her dilemma on her phone screen. he squints his eyes - courtesy of his less-than-great vision - so she pushes herself forward a bit to bring the phone closer to his face.

“i’m tryna get my hair did,” she starts, raising her free hand to swipe between the two pictures. “but i can’t choose.”

“lemme see,” is his immediate response as he outstretches his tattooed fingers. she obliges him, setting the phone in the basin of his hand. once he has the phone in his hold, he sets his controller beside him and nibbles on his thick bottom lip — a force of habit that appears any time he’s in thought.

“you see?” she narrates as she peeks at the screen. “i was thinking i could try one of them lil’ coquette styles i be seeing on tiktok,” she lowers her hand to point at different features. “i think it’s cute, i was gonna get it done with my real hair though.”

and it is. the inspiration pic is of a pretty darkskin girl with long, silky tresses of black hair. the hair was styled with a half-pony, with two pieces pulled from the front to frame the face and the ends of the hair curled in large, bouncy spirals. a huge white ribbon with lacy trim adorned the ponytail.

“yeah, i think it’d look good on you,” he hands the phone back to her to allow her to show him the other example.

she cheeses as she welcomes the phone back into her hold and scrolls over to the next photo. “thank youuu! here’s the other one.” and she passes the device back to him.

the next photo is a picture of another pretty brown girl with her hair blown out in curtain-like layers, framing her face with a fluffy bang and wispy curls.

“i was thinking of doing this but getting it ginger,” she informs him cutely. “i feel like i look good ginger.”

“you do,” ony agrees as he offers the phone to her. trying to be respectful. but his friend is fine as fuck. he knew that.

“sooo…” she looks at him expectantly with watery eyes, plucking the phone from his hands.

he furrows his thick brows. “what?”

her expression falls in a deadpan. “nigga, which one should i get!” she huffs at her friend’s oblivion. “which one do you think i’d look better in?”

“i’on know nu’n ‘bout that hair shit,” he awkwardly admits with a coy smile.

she raises the phone so that he could see her face and the photo at the same time. “just tell me your opinion, don’t overthink it!” she encourages him with her honey-like voice, lifting a finger to swipe between the two photos.

“do we like this—” she swipes to the coquette style and poses a little bit, sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth. “—orrrr …” she swipes to the blowout, “this?”

his eyes flicker between the screen and her pretty face. he felt her facial structure looks amazing regardless, and she has a lot of free range with her styling decisions as a result of it. he felt like the ginger blowout would bring out the warmth in her cinnamon-spice undertone. but he also thought the bouncy curls would frame her face the best. to be real, he feels as torn as she does.

they both continue this for a few more seconds - trying to decide between a style - when all of a sudden, her finger slips and she swipes too much in the wrong direction. and well … what he sees has his eyebrows raising in surprise before he reflexively turns his head to avoid seeing any more than he had. briefly, confusion crosses her features before she turns to look at the screen. and once she does, she yelps in horror.

“oh my god!” she gasps as she lowers her phone. “i’m so sorry… i forgot i had that in there…” a bashful admission.

“you good,” he comforts as nonchalantly as he could, the memory of her thick pussy lips, slicked entrance, and blushing pearl still engrained into his mind. he’s good at playing cool - he wanted her to feel safe and comfortable, so he opted to ignore his stirring dick. “you ain’t mean to.” he unpauses his game, opting to fill the awkwardness with the sound of whizzing bullets.

she, however, is not good at playing cool. heat pools in her cheeks, and despite her complexion not literally allowing her to blush, the tense smile tugging on the corners of her mouth let him know she felt extremely embarrassed.

“s-sorry,” she apologizes again, a stutter unearthing as the last thirty seconds settle in.

“you good,” he assures her. he looks utterly absorbed in his game - seemingly too absorbed to care that he just saw his best friend’s pussy.

a few beats of silence pass between them. his eyes are still trained on the tv screen, his fingers are firm on the playstation controller.

then without turning around, he utters, “i’ma say the ginger one though.”

her expression softens, amused by him refusing to address what he had seen. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he shoots someone. “you look really pretty with ginger hair.”

a dorky grin spreads her still-warm face, and she pulls the phone closer to her chest. “thank you.”