Falling Asleep On Spencer’s Shoulder On The Jet, Snoring Lightly As You Finally Get Some Sleep.

— Morning Monologue

pairing : Dad!Gojo satoru x reader

synopsis : The comedic chaos of parenthood unfolds as Gojo Satoru rambles on about his dreams for his baby in the early morning light. While Gojo’s enthusiastic monologues flow freely, his little one’s unimpressed expressions provide a humorous contrast. This light-hearted tale captures the blend of love and laughter that defines their bond, showcasing Gojo's playful spirit and the delightful challenges of being a dad.

warnings : nothing just fluff

sierra speaks : based on DDG and Halo cause they’re tooo funny 😭😭

It was barely dawn, sunlight creeping through the curtains, and the entire apartment was quiet—except for Gojo Satoru, who was wide awake and talking non-stop. He was lounging in bed, his silver hair messy from sleep, but his voice still full of that typical Gojo energy, as he rambled on and on to the tiny baby cradled in his arms.

“Y’know, being the strongest sorcerer in the world is kinda like being the best dad,” Gojo mused, staring at his baby’s wide eyes. “No pressure, just perfection in every department. You’re lucky, kiddo, you’ve got me to show you the ropes. Infinite Void? You’ll be a natural.”

Your baby—still too young to even comprehend the wild words flying over his tiny head—looked up at him, blinking, seemingly processing none of it. Instead, his expression was... well, let’s say less than impressed.

You were laying on the other side of the bed, half-asleep, but listening to this morning monologue unfold. It was a regular occurrence at this point—Gojo waking up, deciding that 6 AM was the perfect time for his fatherly wisdom. The baby had no choice but to listen, a captive audience to Gojo’s self-proclaimed brilliance.

“And you’re gonna have the coolest techniques, just like me. You’ll have all the girls—well, maybe not all the girls, 'cause you know, I’m taken,” he said with a wink in your direction. You let out a soft snore to pretend you were asleep, hoping to dodge the goofiness. Gojo chuckled before turning back to the baby. “But anyway, you’re gonna be the coolest kid in Jujutsu society. And don’t get me started on that hair—everyone’s gonna love it. You got my genes, so we’re basically unbeatable.”

The baby squirmed, still half-listening (if that). But then, there it was—the moment you'd been waiting for: Your baby gave his father the dirtiest side-eye you had ever seen. Even at this young age, your baby had inherited the sass. The look was a mixture of annoyance and “can you not?”—like he was silently begging for some peace.

Gojo froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening in mock horror. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?” he said, feigning heartbreak. “You’re already tired of me? My own flesh and blood? I see how it is. Fine, I’ll just—" He dramatically rolled over to the other side of the bed, away from the baby. “I’ll be over here, not talking, since apparently I’m too much for my own child.”

The room was silent for a beat—until you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You burst out laughing, turning over to face them. “Gojo, if you don’t leave my baby alone!”

Gojo rolled back toward you, grinning that signature smile, like he knew exactly what he was doing all along. “Just trying to pass down some of the legendary Gojo wisdom. Can’t help it if my kid’s a little too young to appreciate it.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “He’s not even a year old, Satoru. Give him a break.”

Gojo smirked, leaning in to give the baby a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Alright, alright. I’ll save the life lessons for later. But just wait till he’s old enough to understand—then he’s in for it.”

You smiled, watching them both. Even though Gojo’s constant chatter could be a lot—especially so early in the morning—there was something endearing about it. He was fully committed to this dad thing, and even when the baby wasn’t feeling it, Gojo made sure to bring the fun, every single time.

𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦. Eren Jaeger

Pairing: Modern Fem!Reader x Eren Jaeger┊ONGOING ┊Written in 2nd POV

In which a chronically online Gen Z that went through the pandemic goes to the Attack on Titan Universe and tries her very best to change the ending with an "I can fix him" mentality.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Archive of Our Own ┊ Wattpad

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

When the world is thrown into chaos and safety protocols become the new normal, you must confront the fact that continuing your lifelong dreams of becoming a dancer may no longer be possible after experiencing the loss of a beloved someone due to the pandemic. However, there is always a possibility of finding small joy even in times of despair: the freedom to do whatever you want during quarantine. And perhaps this includes being addicted to the Attack on Titan series. But when an action of yours triggers a phenomenon, you find yourself transported to a familiar world where man-eating titans exist, with the threat of war looming between countries ━ all of a sudden, fiction becomes reality and things take a drastic turn as you encounter your beloved characters. As the stakes become increasingly high with your knowledge about the future, you must learn how to confront your fears, face the consequences of your choices, and with the goal to change the course of history and stop the gruesome fate of many by helping Eren Jaeger discover the true meaning of freedom at all cost.

╰┈➤ 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

𝟎𝟎𝟎┊Prologue 𝟎𝟎┊From You, 2000 Years Ago 𝟎𝟏┊The Girl Who Knew 𝟎𝟐┊Iced Coffee and Anxieties 𝟎𝟑┊Some Words of Wisdom 𝟎𝟒┊Just a Very Long Dream 𝟎𝟓┊Under The Tree 𝟎𝟔┊Dépaysement 𝟎𝟕┊Held Captive 𝟎𝟖┊Rot Girl Summer [ONGOING]

╰┈➤ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

Heavy Spoilers, Manga Spoilers, Slow Burn, Long Chapters, Attempt at Humor, Heavy Cursing, Mommy Issues, Blood and Gore, Anxiety Attacks, Grief, Violence, PTSD, Trauma, Mention of food restrictions, Body Dysmorphia, Period-Typical Discrimination, Fascism, Gaslighting, Slavery, Mental Illness, War Crimes, Racism, Death

╰┈➤ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

Hello, everyone! I finally decided to post this Eren fic here on tumblr to have more engagement to it. Yes, it's an isekai fic and yes, we will embrace the cringe! The AOT brainrot will not end that's why I wrote this because Eren deserves a happy ending---but before that, please bear with me because this is a slow burn fic. I didn't want this fic just to focus on romance and make Y/N a mary sue---I want her, you, be written as human as possible. This fic will talk about loss, grief, moral dilemmas, psychological trauma and many more along the way. Also, if you don't mind, there will be a LOT of pop culture references. (If you don't like reading those, then it's fine. You are free to exit this fic.) I hope you'll enjoy this ride! feel free to also comment down your thoughts since I love reading comments <3 lots of love!

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

Hi, so I have a request, but please don't feel pressured to write it now.

I was wondering if you could please do a scene or scenario where Spencer shouts out in desperation and panic "where's my wife" after a close call with the team on a very dangerous case.

A/N: I put a bit of a twist on your request so I hope you still enjoy it! Thank you for requesting~♡

Warnings: minor injury to canon characters, explosion, temporary loss of hearing, sight, etc.

The force of the blow was so strong that when Spencer Reid finally came to, a few seconds after hitting the ground hard, he couldn't hear a thing. 

Whether it was adrenaline, or an injury, or pure shock, his senses were numb, and the only thought in his head as he started screaming was of you. 

“Wh-where,” he coughed, shaking his head to try and focus. “Where's my wife?” 

His voice was quiet and weak at first, but it didn't matter to him. After all, he couldn't hear the words at all. He just felt his lips form the words and knew the familiar vibrations in his throat meant the sound was escaping into the wind. 

You pushed through crowds with a scream as you tried to get through to your team. Spencer wasn't the only one close to the blast. 

Emily, JJ, Morgan, and Hotch were all in various states of disarray around you as you ran back from the car across the street. You'd run back to check some files, feeling something off, and the heat and loud boom behind you was the confirmation you'd been looking for that you were right. 

After his first few attempts, Reid still couldn't see you, much less hear you or touch you or press his arms around you and not let go. He struggled to his feet and began calling again. 

“Where's my wife? Where is… WHERE'S MY WIFE?” His voice broke, and he  coughed gasped through each word, but he didn't stop. 

He stumbled forward, looking to see you through the haze of dust that had erupted from the blast site. Morgan ran to his side just as he tripped, pulling an arm under his as they stumbled together away from the rubble. 

“Where is she? She was right here, I need-” he coughed, leaning more on Morgan than he was walking for himself as his ankles twisted under him. 

“Hey, hey kid, we're okay. We need to get away from the blast, okay? Away.” 

Spencer kept rambling, though, his ears ringing as he blinked away his confusion and the panic creeped in stronger. 

“My wife, where is she? Morgan, I have to find her, she could be hurt,” he demanded, his voice stronger now as he pushed out of Morgan's grip. 

Ambulances and police cars were beginning to pull up, half of them already having been on route when your team had pulled up. 

Spencer searched through the crowd, sorting through faces until he found the one he desperately needed to see. 

Emily and JJ had been thrown back towards the cars, but both seemed to have missed big shrapnel and other injuries. He watched them clutch each other and stumble behind the cars as they called into their phones, requesting backup. 

Hotch was similarly talking fast to surrounding officers, and though he looked fine, he clutched his knee in his hand. The already dark material of his pants was somehow darker, and shinier in places, and it was only a moment later that Spencer realized a large chunk of shrapnel was jutting out of his leg, just above the knee. 

Rossi had been the furthest from the blast, bar you, and it was him that Spencer saw next, dusting off his clothes as he moved quickly to assess the scene. 

Morgan was still worriedly trailing behind him as he tripped over his feet. 

“Where's my wife? Where's my wife?” 

He finally saw you then, as you dove into the dust and smoke to assist your team. He was just about to fall to his knees when you ran to him, holding him up under his arms as he wrapped himself around you. 

“Found you. I found you, you're okay?” He asked, hands gently cradling your cheeks as he asked, tears in his eyes. 

“I'm fine, Spencer. Are you-” 

He silenced you with his lips, mouth slanting down on yours as he pushed every fear, every emotion, every ounce of adrenaline into your body. He kissed you like you'd never been kissed before, with desperation and longing and relief. 

And when he pulled away, he collapsed into your arms. 

Luckily, Morgan had been only steps away and took some of his weight off you as you stood, gasping for air and reeling from the kiss. 

You were so dazed, you collapsed to the floor, your knees giving in beneath you, and both Spencer and Morgan came down with you. The three of you were weak and traumatized, and emotions were running high, which is why you tried not to be offended by Morgan's line of questioning. 

“How long have you two been married?” He asked, and you were suddenly taken further aback. 

“What?” 

“Reid was looking for his wife. He was shouting ‘where's my wife? I need to find her.’ He was desperate. He was pushing away from me, and then he saw you, and he relaxed.” Despite the blow of the explosion and the now whirl of shrill sirens surrounding them, Morgan laid every word out carefully, like you would blow just as easily given the chance. 

“I'm not… we're not…Morgan, we're not even dating. I don't know what that was but…” 

Your hands carefully stroked Spencer's hair, gently smoothing it out of his eyes as you searched for answers in the man's unconscious form. 

You didn't stop until the paramedics arrived four minutes later, sitting unblinking as they hooked him up to an oxygen tank and carted him off to the nearest hospital. 

XXX 

The second time Spencer Reid awoke, it was dark outside, and the lights were low. But you were at his bedside, sleeping with your head by his legs, and your breathing was steady. So he let his eyes close again, not registering any of the pain the day had inflicted, and let himself sleep beside you. 

XXX

The third time Spencer Reid awoke, you were gone. He wasn't alone, though. Rossi sat upright in a chair beside the window of his hospital room, reading from what looked to be a case file. 

“Spencer, glad to see you returned to the land of the living,” Rossi said, noticing the younger man's movement and walking to his side. He pressed a button, and a doctor raced in, closing the door gently behind him. 

“Where is she? Where is-” 

“Spencer, it's okay. Everyone's okay. The doctor needs to run through some questions with you to check if you're feeling okay. Do your best to answer, okay, genius?” 

Spencer nodded, ignoring the small ache in his head, so similar to the headaches he'd been plagued with in earlier years. 

The doctor ran through standard questions, checked his blood pressure, checked his reactions, and made sure physically he was fine before moving on to more probing issues. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm going to ask you some simple questions about yourself now to assess for any neurological damage.” 

Reid nodded, regretting it instantly, but wanting to get out of the hospital as fast as possible to see you.  

“How old are you, Doctor Reid?” 

“Thirty, I'll be thirty-one this fall.” The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Where did you grow up?” 

“Las Vegas, Nevada. My mom still lives there. She's a patient at Bennington Sanitarium.” 

The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Are you married, Doctor Reid?” 

“Yes, my-” Spencer had to cut himself off as he processed the question fully. Was he married? No. He didn't remember any wedding. He had no romantic arrangement with anyone at this point in time. So why was he saying yes? 

Your face flashed into his head, and he grabbed his chest as his heart ached. It wasn't your face as he usually saw it, but that dazed and shocked expression you'd worn after he'd kissed you. 

He blanched and reclined slightly, suddenly needing all the pillows on the bed for more support as he realized the weight of his mistake. 

“Doctor Reid? Doctor Reid, did you understand the question?”

“What? Oh, no. No, I'm…I'm not married, I guess.” 

Rossi and the doctor shared a look before the doctor took his leave, promising to check in on you again in a few hours. 

The concerned look from Rossi as his bedside was almost too much to take. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Rossi,” he said, grumbling to himself, suddenly upset at the end of his delusions. 

“Like what? I'm not allowed to look at you now?” 

“You're not allowed to pity me. Where's everyone else? They're okay?” 

Rossi took a seat next to him and sighed.

“Hotch is in surgery - non-critical. They just want to be sure the shrapnel that landed in his leg didn't strike anywhere near a nerve or an artery. Morgan survived with a few bruises and scrapes that make him look even more like an action movie hero. He's coordinating with local law enforcement to catch out bomber.” 

Reid nodded along to each revelation, but his patience was growing thin. Rossi was watching him squirm. Reid, waiting for your name to pop up in conversation so he could talk about you, think about you with a valid excuse. 

“Emily and JJ are back at the motels, Penelope met them there to help them out. Emily's left arm is broken, and she has a nasty cut on her face, JJ twisted an ankle and sprained it pretty bad, so she'll be sitting for a while. I, myself, survived with pleasantly few cuts, a boon given my advancing years-” 

“Y/N, what about Y/N?” Reid finally burst, looking pathetically down at Rossi from his hospital bed. 

“Eager, aren't we?” 

“I need to know she's okay, and that... that she doesn't hate me.” 

“You can find those answers out yourself, kid. My shift is almost over.” 

Rossi stood and grabbed his cup of coffee, saluting Reid as he strolled out of the door. 

Reid was confused until the door opened again thirty seconds later, and you rushed in, breathing heavily as you took in his appearance, checking for damage. 

“Y/N,” he said, sitting up again. “Listen, I'm so, so sorry for kissing you yesterday. My mind must've been jumbled after the explosion and- and I thought you were actually my wife, and we were married-” 

You closed the distance between you quickly, grabbing his cheeks like he had grabbed tours only a day before and planting your lips back on top of his again. 

You kissed him the way you'd been kissed once before. With desperation, and longing, and relief. And when you pulled back, there were tears in your eyes that you didn't let fall, as you pressed yourself into Spencer Reid's arms. 

“Don't. Don't scare me like that again. I thought we'd lost you, I thought you'd kissed me and then - and then died!” You ranted, your arms gesturing wildly, every few seconds pausing to rake a hand through your hair. 

“You're not angry?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am angry, Spencer. You got hurt again, I'm seething.” 

“At me. You're not angry at me for kissing you?” He asked, smiling up as you goofily, a little bit worse for wear, but still shining nonetheless. 

“Oh. No. I was confused, but I'm not angry.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding, the two of you falling into an awkward, tense silence. You picked at dust on his shoulder as he stared at you, neither of you bold enough to say another word until the tension was palpable and Spencer Reid burst open. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

YOU’VE UNLOCKED: Clan leader Choso wants an heir! ♡

How are those child-birthing hips, madam?

“O-oh, baby–” Choso’s feverish pants come out in such wet gasps against your ear, and he’s staring down at you with swollen, wobbly lips. Mouth just watering at the delicious curve of your spine, how easily it was that your pretty pussy was swallowing him up whole. “Oh baby- my baby- wontcha gimme an heir?”

It’s been hours now - and it’s just about the only mantra the clan leader - your husband - can get out.

And it’s all that he can spit out coherently at this moment, the large palms of his hands splaying out underneath your thighs to hoist you cleanly off the ground. 

You’re both letting out synchronized gasps when this only rummages him even more deeply inside of your clingy walls. Every ridge and throbbing vein along his length grazing up and down your sweetest spots. 

It makes you just gush, Choso’s sloshing honeyed cum drooling out of the ends of your sopping slit in such a creamy ring. Shit - he was missing some godforsaken clan meeting for this, too. And he’s never been happier.

“Fuck.” he shudders in a sharp inhale at the sinful feeling, jittery fingers dancing up, up, up to envelope your tummy. He gives a slow, gentle pat along that tiny inflation of him inside of you, “How do you feel so- ah- please!” His teeth nip a reedy path down your exposed neck, “Please please please wanna fill this cute cunt all over again so badly.”

“Yes.” you’re mewling when the voluptuous curve of his heft tip gushes out in another wave of such swelteringly hot, syrupy precum. Drenching your plush walls, at the mere sound of your lilting voice. “Want you to give me a- ah!”

Biting his lip, it’s all he can do to shut your pretty moans up before he cums already. He was addicted. 

Shit, he feels like he could pass out, throwing his head back with throaty stammers. Truthfully, he doesn’t know if he can cum - he doesn’t know if it’s even possible. Each and every wet thwack! thwack! thwack! of his overworked balls send stinging sparks of pleasure up his bowed back. 

But god, you always felt so heavenly. And Choso thinks he’d rather die than let such a messy pussy go to waste, than to leave it without every single drop he can offer.

“Shhh sh sh-” Your whiny moans are being muffled with his hot mouth, breath hitching when he wraps those pretty pink lips around your tongue. Sucking. Slowly. “I can- hngh- see it already.”

And oh, Choso sounds so ragged right about now.

Losing his fucking mind with each sloppy grind into your overstuffed cunt - and he was so big. So massively hefty that it stretched out your gripping walls until they struggled to mold around his length. Trying to milk the fucking soul out of him.

“Can see you- all round n’ glowing.” he’s babbling, all pussydrunk. Your entire body jolts when the thick curve of his thumb swipes a sultry trail down where your puffy folds were bulging all around him. “All filled with me-”

Choso was firmly hammering into you with reckless abandon - he always had been tonight, all but dragging you to the heady confines of your bedroom after seeing you cooking dinner with his little brother. Pulling, tearing, fucking you into one of the old mahogany tables at his sprawling family estate. 

Feral. 

His dark yukata is just barely dangling off of one milky shoulder, sifting down further and further at each pressurized push of his slender hips. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck-” you moan, tangling your fingers inn his dark strands in a way that makes him keen. Makes him almost sob, voice cracking so pathetically. 

He could count every clench of your tight pussy around his achy cock, every knocking clash against your g-spot - your womb - that had you letting out the cutest noises, every splattering dredge of his own potent seed stuffed deep inside. 

“Yeah- oh, baby–” Choso’s rough hands come up to steady your hips, knees buckling with such neediness to push use your velvety channel even further. “Hah- my little heir- gonna be jus’ as strong as daddy, hm? Fuck-” Your feet are now fully dangling off of the ground now, and he’s licking such a languid stripe up your throat. “They’ll look at you all full- all pretty and see me.” His lips were running a mile a minute, leaning forwards to pin you down onto the cool surface with his full weight. “Those elders- the council- friends- everyone and anyone. They’ll see you and know I did this I-”

You just sob when he sinks in so deeply in another messy, thorough thrust. 

“-I did this-” he’s sounding so utterly out of breath, gliding his wet hand along your overspilling pussy to coat it in a glossy sheen of cum and your sweet, sweet juices. The sight just makes him gasp, bringing his glossed-up fingers up to his face, “-I did this, didn’t I, baby?”

Your hips can only jitter backwards in a useless attempt to meet his ruthless cadence. “Y-yes- you did this- hngh- really wanna-” You’re swallowing the tiny ah! ah! ah! wrenching out of his spit-slicked lips. “-wanna make you a daddy, Cho–”

And oh that makes him whine. 

You knew that if any of those uptight elders could see their golden boy right now - one of their strongest clan leaders - they’d absolutely faint. 

Because Choso was rutting, he was sobbing, he was cumming. 

So much. Weepy cock flagging once, twice before another one of his crashing rams have him dumping out such sheer, heavy ribbons of cum. Over and over- you’ve never felt so full. Because Choso’s thick girth was already stretching out your insides, and it was only bloating up more with each sticky gush of cum oozing out into your walls. So much-

“Oh my god-” you’re all but hauling him in so closely by his hair, making him whimper. “Feel so stuffed- so good, Cho. Fuck a baby into me- hah-”

You’re so utterly cockdrunken that it takes a few syrupy seconds for you to realize that those words are all it takes for your dear, strong husband to gush out in another steaming wave of cum. Until he was shooting blanks. 

Long, trembly fingers of his snake downwards to spread your pussy lips, eyeing down the way you make such a mess all over his cock. 

“Sh-shit.” he’s sniffling, kissing the side of your mouth. He can’t take his eyes away from just how swollen your stomach had gotten after being overfilled to the brim. Slobbery pussy coating him in all your lewd contents. “Of- of course, ma’am.” 

And before you know it, he’s bucking down into you again. Mind hazy, big fat tears splashing saltily onto your lips. 

“Anything- anything for my gorgeous w-wife.” He groans, and you feel the painfully pleasurable clench of his overworked balls once more. Dangerous. Depraved. Still. Knocking up greedily against your ravaged g-spot once more - you didn’t really think you were done already, did you? “Anything for the future mother of my heir.” 

#946C47 | SUN WUKONG.

genre | fluff

word count | 3738

warning | minor lewd thoughts from wukong / potential ooc + not accurate to jttw​

note | annoying monkey man i was forced to study back in middle school came back hot?

The ripe peach in front of you looked suspicious. Even though you thought yourself hungry enough to eat the fruit in one bite, you held back and raised a brow at the monkey sitting cross-legged in front of you instead. 

The river stream flowed like it had never seen disaster once, and perhaps the bed of clear water really hadn't. You wouldn't know until you figure out where you are, which has proven itself to be a difficult feat. You have prioritized coming to terms with the fact that you’ve been transported inside a fictional story above all else. 

Part of you wanted to say you were on Mount Huaguo because it was where you met Wukong, but the grouping of Bajie, Sanzhang, and Wujing told you otherwise. If you remember the tale you studied in high school, they should be on their trip to acquire scriptures. You have yet to figure out which of the 81 catastrophes they were facing, and you would like to stay in the dark about that, as figuring it out would mean you've been roped into one of them as well. 

To be fair, you might have accidentally become the 82nd catastrophe Wukong has to face by accidentally teleporting to his world. If helping a modern person return to their home was such a huge issue. 

You thought it must be, though, because the group had collectively decided to halt their significant journey so Wukong could focus on taking you to the celestial court, where you were more likely to find people who could bring you home. 

It was a huge sacrifice on his part, considering his interesting experiences with the likes of those associated with heaven. That much you understood, and you would thank him a million times and more if he was more serious about the concept of communication. Sometimes, trying to chat with him was like talking with a middle school kid who still finds fart jokes humorous.

"This is a regular peach," you said, your voice filled with doubt. 

“No, it’s a rock I changed into a peach. I want you to lose all your teeth!” Wukong exclaimed. He pushed his fingers at his upper lip to reveal his canines, but his grin faded when you responded with deadpan eyes. Retracting his hands, he blinked at you incredulously, the hair around his eyes swaying in disbelief over your distrust. Pulling a face at your seriousness, he nodded. "Yes. It is a regular peach."

"You picked it from a tree," you said. 

"Yes," he replied nonchalantly. 

"How come it took you so long?" 

“Peach trees don’t come for free. The closest one was far away.”

"I thought you were a fast monkey."

"I was taking a stroll through the forest."

He would do that. You told him you were hungry, and he had repeatedly made fun of your stomach growls. He knew you were starving for food—the kind of food you were used to eating, which was limited to the fruits growing on trees, and you wouldn't be surprised if he took his sweet time picking a single peach anyway. 

"Okay," you said as you picked the peach up and weighed it in your palm. It was useless. You never learned how much a real, good peach should weigh. "I'm not going to accidentally bite down on a clone."

"Oh, dear," he mused, putting a hand over his heart to feign disappointment. "That is most terrible! I would never do that to you!" 

“You have, for more times than I can count with both of my hands, shape-shifted into a rock just to watch me panic.”

"That I did! But the real issue is, you gullible one–“ he picked up his staff and playfully knocked the end against your head–“you fell for it more than ten times!”

You pursed your lips at his reaction. The trickster smile playing on his lips provided you no reassurance that he hadn't planned a prank to pull on you. At the same time, you realized the trick he was pulling may be paranoia, where you were the butt of the joke for believing he would waste a pluck of his hair just to watch you freak out over biting his clone.

Or perhaps the Wukong in front of you was the clone, and the real one was the peach in your hand.

"Wukong," you called softly, an exhausted exhale burning through your lips. "I'm really hungry."

He softened after a few seconds, his lips tightening into a thin line as he awkwardly looked away. 

You’ve fallen for his tricks multiple times despite knowing what kind of character he was. 

Him pushing you off tall cliffs just to catch you with the nimbus cloud; him turning himself into a rock so you’d think he had abandoned you in the middle of a forest full of monsters; jumping around trees and bursting through bushes like a maniac to scare you at night—repeatable pranks that overwhelmed you with fear and anger. 

You were too gullible was his accuse, but he knew more than anyone the problem was his tendency for trickery. You were never wrong for trusting him, and under particular circumstances, Wukong’s loyalty to you was engraved in his bones. It was evident in his ever-near presence and readiness to protect you from danger.

Otherwise, though, acting rather barbaric wasn’t a habit he could completely rid himself of. 

He didn't used to care at all about how you felt. Without Sanzhang here to tighten his gold fillet, he had been free to fool around at will until one incident when he accidentally dropped you in a cave that was the home to a wild yaoguai and ignored your panicked cries for help in an attempt to garner his sympathy.

You hadn't the energy to be mad at him after he saved you. He was used to your anger, your strengthless fists knocking at his chest, and a mouthful of empty threats he never took to heart. You didn’t do any of those that time, and neither could you move on from the corner you had scrambled toward after he hopped down to defeat the monster. 

Rigid like a stone and unresponsive as if you couldn't hear him, it didn't take Wukong long to realize you were in shock from almost being fatally attacked. 

He had to pick you up and carry you for the rest of the day. Your legs had been as weak as jelly, and all you did was cry to his shoulder, your arms curling around his neck as if he were a genuine savior. It hit him like an earthquake how small you were compared to himself—your muscles lacked confidence, and your movements were without skill.

You weren’t immortal; one mere strike would end you.

Wukong almost choked himself at the thought. His grip on your back and under your knees tightened to pull you closer to him. He didn’t apologize, but he swore on his many immortal lives that he would never pull any pranks on you again. 

Sanzhang has the tightening spell to stop the monkey king from fooling around. All you needed to carry was yourself. 

"Of course, you're hungry. You're such a picky eater," Wukong scolded as he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just a peach. I promise."

You squinted at his honest face, then leaned in to catch yourself in his eyes. he tensed up, his breath stopping in his nose and the hair on his neck standing abruptly upon the proximity. The contrast of a physiological response to extreme cold to the burning heat souring his veins was uncomfortable, not in a way that produced hatred but rather a reawakening. 

A reawakening that, within these past few months, on your journey together to get you the help you needed to return home, he has developed an attachment to you. 

“It's a normal peach! Take it or leave it!" 

You scoffed and leaned back, ignoring his attitude. Wukong pressed his palm to his jaw and rested his weight on it. His eyes darted away to avoid you, but once the shyness reduced from his body, they slowly returned to watch you admire the ripe peach in your hands.

"Boo!" he screamed when you bit the fruit. 

"Ah!" You flinched and dropped the fruit from your palm. A golden glow engulfed it before hitting the floor, stilling the fruit in the air. You clicked your tongue at the sight and perked up, your furrowed brows not at all intimidating. "Sun Wukong!" 

He laughed. The sound was boisterous as usual, enough to make the leaves roar and the crows fly. "You're such a scaredy cat!" 

"I'm–" you held back a denial–"I just didn't want to hurt your clone."

His laughter slowed to a final chuckle, and then he shrugged. It was a useless precaution, but he warmed at the fact that you even thought about it. "You can't hurt me." 

"Well, I don't intend to," you said after you caught the peach in your hands. You nodded at him. "Thank you for the food."

You began to admire the peach again, then you took a bite and marveled at its taste. Wukong snickered endearingly at how you acted like you've never had a good peach before. His heart rested easy as you devoured it whole, and he ignored how your lips glimmered beneath the coat of your saliva. 

Apparently, promises meant nothing to the monkey king because a few weeks or so after you took a bite of the peach, you two were taken to the celestial court for a crime. 

It took him so long to find a peach on a tree, which the forest was riddled with, was because it wasn't a regular peach you ate. It was an immortal peach. He went to steal it from the peach garden in heaven. 

“Have you any idea what you’ve done?”

"Good grief, you really are handsome."

"What?" Wukong's questioning voice snapped you out of your trance. 

You shook your head and blinked harshly to rid yourself of the embarrassment. You have just been notified that you were granted 3000 years of life because you ate a forbidden fruit from a place you didn't even believe in ten seconds ago, and all you could exclaim was that Erlang Shen has got to be the most attractive man you've ever seen, just as the stories described him as. 

His third eye was off-putting, though. It was not because you weren't used to seeing a person with an extra eye, but because you didn't like that he could see through you like transparent glass. You tried to focus on the bright side of it—he would know that you and Wukong were telling the truth, that you were not a fraud. 

"I'm sorry. I don't..." your breath hitched when you noticed the four heavenly kings staring at you. You wondered if they even heard your meek voice. Stepping back, you hid behind Wukong, shrinking your shoulders and lightly grasping his sleeve. "I don't know."

He glanced at your grip on his battered shirt. Your reliance on him sent a shiver down his spine. Looking up at Erlang, Wukong shrugged. “I did what I thought was best.”

“Care to elaborate, monkey?”

“This mortal is not of this world. The only reason I even traveled all this way to face you insolent lots was because my master and I have decided you may be the only ones capable of sending them back!” Wukong clarified. 

“He's not lying!” you added hastily, unaware of where the abrupt courage came from. “I am not from here. I came from the twenty-first century–uhh…” You sighed defeatedly. “You won’t know what that means.” 

“The path to the celestial court is too rigorous. For the mortal’s safety, I must provide them with a second option.”

Erlang frowned. He couldn’t deduce an ounce of deception from Wukong or you. Your words were confusing, but they rang true. He tilted his head, accessing you further with his third eye, and then he hummed, “Where did you come from?”

“I… um…” you fidgeted with your fingers. “I was on a plane. There was awful turbulence, and I think it was crashing. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was here.”

“Monkey, do you understand their words?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Wukong replied. “They have attempted to explain things to me, but it all sounded like impossible ideas. A flying building that can carry more than thirty people at a time? There’s simply no way.”

“It’s not a building. It’s a plane,” you clarified. 

“You said it’s as big as a building!” 

“I am comparing the sizes so you have a better idea of how big a plane is,” you said. “I’m not saying a plane is a building.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Silence!” 

Goosebumps appeared all over your skin at Erlang’s holler. Wukong shut his eyes and clicked his tongue in annoyance, unfazed by the wind that blew past you both.

“It was a good choice not to deceive me,” Erlang said. “But even then, nothing explains why you stole an immortal peach from the garden and gave it to a human.”

“The path to the celestial court is rigorous,” Wukong argued. “It is riddled with yaoguais, abandoned murals cursed to hell and back, and uneven grounds. A mortal would die before they make it here.”

“That’s because they weren’t supposed to.”

“How do you suggest they return home, you three-eyed freak?” Wukong said. 

“They cannot,” Erlang informed. “ After eating the peach, we mustn’t allow their departure with 3000 years of life. You shouldn’t have given them one.”

“I gave them one so they can have a shot at getting all the way here to seek the help they need! My actions are justified!”

Erlang remained silent for a moment. His eyes darted between you and Wukong. One of you reeked of partial deception; his third eye gleamed with an uncomfortable redness that forced you to look away. Before you could, your attention shifted to the man who called upon you.

“Mortal,” Erlang started with a calculative smile. He released his weapon into thin air, and it vanished. Then, he placed a hand behind his back and the other before his abdomen. “Have you any idea what this monkey thinks of you?”

“Huh? I–“ You looked at Wukong, who glared at Erlang with a conversation you couldn’t hear. “I don’t know. He protected me all this time so I suppose we are good friends.”

“Good friends!” Erlang boasted. He turned to Wukong, nodding humorously. “Did you hear that, monkey? After all the effort!”

“Erlang.”

“Mortal! Do you know the monkey dreams about you intimately?” 

“Erlang Shen!”

Wukong’s staff appeared in his hands as he lunged at the man. He raised it in the air, ready to pierce the pole through his forehead, only to catch Erlang raising his hand and motioning it toward your direction. Wukong swallowed a gasp, his head snapping over to where you stood. His body maneuvered away from Erlang to you, and a bolt of lightning hit the gold staff along with the spear before dissipating. The spear, too, returned to its owner. 

You blinked. Not a flinch ripped over your body, and that was not the result of a delayed reaction but rather a learned response. For as long as you have stayed with Wukong, there has only been one occasion when danger barely scraped past you. Besides that, you have never been scratched. Wukong hasn’t allowed one mistake. You’ve gotten so used to his presence as a symbol of safety that you didn’t flinch when Erlang Shen threw his spear at you.

Wukong would catch it. You knew, and he did. You remained unscathed.

Erlang stilled his movement to wait for the unfolding of the interaction to be contrived. He didn’t need to do anything physical to Wukong. This confrontation would probably be punishment enough. After all, the monkey king has fallen in love with a mortal. 

Staring up at the back of his head, you twirled your thumbs as you recalled what Erlang said. “Wukong… you…”

He hissed timidly, sparing a short glance behind his shoulder before looking away as he lowered his staff. How could Erlang have figured that out so quickly? It must have meant those thoughts consumed him, and indeed they did. Every night, at the very least, when you slept next to him. He tried not to look at you a lot, staring at the moon to distract himself. Yet, his mind remained full. 

The moon's beauty wasn’t enough to deter him from thinking about you. Skin bare, clothes torn; trapped beneath his weight, hands restrained, eyes barely opened; glistening with sweat and drool, trembling between uncontrollable pants of his name. What nonsense that he thought the moon could distract him. If the moon saw what he dreamt of, she would even have to stand and admire you. 

“I’m sorry,” Wukong muttered. “I’ll cease my mind of such impurities at once.” 

“No, that’s–I’m…” you shook your head. 

The notion of him thinking of you in that light was surprising, but to say you weren’t the slightest bit flattered was a lie. Nobody back in your world has ever taken a liking toward you. Yet, all of a sudden, possibly the strongest being in this set universe has a thing for you? You didn’t mind it at all. How many people could proudly say the sun Wukong was attracted to them? Not a lot! Granted, people back in your world would consider you insane, but still! what an exciting achievement!

That wasn’t the issue, though. 

“You could have brought me here long ago,” you said.

He made a roundtrip to and from heaven’s peach garden within a few minutes just to get you that immortal peach. The trip to the celestial court was unnecessary. He could have escorted you there in a week. Plus, the extended lifespan given to you by the immortal peach—after all the meddling with the celestial court, he must have known that you wouldn’t be allowed to leave this place with it, too.

“You don’t want me to leave,” you whispered. “You did this on purpose.”

Erlang clapped. “Very well deduced, mortal.”

“You!” You whipped your head over at his joyous demeanor, your nose scrunched and your eyes scratching up a fire, ready to burst through your lips. With hands curled into fists, you stomped over to the man with an accusing finger in the air. “You find this so amusing, don’t you?”

“Wait, don’t!” Wukong reached a hand out for you a second too late. 

“All you care about is your feud with Wukong, and you don’t notice how a single, stupid peach has disregarded all my effort to get here!” you exclaimed in Erlang’s face, frustrated tears rounding your eyes. “This is my livelihood! Do you understand that? I came to you for help, and you pawn my life for a moment of triumph against the monkey!”

“He’s not the terrible one. You are!” 

“Hey! Calm down–“ Wukong gripped your arm and pulled you behind him, shielding you as he stared at the three-eyed man stunned.

He wasn't sure how Erlang would react to your outburst, especially when you associated him with traits he despised. No mortal has ever been bold enough to speak to a God with such aggression, even when deeply angered. Watching the long-haired man like a hawk, ensuring he could catch even the faintest twitch of a finger, Wukong lowered his voice when he spoke for your sake.

“Erlang, they didn’t mean it." He blocked your whole figure behind him when Erlang looked up. "They’re very family-oriented and don't take any setbacks lightly.”

The God didn't speak for a while, and you almost took his silence as a sign that he felt disrespected. He should; you did disrespect him!

“No, I understand. I’ve also gone through quite the ordeal for my family,” Erlang muttered, though his eyes seemed lost in the clouds from your accusation.

Clearing his throat, he met your surprised eyes carefully and sighed. You were right. This didn't concern his relationship with Wukong. Even the monkey has enough heart to return to this damned place just to get you some help (disregarding the tricks he's done). He should be better than that.

“I will ask around to see if there is any way to send you home, but something must be done to take away the 3000 lives before you return.” 

You sniffed away the tears. “What do you suggest?”

“There are temples scattered across the path to the West. Each housing a Buddha with the power to take one’s soul. Travel to them and ask for their help,” Erlang said. “I don’t recommend too much at a time, as the ordeal is a mimicry of death. I don’t believe a Buddha would be willing to descend so much pain at once either.”

You closed your eyes. You anticipated that hurdle. “Thank you.” 

“You’re most welcome,” he replied. “I wish you luck. I wish both of us luck.”

With a light shove of his hand, a strong wind blew you off the cloudy ground, and you quickly fell toward the ground. Wukong hopped onto the nimbus cloud and chased after you, catching you swiftly in his arms.

“Let’s go find my master,” he muttered. “He should know what to do from here.”

“Okay,” you said. “3000 times, that’s a lot.” 

“I’m sorry for everything,” he said. 

You were upset with his decision, but logically, you also understood why he did it. If you fell in love and found out they would soon be leaving you, you’d do anything to delay the inevitable, too. The methods would be mundane for you because of the lack of magic in your world, but judging by that logic, feeding you an immortal peach was also mundane to Wukong.

“If there’s a way for me to die those 3000 times for you, I will,” he added. 

You bit your lower lip to hide the unexpected smirk. Perhaps part of you were relieved that you got to stay with him longer. Clutching his shirt in your hand, you leaned against his chest and watched the world pass you by.

“Wukong,” you called suddenly. There was something you wanted to ask him. 

“Yeah?”

“What exactly happens in your dreams about me?”

Just my type

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, Megumi, and special guest Toge!

Synopsis: they find out they weren’t your “type”

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

marry me

gojo satoru x reader.

or, in which, due to a coincidental circumstance, gojo asks you to marry him.

"i think you ultimately become whoever would have saved you that time no one did."

"then don't save me."

based off of this drabble . everyone liked it so much that i decided to finally write it XD i hope you all enjoy !!

ch 1. tossed like a salad (coming soon!!)

as a new student of jujutsu sorcery, you are sent as a transfer student to japan to help out over there. what you didn't realize how much stronger the cursed spirits are...

ch 2. hyperactive new recruit

chapter summary coming soon.

ch 3. dropkicked through the ceiling

chapter summary coming soon.

taglist

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Basically, I tagged everyone who asked to be & everyone who said to please make it into a fic ヽ(*´▽)ノ♪ if you didn't want to be tagged pls let me know

also, want to be tagged? then pls comment (ゝω・´★) here or on the drabble that this fic came from <3

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Clan head!Gojo

Trick or Treat

HC for the JJK men and their little ones

WC: 2.5k

TW: Mentions of Miscarriage, pregnant reader (Choso), Pet Names: Honey, Baby, stuff like that. Tooth rotting fluff?

*****

Gojo: 

Satoru had never imagined himself as father material. Taken from his parents at a young age, he was raised by distant mentors and silent servants in traditional hallways. That cold, lonely upbringing was etched into his bones. He had vowed that if he ever had a child, they would never know that kind of isolation. So when you told him you were pregnant, something in him shifted—he found himself diving headfirst into the idea of family. He bought a house in Tokyo, in a warm neighborhood, where children's laughter echoed in the streets. He wanted your child to grow up surrounded by love—something he had craved, but never truly had.

It was Halloween night, and Satoru entered the house with a bright grin. The soft click of the door barely registered before your three-year-old daughter came toddling toward him, her arms stretched out wide. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with pure delight, and the sight made his heart swell painfully in his chest. Without hesitation, he crouched down and swept her into his arms, her sweet laughter filling the room like music he never knew he needed.

“There’s my little pumpkin!” he said, his voice filled with affection as he admired her tiny jack-o'-lantern dress. “I could just gobble you up!” He buried his face in her soft chubby cheeks, blowing raspberries as her squeals and giggles echoed in the air. The joy on her face was everything. 

You stood by the doorway, watching them with a smile that tugged at your lips. Satoru caught your gaze, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the three of you. This was happiness—so simple, yet so profound. “You ready for trick-or-treating?” you asked softly, stepping closer.

He straightened up, pulling you into a gentle kiss, his lips lingering on yours just a little longer than usual. His eyes shone with warmth when he pulled back, the kind of love that left you breathless. “Of course I am. This is her first real Halloween,” he said, his voice soft full of amusement, “and she’s not being carried the whole time.” There was a joy in his voice, but also something deeper, a vulnerability he rarely let surface.

Later, the three of you walked hand in hand down the decorated streets of your neighborhood. Your daughter’s small fingers gripped tightly onto yours, her wide eyes filled with wonder as she took in all the costumes, the glowing pumpkins, and the cobwebbed houses. Satoru held her candy bag, watching her every move with a kind of reverence—like he still couldn’t believe she was real, like he feared this fragile happiness could slip away in an instant. The feeling gnawed at him sometimes, that quiet fear in the back of his mind. But for now, he pushed it away, tightening his grip on your hand to ground himself at this moment.

She waddled up to another door, proudly returning with a handful of candy—and a small pack of raisins. Satoru stared at it, blinking in mock disbelief.

“Raisins? Seriously?” he groaned dramatically, tossing it into the bag with a playful scowl. “Who hands out raisins on Halloween? Let the kids have a sugar high!” His whine was exaggerated, but you knew him well enough to catch the hint of protectiveness in his voice—he wanted her to have nothing but the best, even on a night like this.

You laughed, the sound light and familiar, and Satoru’s expression softened as he scooped your daughter up, placing her gently on his shoulders. She squealed with excitement, her little hands gripping his snow white hair for balance as she beamed down at the world. Satoru chuckled, his heart fluttering at her joy.

As the three of you approached the next house, Satoru glanced over at you, a lump forming in his throat. Moments like these—so small, so filled with love—were everything he’d ever dreamed of, but never thought he could have. He wanted to freeze this moment, to hold onto it forever. The thought of losing any of it, of losing you or her, sent a quiet wave of panic through him. 

He reached out, intertwining his fingers with yours, holding on just a little tighter. 

This was his family. His world. His dream that came to life.

Geto: 

You stepped into the living room, your heart warming at the sight before you. Suguru, your husband, sat on the floor, gently helping your one-year-old into a soft bear onesie. Her baby babbles filled the room, and his quiet coos in response wrapped the moment in a kind of peaceful magic. His fingers moved with ease, buttoning up the tiny onesie, his expression one of complete focus and love.

“Ah-ah, no grabbing the hair," he chuckled softly, gently moving her tiny hands away from his inky black hair, which fell just below his shoulders. A smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at her, his voice playful. "Daddy can’t wait for you to grow out of that phase," he teased, although the fondness in his tone betrayed him. He tugged the little bear hood onto her head, her bright violet eyes looking up at him as she babbled, reaching for him again. “You’re going to make the cutest little brown bear, aren’t you?” he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness as he scooped her into his arms.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, warmth blooming in your chest as you watched them.

Suddenly, the sound of tiny footsteps thundered down the stairs as the twins, Mimiko and Nanako, burst into the room. They had just turned six this year, and tonight they were full of excitement for Halloween. Mimiko was dressed in a little black dress with matching bear ears, going as a black bear cub, while Nanako twirled in a white dress—an impractical choice for trick-or-treating, but she insisted on being a polar bear cub. You and Suguru, in matching park ranger outfits, were there to guide your little bear cubs.

“Well, you both look absolutely adorable,” you chimed, your voice bright with amusement. The twins giggled, bouncing on their heels with barely contained energy, their excitement almost tangible.

Suguru stood up, balancing your youngest on his hip as she reached for her sisters’ ears, her little hands stretching curiously toward them. Mimiko and Nanako burst into giggles, leaning in so their baby sister could touch the soft fabric of their costumes. 

“How precious,” Suguru murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. His violet eyes, usually sharp and calculating, softened as he gazed at his girls. In that moment, the world seemed to still. This—his family—was everything. Every challenge, every battle, every dark night that had threatened to swallow him whole, had led him here. To this. The thought made his chest ache, the love almost too much to bear.

But just as the peace settled over him, he snapped back to reality with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hold on—pictures first!” he announced, moving with determined speed toward the camera.

A collective groan rose from the three of you, knowing full well that once Suguru got into “picture mode,” you were in for a marathon. His insistence on capturing every perfect angle meant this was going to take longer than any of you were prepared for.

“Honey! We have to meet Satoru for trick-or-treating in an hour!” you called after him, your tone part exasperation, part amusement, as you hurried to grab the camera from his eager hands.

A laugh escaped his lips as he turned to face you, his eyes meeting yours with a look so full of affection it nearly took your breath away. Behind that playful, beautiful exterior, there was something deeper—gratitude. A thankfulness that you had stayed with him through his darkest times, through every shadow that had tried to pull him under. You had given him this life, this family, and in doing so, you had brought him happiness and purpose he had once thought impossible.

“I promise it won’t take long,” Suguru chuckled, though the knowing smile on his face said otherwise. You rolled your eyes, unable to help the fond laugh that escaped you.

Nanami: 

“Honey, I am so sorry,” Nanami called out the moment he stepped through the front door of the apartment. His voice was tinged with exhaustion, but also with an apology that spoke of guilt. “Did you already—” His sentence cut short, the words dying in his throat as a sigh escaped his lips. His usual stoic expression softened into a gentle smile as his eyes landed on the scene before him.

Your son, perched on the kitchen island, sat with a wooden spoon clutched in his tiny two-year-old hands, covered in flour and batter. You stood nearby, also dusted in flour, your hair a little messy, but your face bright with warmth. 

“Surpwise!” your son squealed, his hands outstretched, proudly showing off the wooden spoon caked with batter like it was the best gift in the world.

Nanami loosened his tie as he walked closer, his exhaustion melting into quiet laughter as he took in the sight. “What’s all this?” he chuckled, eyeing the assortment of cookies spread out across the counters. The soft sounds of "Peanuts: The Big Pumpkin" played in the background, filling the apartment with a cozy, nostalgic atmosphere.

“Well,” you began, smiling up at him as you wiped some flour from your cheek. “Our little one here is still a bit too young for trick-or-treating, so we decided to bake! He’s been an amazing little helper, though we’re still working on not eating all the batter,” you laughed, gesturing toward the sticky spoon in your son’s hand. “We’re making pumpkin bread, just for you.”

Nanami’s eyes softened even more, the corners crinkling slightly as he looked down at you with a tenderness that made your chest warm. He got so caught up in work—too often, really—and it wasn’t unusual for him to miss out on little moments like these. The guilt was always there, lingering just behind the tired smiles.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” he murmured, brushing a hand through his hair, his frown deepening. “Ino-kun needed help on a mission. The poor kid is too young to be handling those kinds of assignments alone.”

You noticed the tightness in his shoulders, the way the weariness clung to him, but before you could offer comfort, his frown deepened. You tilted your head, confused. “Invite him over.”

Nanami blinked, clearly surprised.

“I know Itadori-kun is out with Choso and his wife tonight,” you continued with a grin. “We’ve got way too many baked goods for the three of us. Plus, Ino-kun is great with kids. It’d be nice to have him over.” 

Nanami’s expression softened once again, the guilt in his eyes easing slightly as he nodded. “I’ll give him a call.”

And, of course, Takuma came running the moment he was invited, bursting through the door with an enthusiasm that made your son squeal with excitement all over again.

Later that evening, the four of you nestled together on the couch, watching the children’s movie play on the screen. Your two-year-old babbled constantly, munching on cookies and randomly pointing at the TV, too excited to focus on any one thing for long. But eventually, his chatter quieted, and he began to drift off, his tiny head resting comfortably on Nanami’s lap. 

Takuma, too, had succumbed to the peaceful atmosphere, falling asleep beside you with crumbs still on his shirt. You gently draped a blanket over him, smiling as he snuggled into it without waking. 

Nanami glanced down at the sleeping form of your son, his hand gently brushing through the little one's hair. There was a peacefulness in his expression, a quiet contentment that made your heart swell. These were the moments that made everything else—his work, the stress, the guilt—worth it. 

There was something special about this quiet, cozy life you had built together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. And in these small, fleeting moments, it felt like everything you needed.

Choso:

Choso sat beside you on the couch, his brows furrowed in concentration as he wrapped yet another blanket around your pregnant belly. You already had two draped over you, but it was clear he wasn’t taking any chances. This was your miracle baby, the one who had made it past the third trimester after two heartbreaking miscarriages. Choso was determined to make sure everything went smoothly, even if it meant over-preparing for a causal movie night.

“We’re watching Human Earthworm right?” Yuji chimed as he entered the living room, arms full of snacks and his usual bright smile lighting up his face. “It’s perfect for Halloween!”

Before you could answer, Choso’s deep stoic voice cut through the room. “No.”

Both you and Yuji exchanged surprised glances. Choso rarely said no to his younger brother, always indulging his whims. But tonight, his protectiveness was palpable.

“It’s bad for the baby,” Choso continued, his voice unyielding as he placed a gentle hand on your swollen belly. His touch was tender, but his expression was serious. “It’ll scare them.”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, the contrast between his stoic demeanor and his caring nature was always endearing. “My love, it’ll be fine,” you reassured him, but he shook his head firmly.

“No,” he said again, unwavering. He reached over to the side table and picked up a DVD case, holding it up with a hint of determination in his eyes. “We’re watching Mickey Mouse: Halloween Special. I did research. It’s good for babies.”

A wobbly smile formed on his lips, clearly trying to look confident in his decision. His desire to protect both you and the baby was overwhelming, even if it was a bit… over-the-top.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe not that,” you replied gently, glancing over at Yuji, who was trying to suppress his own laughter but looked more determined than ever.

Yuji nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation but still hoping for something more entertaining than a Mickey Mouse special. “Okay, okay… what about The Nightmare Before Christmas? It’s not too scary, I promise!”

Choso’s frown deepened, his protective instincts kicking in. “No. It has bugs. Scary scenes. You might get frightened, and then the baby will get scared.” His hand never left your belly, as if he could shield your little one from any imagined harm.

After what felt like an hour of back-and-forth negotiations, Choso finally relented. He agreed to The Nightmare Before Christmas—but only on the condition that you promised to close your eyes during any parts he deemed “too scary.” His hand remained firmly on your belly, monitoring for any kicks or signs of distress, his focus unwavering throughout the movie.

Even though you knew it was silly, Choso’s constant vigilance filled you with warmth. It was more than just about the baby. He was watching over both of you, ensuring nothing—no matter how small—would cause harm or discomfort. You leaned into his side, smiling softly. He squeezed your hand in response, his gaze still fixed on your belly.

******

a/n: I was going to wait until Halloween to post this but I just could not wait! My baby fever was cured (for now) while writing this. I couldn't think of anything good for Toji right now, he's kind of hard to write for.