✎ Wife

Rollercoaster Rides

your jjk boyfriend doesn’t go on a ride with you. what’s their reaction when they find out another guy is about to accompany their girlfriend on it?

text messages including: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Sukuna Ryomen, Toji Fushiguro, Choso Kamo, Yuta Okkotsu, Toge Inumaki, Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro

The SECOND I read “no happy ending” or “ambiguous ending” I am SCROLLING!!

What Leg Is it Down .ᐟ

𝜗𝜚: satoru, suguru, nanami, choso, ino, toji,

note: asking them what leg is their dick/cock down !

warnings: cursing, sexual, kms joke in gojo’s, crack, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

#5 ⋆ 𓍲 ˚ ❛ We listen and we... Judge?!? ⤾

Save your apologies, Baby, I just gotta know.. ☆ We listen and we DON'T judge! (GONE VERY WRONG.) Hopping this trend with him for fun! Until he said something that made you question things (you judged.) CRACK & FLUFF

CHARACTERS ☆ YUJI! YUTA!

Author's note : If you managed to stumble on THEE last part of this series and haven't read the first one, I suggest to click the number! Anyhow, this is the final part of this ridiculous idea of mine, I'm glad some of you ACTUALLY enjoyed it lmao. I really thought this'll flop but oh well <3 thank you for managing to finish this shit hole, appreciated!

RAHHHH this is the second time I finished a work, so proud yipiii! Any concerns, suggestions, requests or ideas, just go to my inbox and flood it, ty! <3

boyfriend!satoru and boyfriend!suguru when their gf is sick 🤒

“come on baby you’ve been asleep for ages,” suguru calls down the corridor towards your shared room. he makes his way over to your sleeping form smiling at the little lump you had become under the pile of blankets.

“hi princess-“ he stopped his petting of your head when he made contact with your forehead, the heat permeating from your skin immediately drawing his attention.

“oh no baby you’ve got a temperature.”

you weren’t understanding anything he was saying, he almost looked like a ball of colour to your disassociating yourself.

“mmmf”

“i know baby, i know. satoru! satoru come here. gimme a second princess.”

“mmf”

“hello what am i missing out on?”

“go and get me pain killers and a cold towel, oh and an orange and a bottle of water.”

“why what’s happening oh my god what is happening?”

“satoru stop it she’s fine it’s just a temper-“

“A TEMPERATURE? i’m sure hospitals have stuff for that?”

“satoru. get the stuff i asked for please.”

you barely registered the blankets being stripped off of your body until you felt a slight breeze on your torso.

“noo no cold please.”

“baby i’m sorry, you have to regulate your body temperature okay?

then he was lifting your head and adding extra pillows under your neck.

“sugu i don’t feel good :( “ you said in your tiny little voice. just barely a whisper but he heard you all the same.

“i know baby, it hurts doesn’t it?” he was practically petting you between your brows like one would do to a kitten.

“you’ll be better in no time hmm? we can sit and watch movies and then when you’re feeling a bit better i’ll make you some nice warm food yeah?”

and before you could reply there was a loud bang at the door signaling your other boyfriend’s arrival.

“where’s the casualty!”

“satoru not so loud, what’s all that?”

you turned your head towards your white haired partner and took in his arms, full to the brim with nearly everything from your kitchen cabinets.

he had every fruit from the fruit bowl, three flavors of juice, 5 types of painkiller, 2 couch cushions, what looked like four bath towels? and even some chocolate bars. he dropped it all dramatically as he climbed next to you on the bed.

“oh my god baby we’re gonna overcome this don’t worry. aw look at you.”

and his hands were pawing at your sweaty hair and back.

“satoru she’s okay don’t worry, a temperature isn’t anything to be worried about.”

“we should take all the necessary precautions.”

“do you know what the necessary precautions are?”

he stared blankly before kissing you all over your cheeks and eyelids. suguru couldn’t help but chuckle at his boyfriends actions, he knew satoru was only trying to lighten your mood with his silly antics. suguru took a dampened towel and started to gently wipe your back with it as satoru stroked your hair and whispered words of love to you.

“baby you want us to run you a bath?”

“yes please.”

with the amount of love in this very room you were bound to recover in no time.

a/n : hope u guys like them as much as I do 🧸

uncle gogo = gojo, for those confused

career day at the sukuna household is not for the weak.

at the tender age of five, your daughter is no longer just a visitor at her father’s company. no. today, she is there for work. she arrives at the office in her best outfit—tiny blazer, tiny briefcase, tiny attitude—ready to take on the corporate world. sukuna, ever the supportive father, plays along.

"alright, kid," he says as they step into his office, adjusting the little lanyard around her neck that says junior executive (custom-made, obviously). "first day on the job. you ready?"

"mm-hmm." she nods seriously, clutching her briefcase like it holds state secrets. "good," sukuna smirks, ruffling her hair. "first order of business—don’t let the idiots boss you around."

"idiots like uncle gogo?" she asks.

"especially uncle gogo."

things go smoothly at first. your daughter sits in sukuna’s big chair, scribbling on documents (coloring books), occasionally nodding as if she understands corporate jargon. employees pop in to say hello, bringing little gifts—stickers, snacks, an absurdly large teddy bear that now sits beside her like an honorary executive.

but then, he arrives. a mid-level manager with a smile just a little too fake, eyes that linger just a little too long. your daughter, ever perceptive, immediately stiffens. the man kneels beside her chair, trying to look friendly. "and who is this little boss?" he asks, voice dripping with condescension. your daughter stares him down, face blank.

"…weird man," she declares.

the entire office goes silent. sukuna, who had been checking emails, slowly looks up.

"what?"

his daughter turns to him, completely unbothered.

"i don’t like weird man."

the manager laughs awkwardly. "kids, huh? always saying the darndest things." sukuna barely spares him a glance. "yeah. they do."

your daughter, meanwhile, has already moved on, humming as she arranges her teddy bear like it’s the new CFO. sukuna doesn’t think much of it at first. kids have weird instincts. but a few hours later—

"boss," one of his executives says, looking grim. "we have a problem." sukuna doesn’t look up from his laptop. "when don’t we?"

"it’s about him."

the name that follows is the same weird man his daughter had called out earlier. sukuna finally looks up.

"what about him?"

"he’s been embezzling funds. we just caught the discrepancies in the accounts—tens of thousands missing. and, uh..." the executive hesitates. "he’s also been at the center of multiple employee harassment complaints. HR covered it up, but—"

CRACK.

everyone in the office flinches. sukuna has broken his pen in half.

by the end of the day, weird man is ex-employee weird man. security drags him out kicking and screaming, and the company lawyers are already preparing a case. sukuna, meanwhile, sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he watches his daughter—his psychic daughter—methodically stacking staplers like it’s part of an intricate business strategy.

"so," he says, tapping his fingers against the desk. "you got anything else for me, little oracle?"

she looks up at him, blinking.

"uncle gogo steals candy from your office."

sukuna sighs. "of course he does."

₊˚ʚ 🌱 little sunshines au. masterlist

a jjk au where domestic fluff and parenthood are the main tropes.

fluff‐parents au. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ non sorcerer/curse au, domesticity, use of nicknames for the babies (nugget, mochi, squirt), mom!reader, mentions of pregnancy

all kids remain unnamed, apart from the already existing ones

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐ɢᴏᴊᴏ sᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ

head of the gojo clan. after marrying his wife, he locked her in his estate with him. she ended up popping three healthy babies in the span of five years.

notes:

his precious mochi consist of two boys, aged 5 and 2 years old, and an eight month old baby girl—the three of them look like satoru

your two boys are huge fans of 'fishies'

kiss it better

something's fishy

mama's day

crybaby

—

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐ɢᴇᴛᴏ sᴜɢᴜʀᴜ

the geto residence had been nothing but a girly sanctuary for the past few years. suguru, as the only man, faced a harsh reality check when the latest addition to his family, a baby boy, stole the hearts of every girl in his home.

notes:

suguru is so used to handling girls that he's still a bit lost with his little boy

the baby wants you all the time, and suguru is a little sad that he's not being favored

joyride

—

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐ғᴜsʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ ᴛᴏᴊɪ

his biggest nightmare came true once his baby girl began to talk. she keeps him on his toes, a little princess that easily empties her daddy's wallet by asking for toys—expensive ones.

notes:

your baby girl wants to do everything you do: hair, makeup, nails. toji grows a gray hair each time she demands to get her tiny toes painted like mama

tsumiki (6) likes to say that the baby (2) is her doll, and little megumi (4) makes sure his puppies watch over his baby sister while she naps

!! technically speaking, toji's still a zenin + megumi and tsumiki are yours. so they'll be referenced as the zenin's/zenin kids !!

strawberry shortcake

copycat

—

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ sᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ

his home has not known peace ever since his wife gave birth to their twins, a boy and a girl. he barely made it out of the 'terrible twos' unscathed, but now that they're three and way more talkative, he's starting to reconsider his life decisions.

notes:

the boy is a menace, always play fighting with his dad, while the girl is shy and cries around him

both toddlers get pretty calm and soft around you. sukuna says you hexed them

!! for the sake of the plot, sukuna is jin's brother, making him an itadori. choso and yuuji are step brothers (choso is kaori's son) !!

uncle yuuji

ugly mornings

mall santa

—

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ

preschool teacher with a concerning amount of patience. all of the kids know him because he's their art and crafts teacher, a very popular class among the children.

notes:

first grade (2-3 year olds): itadori twins, gojo's youngest son, and zenin's youngest daughter.

second grade (4-5 year olds): gojo's eldest son, megumi, and yuuji.

third grade (6 year olds): tsumiki, nanako, and mimiko.

first day

Art Student!Choso

Renaissance: worship

Word Count: 5.4k Contents: 18+ mdni, plot with smut, mostly fluffy, direct continuation of the part 5 smau, and concludes pre-relationship Choso's story, not proofread so idk how much sense this makes, let me know if it’s complete bs and I’ll redo it or something

You’re staring at the most beautiful mural you think has ever been created. It’s made up of harsh strokes of ash, curving and spiralling into one another, sprawling across the entire back wall of the gym. The smudges and the streaks breeze from corner to corner, bouncing along the edges as they create layers of shadows which seem so thick you could feel it from where you stand. 

There, in the centre, you can make out a face. It’s contorted, mouth stretched inhumanly, eyes bulging and threatening to pop out. Fragmented and clawing itself, tearing skin and pulling until its face morphs into something you can’t quite make out. Dissolving into the fray, with the stark chalk, it spirals into frenzied strokes, suffocating itself. 

A gasp leaves you when you step back, taking more of it in at once, and you see amidst the smoke and the chaos, symbols, jagged and torn up. They make up even more faces, just as contorted and as uncanny, all stretched out in silent screams that pierce your soul and render your knees weak. 

It’s haunting. 

You had no idea you would walk in to find this when you were searching for Choso. And when you meet his eyes from above, leaning against the railing, you think you might actually fall to your knees. It’s the same eyes that match the big ones on the wall, both equally broken, accusing and full of heat as it never wavers from yours. 

There are so many things left unsaid, things that are desperate to get out, to be screamed at him so he’ll understand, so he’ll know. But only silence remains. 

Choso doesn’t say anything, just lets the moonlight streaming from the windows encase you both in half light, half-darkness. You can’t see the smudges on his hands, but you can see the yearning in his eyes, like he too has so much to say, so much for you to understand and accept.

Click. 

Both of your eyes dart to the entrance, there’s a security guard, holding a flashlight, aimed right you. There’s no way to escape. That’s what your thumping heart is telling you; you’ve been caught. And you haven’t done anything wrong.

“Hey! Did you do this?” He yells. 

You’re rendered speechless, frozen from the realisation that there’s no way out of this. Without looking at him, can’t bear to discover what expression he’s wearing now that it’s all unravelling between you, you walk to the guard and let him drag you of there. 

You don’t look back. 

——

“What would possess you to vandalise private property?” The Dean questions. 

His bald head is shiny, and the light’s reflection is all you can focus on as he thumps his fist against the mahogany desk separating you both. Thank God, too, because by the looks of that bulging vein on his forehead, he's pretty keen on giving you a lesson or two. It’s just you and him in his stately, stuffy office. The walls are lined with tall, dark wood bookshelves, which in turn are filled with old, leather-bound books in perfect condition, not a single dust in sight. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It goes without saying, I’m sure, that I’m disappointed in you,” he ignores you, voice gruff and measured, all condescending and pretentious. You’re convinced that’s not even his natural accent. “You have the talent, the potential, to do anything with your gifts. Your works have won many awards, and you could one day find them in museums or galleries across the world. Instead, this —this is how you choose to leave your mark?”

The chair squeaks when you shift uncomfortably, and your eyes choose to scan his meticulous desk, as opposed to his beady ones. There’s not a single paper angled wrong, no pens misaligned, not a smudge or even a water mark. 

“You’ve disgraced this fine institution. Our beloved Eden University for the Excellent has stood as a beacon for ambition, sophistication and innovation! And with every act of ‘artistic rebellion’ with your ‘cursed death paintings’, or the like, you have threatened everything we have built for centuries!”

You could try and defend yourself, could rebuff the accusations since you are, of course, innocent. But, well, the evidence is damning: you were at the scene of the crime, you’re an art student, you have attended practically every protest on campus, have liked posts from Cursed Womb’s fan-pages, and damn it, you had paint all over your shirt and hands.

You’re fucked. 

He leans back in his chair, sighing as he folds his glasses onto the desk. “There are no excuses; none I will accept. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I hereby — “

The door slams open. 

You both jump. 

“Dean Hanami,” a sneer projects through the office and you recognise it immediately as belonging to a guy that knocked on your door and glared at you as if you were dirt on his shoe. “We have much to discuss.”

When you twist in your seat, you’re alarmed to find three men: Sukuna in a newer looking jacket than you remembered, an old man in a suit, and a guy you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. 

Choso’s not looking at you, he’s not even entering the room, choosing instead to hang around by the doorway. 

“Mr. Ryomen, I am in the middle of a meeting,” the Dean splutters. 

Sukuna pokes your shoulder with a pen he picked up from the desk, looking over at you with complete disgust, like you’re a little cockroach. Still as rude as ever, he’s signalling for you to leave and as you look between the two men, one much older than the other, you choose to go with your instincts and rush out of there. 

“This is how it’s going to work,” he drawls, sliding into your seat and snapping his fingers at the man in a suit, “you’re going to give back everything I want, and you’re going to let this Cursed Womb farce go.”

The last thing you hear is the sheer humiliation of the Dean’s defeated stammering. You close the door behind you. 

Without looking at Choso, you walk down the hallway. 

“Y/n, we should talk,” he follows beside you. 

“Now you want to talk?” You sigh. You know you’re not being fair. Counting to ten, you try a softer approach. “Listen, Choso, it's been a long morning. Can we have this talk somewhere private? These hallways are so depressing.”

He nods, his pigtails moving with him. Wordlessly, he leads you outside, to his parked car, it’s all shiny and sleek, classic Ryomen money, and you get into the passenger seat. 

It’s odd being in such close proximity with him when he’s avoided you for so long, but you try to get comfortable regardless, ignoring the elephant in the room. There’s a Cursed Womb sized hole between you and there’s so much to be said but you’re afraid you’ll push him, that you’ll say the wrong thing and everything will be for nought; you’ll go back to being strangers, passing each other by, just like last year. 

And, whatever you feel for him, you just can’t let that happen. 

“Choso,” you begin, voice soft, “what happened? What happened between us?”

Driving, he doesn’t dare look at you, can only chew on the inside of his cheek before seemingly deciding on the right words. “I liked you. From the very beginning, I liked you. People either like me ‘cause of my family or 'cause of rumours, but you’re one of the very few people that actually reached out, saw me as an equal.”

You’re silent. He’s opening up in a way he has never before and you don’t dare disturb his flow, like one would watch a Master at work. Everything about him is compelling, the whites of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel harder than he should, the furrow of his brows as he thinks hard, the way his gaze slides over to you, just not meeting your eyes, and even the way he studies you, in just your thin jumper and jeans and turns up the heater without asking.

Trees fly by, everything a blur as you keep your gaze fixed solely on him. He drives pretty smoothly, unlike you. You're always pressed right up against the wheel, eyes darting to every mirror like a car would appear in the millisecond you looked away. But him...he drives like it's second nature, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick.

“Despite me not being very open and particularly approachable I guess, you still made the effort to reach out, to include me in discussions, to ask if I’m coming to class — even lecturers have stopped asking. And you’re very smart! I like how passionate you are, you’re so full of great ideas, practically beaming with them. You never lose your optimism even when your art gets critiqued too harshly.”

This is the first time anyone’s ever described you like this, like he appreciates you by pure virtue of your existence and the way he sees your hard work, the strength it takes to get back up that you hadn’t recognised in yourself -- it feels like the way one would appreciate Starry Night. 

You can tell he practised this speech.

“But,” there’s a tremble in his voice and it makes your hand twitch, “you don't like me. Not like how I like you. And it makes me upset. Because you're so great and nice and pretty. Not that I like you because of your appearance, even though you have a very nice body. I mean that respectfully! Okay, actually just forget I said that. I like you for lots of different reasons. And I've been trying to get you to see me as more than your classmate or just your friend. But it's all pointless because you like Cursed Womb.”

“Choso, you are Cursed Womb.”

The car screeches to a halt. 

His hand flies out, pressing hard on your chest to stop you from flying forward. Thank goodness you’re wearing your seatbelt. And thank goodness the road is empty. 

“What the fuck!”

“Sorry!” He pants. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You caught me by surprise.”

Like you’ve been possessed, you laugh. It’s more a cackle than anything else to be honest, but the look of utter shock and disbelief on his face is making you tear up, your sides hurting as you cradle them. “Oh my god, Choso, you should have seen your face. HA!”

He’s panicking, hands waving in the air as he tries to decide between lifting your hair up to inspect for damage and going to the steering wheel so he can drive off to safety, where the chances of a car accident caused by your blunt mouth are slim. Conflicted, he decides to keep them in his lap as he winces at your chortles. You’re finding this way too funny. 

“You’re being mean,” he pouts. 

Wiping tears from your eyes, you’re desperately trying to calm down, trying to school your features into something more neutral or, better yet, something serious so you can have a mature, adult conversation. But he’s just so adorable you can’t help yourself. 

“Sorry, Choso,” you playfully frown at him, making a puppy dog pout so he’ll cave in. “But be honest here, sweetheart. You didn’t actually think you were slick, did you?”

Like a child, he smacks his steering wheel, all grumpy and upset. “No one else knew.”

“That’s ‘cause no one else tried to know. Sure, people were investigating, trying to piece together clues, but no one really wanted to know; the mystery was addictive, and that’s what peopled liked. But you think you’re the only one who pays attention? I watch you all the time. Plus, your family’s presence today was concrete proof; Sukuna would never do that just because you asked, right? And on top of all of that, you’re not a very good liar, sweet Choso,” you coo. 

He stutters, “B-but you never said. You kept talking about him l-like —"

“Like he’s not you?” You finish for him. 

“Yes! Even that night when I asked you to hang out, you didn’t want to go with me but when I mentioned the painting, you said yes.”

Your hand reaches out to play with a loose lock of hair from his messy pigtails and he lets you, his eyes flutter shut when your hand grazes his cheek. Heart clenching, you sigh again. “I was genuinely busy, Choso. But when you mentioned that ‘your friend’ painted again, I knew that meant trouble. What you do is dangerous, and I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“What about the other time when you didn’t want to have lunch with me? And you just wanted to work?”

You giggle, playfully pulling at his hair, and he has to pretend he’s not getting hard. “Choso, you do realise we have to balance our project on top of our schoolwork, right? Like we have to actually study and work, to meet deadlines?”

Choso pouts again and you smush your thumb against his plump lips, easing away the tension there. All muffled, he whines, “But I wanted to have lunch with you!”

“And we enjoyed sandwiches, did we not? Which by the way, you never paid me back for. But eh, that's okay. Just treat me out next time -- I'm a broke college student.”

He groans, pulling away to smack his head against the wheel. It honks and you laugh again. He’s clearly embarrassed and frustrated and he doesn’t know where to begin, so you try for him. 

“Choso, sweetheart,” you rub his back, “don’t be upset. I’ll be completely honest: I was messing with you. I kinda just wanted to see how far things will go. I mean, I knew as soon as you told me he’s your ‘friend’ that you were Cursed Womb. It’s such an obvious throwaway; I hope you weren’t feeling very proud of yourself.”

Scrunching his nose at you, he sinks back into his seat. The road is still empty, and he doesn’t seem to have any desire to drive off yet. So, you let him take it all in, rubbing his shoulder in pity for the poor guy who was clearly so proud of himself for keeping such a huge secret from everyone. 

“What’s gonna happen with the Dean?” You just realised technically you were expelled or were going to be expelled. No longer a student, you aren’t sure what you would do as a non-student — would you even make a very inspirational contributive member of society?

What’s next? 

Taxes and mortgages?

You shudder. 

Choso grabs your hand, holding it in his lap as he fiddles with your rings, clinking them with his own. His nails are painted black in true male art student fashion and his fingers are so beautifully long and slender you’re not afraid to admit that you’ve stared at them a little too long during clay sculpting class. 

“The family’s going to take care of it. Make it go away like they did when Sukuna beat up some guy who pushed Yuji. Or when I got caught by some other security guard.”

You nodded. “Where does that leave us?”

“Us?”

“There is an us, right, Choso?”

He fiddles with your ring finger, and you try really hard not to notice the hearts in his eyes. “Do you want there to be us? It’s not because I’m Cursed Womb, is it?”

Of course, you don’t blame him for feeling this way; you played around too much, gave him too much power when you really should have made the decisions to begin with, forced him to confront everything that was unspoken between you much sooner. Then there wouldn’t be this awkward energy that's holding him back from meeting your eyes. 

“Choso, I never liked you because you were Cursed Womb. Sure, I liked Cursed Womb. I stand by everything I said — he’s cool, he stands for what’s right, he sends a message and isn’t afraid to put his art out there to be critiqued by the masses. How many people can say that? But I liked him like one likes a pop star! You, on the other hand, I like you as you are. All shy and sweet and considerate. And I know the picture of me was from you, by the way.”

He opens his mouth to argue, and you shut him up with a stern look. 

“We’re project partners, Choso!” You laugh. “I’ve seen your handwriting and the way you write your Cs, you silly silly boy.”

“But you teased me anyways."

With a shrug, you explain, "You liked it."

And then he’s kissing you. 

His seatbelt is off, and you’re being pressed back into your seat, his hands cradling your face. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and it’s so Choso you can only moan in his mouth. He’s holding you like the two lovers of Rodin, with so much care, so much passion, it's leaving you breathless. You feel so much warmth and adoration through every lick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth and every moan of your name he’s breathing into you. 

You push him back, taking your belt off so you can climb into his lap whilst he pushes the seat back. He kisses down your neck, sucking your pulse point and gripping your hip as if he’s scared you’re just a figment of his imagination. And when you grind down on his hard length, he moans your name again. You’re soaking. 

“I’m sorry for teasing you too much.”

With tentative hands, he lifts your sweater up your stomach, searching your eyes for any resistance. You smile and take it off for him. He wastes no time sucking a tit, flicking the hard bud with his tongue and you’re gripping his pigtails. That makes him groan.

“I’ll forgive you if you do one thing for me,” his words are garbled, on account of him trying to swallow the entire globe of your breast, cheeks all puffed up, and you can’t help but press a kiss against his forehead. “Call me Cho again.”

“What?” His teeth graze your sensitive nipple and you arch into him, eyes crossing.

“You only call me Cho when we’re like this, touching in a way we shouldn’t.”

“Do I?” Grinding down on his dick, you tug a pigtail back so you can tilt his face away from your wet tits and back to your mouth. You kiss him again, craving his taste, his warmth. “Sorry…Cho.”

He bucks into your clothed core, straight up to your clit and you’re moaning into each other’s mouths. This isn’t enough, you both need more. Neither of you even care that you’re on the side of a road and it’s midday. 

“I want you,” he whispers, and he’s tearing up, the frustration building up to a point where he’s clawing your jeans off and burying his face between your tits and inhaling deep. “Can I? Can I have you?”

“Of course, Cho. I’m yours,” you kiss his hair. “You can do whatever you want with me, baby.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. 

Because the next thing you know, the seat is folding back and you’re being thrown onto the seat, facing the plush roof. He’s tugging your jeans down, pulling the material as if it’s singlehandedly his worst enemy. You can only rub his head as he frantically looks between your face, your tits and your panties like he doesn’t know where to begin. He’s desperately asking for permission, for guidance. 

“Choso, we can do whatever you want, just take your time.” And then, as an afterthought, you add, “Although, you shouldn’t take too long since we are outside. If we get caught, I’m not sure your family can take care of the charges we’ll face.”

He nods and then with dark, unfocused eyes, he shoves his face between your leg as he kneels on the floor, spreading your thighs with his strong arms. Sniffing is all he does, inhaling deeply and moaning. You blush, pushing his hair from his face. And, as if the urge has gotten too much, he pushes your panties to the side and licks a strip up your slit, from quivering hole to the clit. 

Your back arches off the seat. 

Moans and groans escape you, shaky breaths fanning the air as he sucks your clit, mumbling your name and the vibrations leaves you lightheaded. 

“Tastes so good. Knew you would taste so good.” He pushes in a finger inside and he groans with you when he wriggles it. “So wet, baby. You’re so hot a-and wet and I want to stay here forever.”

He curls his fingers inside, rubbing against that spot inside of you that has you gushing cream all over his mouth, and he laps it up like he’s starved. Just as a car drives past and he dives deeper into you, you find yourself cumming all over his mouth and fingers, clutching his pigtails harder.

"Fuuuuuck, don't stop, Cho!" You ride out your orgasm on his face, spreading your wetness all over his chin and his cheeks, clit bumping against his nose.

Shuffling up, something wet and hard traces your lips. It’s salty. You don’t hesitate to widen your jaw, letting him push his hot and hard length into your throat. It’s an awkward angle, with you laid not fully back and him having to crouch down, but you manage a few suckles before he gets frustrated and embarrassed, and he climbs back down to pet at your pussy. 

"That's just going to have to wait later, I guess," you chuckle.

A blush blanketing his cheeks, he nods and strokes his dick. He must have taken it out when he was licking you. It's long and hard and your body remembers the feel of it in your hands. And Monet! His tip is flushed red, leaking cum like a faucet. How adorable.

You see him lining his beautiful cock to your quivering hole, but you have to press a hand against his chest to still him. “Tut tut, Cho. Do I need to lecture you on the importance of safe sex, silly boy?”

He blushes and pats his pockets with frantic, panicked movements. You sigh. You didn’t bring one either.

“Well, you’re not allowed inside without a condom,” you mutter to his cock, telling it off as if it’s responsible for its owner irresponsibility. “I mean, really, Choso. You’re a grown man, a college student! You should always have condoms, silly.”

“I didn’t think we’d ever be together so I didn’t buy any,” he mumbles, laying down on you so he can hide his sheepish expression in your shoulder. 

The implication warms your chest, making you pout and rub his back. You coo, “Aw, did my baby not want to fuck anyone else? Just me?”

Pushed to his limit, he bites your neck and then quickly soothes it with his tongue as if upset at himself for hurting you. But it’s you who feels the most guilt; you played around too much, teased him too far, and now his hips are making short thrusts against your pussy. He just can’t help himself. It’s as if the magnetic pull of your cunt is too much for a weak man like him. You’re going to have to work very hard to earn his forgiveness even if he’s willingly thrown it at you. 

Starting, of course, by wrapping your legs around his hips and pressing him closer. You whisper, “Make yourself cum on my pussy, Cho.”

He groans. Maybe it’s the seductive way you ordered him to, the vulgar term you used, or perhaps it’s the fact that you called him a nickname he loves to hear. Well, whatever it is, it’s making him whimper in your ear as he thrusts against your lips, coating his length with your juices. His tip bumps against your clit and you both moan. 

“I-I missed you, y/n!” He cries in your ear, warm breath tickling your skin. 

Again and again, he thrusts, still clinging onto you and holding you close. You can feel his desperation, sincerity, and his pre-cum all seeping into your skin. Rolling back, your eyes disappear — this is supposed to be for him, and yet you’re panting too, holding him tight, shirt threatening to rip under your claws. 

The fact that you’re naked and he isn’t is making you sensitive all over, from the way your nipples are rubbing against his chest and how he pinches at one all the way to the mumbling of your name, like a mantra, against your neck. 

You’re going to cum too. 

“Ngh, Cho! Keep going!”

He must have liked that because his thrusting gets more frantic, his cock head meeting your clit again and again and you’re both nearing your high. Your nails dig into his back and he bites your neck to stifle the broken moan that escapes him. Hot ropes of cum paint your stomach and it makes you arch your back once more, eyes closing shut. 

"So warm ngh!" He groans into your ear.

Hips stuttering, he drags out his orgasm like his body can’t help himself and a beat or two passes. He falls on top of you, still muttering your name like his brain has short-circuited and it’s all that’s left in there. 

“You like me better than Cursed Womb, right?”

You laugh. “Cho, you silly man. You’re the same person.”

Choso pushes himself up onto his elbows, slightly out of breath and dazed, a blush highlighting his face tattoo. You kiss him on the nose which brings out what sounds like a mewl from him. He copies the movement, and it tickles you. That makes him smile, still panting. 

“I know, but I want to know who you like better,” he licks a bead of sweat from your forehead and you have to smack his back. 

Sighing, you push him off, concerned over the fact that you’re naked and in a public space. He lets you scramble back to your seat, fixing your panties and leggings and he hands you your jumper. All in silence, you get settled back in. 

He starts the engine, looking a little upset and you have to still his hand with yours. Words aren’t really enough, you know that. So, the only thing to do is to show him. 

“Take us to my place, Cho.”

—

He’s confused, head tilting and brows scrunched together like a little puppy as you lead him to your dorm room. Whereas you’re practically buzzing with excitement, struggling to get the keys in due to your shaking hands. But you manage and you welcome him in. 

It’s the first time he’s been inside your place — there wasn’t a particular reason why you waited, it was really just because his place is bigger and cooler and generally a much better place to work in. 

Despite it being a pretty standard room, he’s marvelling at the space, eyeing the pictures of your friends strewn across the walls, the fairy lights and the open journal on the table full of your watercolour works. Choso looks like he just entered Santa’s workshop, and you giggle as you press your face in his back, hugging him and swaying you guys side to side. 

“Sorry about the mess, Cho. I didn’t know you’d come over.”

He holds your hands, swaying with you, but his focus is on only one thing. 

There, on your easel, stationed by the window for natural lighting, is a sketch. The lines are messy and criss-crossing, overlapping each other, the lead of the pencil unravelling to create a face loss in thought. It’s tilting its head as its own creation, examining the angles and the proportions, and you can tell it’s completely entranced in its work, losing grip with reality and wholly immersed in their own imagination. 

It’s the kind of expression you’ve decided is most beautiful in all your years of looking and sketching and studying. In all the models, in all the strangers, and in all the works of art you’ve come across, only one figure has captivated you as much it has. 

“Recognise him, Cho Cho?”

Despite the teasing tone of your voice, you’re actually pretty nervous. This has never been a problem for you; you’ve presented your work to countless of people, by virtue of being an art student, you’ve consented to being ripped apart again and again. But this time, you’re feeling a certain kind of insecurity you never have before. 

“Do you like it?”

“This is me?” He breathes out. 

You bury your face harder in his back, feeling a blush creeping up. “Yeah, Cho. I started it back in first year. I never got to finish it because, well, we’re art students and we all have ADHD or whatever. But when we became project partners, I’ve been adding to it, adding lines and details for every time I noticed something new about you. In fact, I was working on it that night you asked me to hang out and I almost turned you down. Sorry about by the way, baby.”

Waving a hand over the general area, you explain further, "At the end of first year, you got that face tattoo, and I struggled all summer adding it in because I only saw it once and wanted to recreate it from pure memory. But I couldn't ever seem to get the proportions right."

"Y-you started drawing me in first year?"

Pressing a kiss to his back and smiling at the flex of his muscles, you think back to a memory. "It wasn't like I was obsessed with you, or anything creepy, I swear. It's just that, you're a pretty handsome dude. The List agrees and well, when I first saw you in the lecture hall, I thought wow, someone needs to capture that guy in a drawing or something. And you know how us artists work — we develop fixations. I guess, you could say you've been my on and off one for a year now."

That was a lot of words and you’re not sure he registered any of it because of how silent he is, but then he’s clasping your hands tightly. And you’re shocked into silence when something cold slides down one of your fingers. On your left hand. Your ring finger. 

“Cho?”

“I think I’m in love with you,” he shakily whispers. 

You want to laugh — it’s such a sudden admission and you’re fairly convinced it’s just that post-nut high. But the way he says it, the way it’s so serious, so real makes you pull away. 

He turns, desperate to see your face. And with another whisper, he admits, “I have one of you too.”

“What?”

“I painted a portrait of you. In my place.”

It strikes you there. You remember. The painting with the tarp over it. That was of you, and he hid it because you were coming over. With a grin, you raise your hand up to eye the golden signet ring on your finger, way too big and threatening to fall off if you don’t hold it tight. 

“We’re a pretty cool duo, aren’t we?”

Choso falls to his knees, pigtails bouncing, an expression of desperation and torment written all over it. He's never looked more beautiful staring up at you. "Please let me be your boyfriend!"

You laugh again, hands on your hips as you shake your head in disbelief. Rolling your eyes playfully, you respond with, "Alright, I guess I can grant you that one wish. Actually, since you gave me two orgasms, I'll give you another one."

He reaches for your hand with his eyes closed and you let him press it against his face. Cupping his cheek, your smile drops and you feel a fire burning inside and explode in your chest when he presses a distressed kiss to your wrist, full of panic like his brain is malfunctioning and he can't settle on one thought or feeling.

Then, his eyelids fly open and meet yours with a clarity that has never been there. Never. Not even since first year when you made eye contact in passing and you couldn't get his face out of your mind. And it's like all the anguish you saw that night is gone, the chalk mural fading from view.

More certain than ever, you know he'll give you all the opportunities you need to finish your portrait of him, and every new one you'll make. And your project will be renewed with a deeper level of teamwork, because you've transcended the definitions of your connection.

“I want to eat you out again.”

And well, who are you to say no to a man on his knees?

࿐ Yuji loves seeing you happy. Before you guys became something more, he noticed your extreme stoic personality. And when he finally saw your genuine smile, he knew he just had to have you.

It was hard trying to figure out your love language, what makes your true colors show.

One of the first ones to go were physical affection, you liked your space. Even though you’d give it up when Yuji whined long enough.

He loves his quiet partner. And he’d do his best to work around your stubbornness.

He was starting to resort to just asking you. Not that you’d give him a genuine answer. He just wanted to spoil you. He just wasn’t sure how :(

Without to much thought into it, he came home one day with a necklace.

He left it in its small box on top of your clothes you planned on wearing after your shower.

He was a bit anxious on how you’d react. Or if you would even like it at all. Running his hand through his hair as he sat in the living room.

Waiting on you, he’s eyes started growing heavy. He stopped fighting and began to let drowsiness take over until he felt a weight next to him.

Turning his head he sees you on the couch, your hair damp, and your face a bit flushed. He assumed because of the shower.

What was really catching his attention was how close you were. It was unusual. You were usually shy about these types of things. Your eyes everywhere except for him as evidence.

Hesitant, he puts his arm around your shoulder, and surprisingly you accept his embrace immediately, as if you were waiting on it. Your head resting on his chest.

Flustered, he looks down at you, he sees the necklace on your neck and he feels like he’s about to explode from happiness.

You fidget with it subconsciously, your eyes closed.

A crystal in the center that appeared as if the ocean crafted it, the deep shiny blue reminding you of your precious boyfriend.

You liked gifts.

~

After that day, he never seen you without it on. And when he did, he’d go remind you to put it on, and to his surprise you complied with no reluctance.

Gosh he was so love sick. :(

A random night he started a savings for a ring.

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader part 2

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader part 3

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 4

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 5

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 6

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 7

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 8

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 9

Invincible!Dad x pregnant Reader (Bonus scene)

Invincible!Dad x pregnant Reader (Bonus scene 2)

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 10

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 11

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 12

Invincible Dad x pregnant reader 13