Communication Is A Pillar Of The Sukuna Household. And That Means A Full Debrief After Kindergarten Is

Was rewatching a documentary on long tailed macaques (which I tend to imagine Wukong is based on), and they show how the alpha male will make this rough throaty sound that means it's time for everyone in the troop to climb up a sleeping tree and turn in for the night. Then I started thinking of Wukong (as I always do) and then…*gestures vaguely*

Can be any Wukong really, I didn’t have a specific one in mind when writing.

The fire crackles and pops in front of you, warming your feet and hands as you unwind from a long day. The trek over the mountain range is a draining one that leaves your feet sore and your lungs burning.

Bai Long Ma is settled down under the shady branches of a tree, his body curled protectively around Tang Monk even as he succumbs to sleep. The deep, even motion of his breathing doesn’t seem to bother Tang Sanzang, his eyes closed and back straight as he counts prayers on his mala. Wujing is propped up against the group's luggage, book in hand as he idly flips the pages. Bajie is curled up not far from the ogre, snoring away without a care in the world, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. You glance over your left shoulder, then your right, searching for the last member of your group. Where could he have-?

A rough chirping noise sounds from above, and you look up to see Wukong crouching in the tree above you, his tail curled around the branch he sits on.

“Oh, there you are-” You begin, only for him to interrupt you with a new sound from his throat. It’s different than the chirps he normally gives when he sees you or when going about the day. It’s a rougher sound, one that starts and ends in his throat, almost like a growl but…doesn’t sound aggressive. You raise an eyebrow, watching him carefully.

Your relationship had only recently changed, longing stares and subtle touches finally recognized and acknowledged. It was still very new territory for you both, and some hidden barriers between culture and language were being tested and explored. In the months you two have been traveling together, he’s never made this sound at you before.

“Everything okay Wukong?” You ask, slowly rising to your feet as you watch him. He mirrors your movements, hopping down from the tree and standing before you, his tail moving in a slow, lazy arc that you’ve come to recognize as relaxed but intent. When Wukong wants something done, he intends for it to be done, even if he has to step in and do it himself.

You just have no idea what he wants you to do.

He doesn’t respond with words, only making that throaty noise again, his eyes darting up and down your body as if to say ‘what are you waiting for?’. You take a guess and step closer, grabbing his hand and smiling at him. Wukong blinks, heat rising to his cheeks that you can see despite the fur. He huffs a quick sigh, rolling his shoulders and turning away from you, tugging your hand behind him. You follow dutifully, trusting him with your safety.

He leads you only a short distance away from camp, the fire still clearly visible between the trees, but with a little more privacy. He stops suddenly at the base of a large camphor tree, and at the base, nestled among the roots is a sleeping spot already prepared. Your bedroll is even here already, propped up with leaves underneath to act as a cushy place to sleep for the night. Wukong undoes his tiger sash from his waist and hangs it over a low hanging branch before settling down on his own bedroll, tucked in right next to yours.

Charmed by the sight, you settle down next to him without complaint. The spot he picked has thick roots on either side to keep any chill in the air at bay, and you know you can rest easy that your companions are safe just a few feet away from you. You give a happy wiggle into your monkey’s warm side, pleased when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. When he tugs you to lay down beside him, you do so without complaint.

You’re face to face with him now, his intense eyes studying you. One of his hands comes up and brushes against your cheek, fingers tracing the curve down to your throat and over the hill of your shoulder, down your arm until his hand reaches yours. You tangle your fingers together, enjoying the warmth of his calloused palm against yours.

“Is this all you wanted? Some alone time?” You whisper to him, smiling in amusement at his silly ways.

He blinks at you for a moment, as if confused. Then his expression changes to one of realization, and he rolls his eyes up as he gives a defeated sigh.

“I haven’t taught you what the sound means yet, have I?” The hand not tangled with yours comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and you giggle at his exasperation.

“No, no I don’t think you did~” You coo. “I was so confused, I didn’t know what you wanted!” 

He joins in on your chuckling, pressing his forehead closer to yours and sharing your breath. You move your legs closer to his, happy when he returns the motion and slots his thigh in between yours. You can feel his opposable toes flexing against your calf muscles and see his tail curl into a comfortable position behind him. He repeats the sound from earlier, the rough not-quite-a-growl noise.

“That sound means bedtime.” He starts. “Monkeys in charge of a family will give that call when it’s time for everyone to climb into the safety of a tree for sleep. When I was…” He pauses for a moment, his eyes looking distant and sad. It’s an expression you’ve seen before, one he always gets when thinking of Mount Huaguo. You press a soft kiss to his lips to bring him back to you in the present.

It works.

“...Back home, when it was time for bed I would give that call. All the monkeys on the mountain, yaoguai or not, would listen. They would climb into Water Curtain Cave and find some place to settle down with friends and family. Regular monkeys preferred the giant trees in the cave, the yaoguais would go into our giant stone palace…” A gentle smile spread across his muzzle, one of his canines peeking out from under his upper lip.

“Not that I had strict rules about sleeping places. Some regular monkeys liked sleeping on the beds and some yaoguais never grew out of the habit of sleeping in the trees. As long as everyone was inside the safety of the cave and sleeping together, that's all that mattered to me.” He gives a small shrug, wrapping his free arm tight around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him. His hand still holding yours moved up so he could press a gentle kiss against the back of yours, his lips soft and warm where they touched you.

“Well,” You breathed, chest feeling heavy with emotion. It always rocked you to your core when he would be vulnerable like this with you, letting you see parts of him no one else had. Some would argue such tenderness didn’t exist in the Great Sage, but you knew better. “I’ll be sure to remember it now. Bedtime and bedtime cuddles for my sweet monkey when he calls for it~”

His face immediately burned at your words, his cheeks bright pink and his eyes looking down at your pressed together bodies instead of your own smiling face.

“S-sure. Just don’t…uhg-come here-!” He pulled your face closer, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he curled his warm body around you. Your giggles were muffled against the soft fabric of his clothes, his smell surrounding you on all sides.

Within minutes you were asleep.

baking satoru cookies but they’re all of his cock, some depicting him soft and some of him hard. you’ve even went as far as to highlight every vein and ridge in the exact place and when you tell him you didn’t even use a reference — you simply remembered the shape and appearance from the top of your head (you’ve seen it so many times it’s practically engraved into your memory), he can’t help but be moved to tears by the rather outlandish use of artistry as you’re both munching on his dick biscuits.

admiring them, giving feedback on how he loves how you got the color of his tip just right — a pretty blush pink for when he’s flaccid but then an angry red when he’s up. satoru’s rather fond of the detailing, eyeing how some of the erected ones have opaque lines of white oozing from the tip.

but he’s also critiquing you too, like how maybe next time you should use his cum for the icing, to make it life-like. in fact, he could help you with that right now, and then he’s whipping out his hard cock from his pants, already leaking a hefty amount of pre to drizzle over them.

your brows shoot up in surprise and he simply smirks back at you, smug as he’s tugging at himself over the little penis’s — did you seriously expect him not to get aroused by this?

Hellooo!! I saw ur reqs open and I've been a big fan of ur invincible x reader works so I was wondering if you can write about how the different mark variants react to the reader having twins; 1 boy and 1 girl? Or how they inter with the babies?

Regardless if u wanna write about it or not, thank you!

HEADCANON | the variants reacting to you having twins

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: pregnancy, childbirth,

MAIN MARK

Mark was stunned when the doctor first told him it was twins. He blinked at the ultrasound screen, eyes wide, hand clutched tightly in yours. “Two?” he whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

He cried when they were born.

He held your daughter first, cradling her so gently, like she was made of glass. Then came your son, who instantly grabbed Mark’s pinky finger in his tiny hand—and that was it. Mark was a goner.

He’s the kind of dad who doesn’t care how exhausted he is after hero work—he comes home and immediately scoops one of them up. He does the midnight feedings when he can, always humming softly to them, even when his eyes are barely open.

Mark makes it a point to split his attention. He reads storybooks with one on each leg, plays peekaboo until he’s sweating, and narrates entire fights from the day like bedtime stories—censored and dramatic just to make them giggle.

He’s a sucker for when they both reach for him at once. He’ll hold them at the same time, bouncing slightly while pressing kisses to their heads.

“They’re gonna be so strong,” he whispers to you one night, both twins sleeping between you two on the bed. “But we’re gonna make sure they’re kind too.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark never planned on having kids.

He didn’t think he could even want them—not with the life he lived, not with the way he was. But when you told him you were pregnant, he didn’t run. He stared at you in silence, the only sign of emotion a twitch in his jaw. And when you said it was twins, he laughed dryly under his breath and muttered, “Of course.”

He was rough around the edges during the pregnancy—aloof, distant, always out handling things—but when you went into labor, he didn’t leave your side once. Pacing, snapping at the doctors, his hands bloody from someone stupid enough to slow him down on the way in. But when the cries of your son and daughter filled the room?

Everything changed.

He held them awkwardly at first, not used to anything so fragile. But when your daughter blinked up at him with your eyes, and your son grunted softly in his arms?

Sinister Mark melted.

He didn’t show it, of course. He still had that cold, unreadable expression. But he never let them out of his sight. He rocked them gently with one arm while handling intergalactic calls with the other. He never yelled around them. Never used the same tone he used with the rest of the world.

He called them “his little monsters” in a low, amused voice.

And they adored him.

He trained them early—light strength drills, balance, focus. But never pushed too hard. Your daughter was fiery; your son was quiet. He loved them both in his own silent, possessive way. “I don’t care if they burn planets down one day,” he muttered one night, holding them both in the crook of his arms as they dozed. “As long as they come home to you.”

MOHAWK MARK

Mark wasn’t just a ruler—he was the damn Emperor.

People bowed when he walked in. Worlds knelt before his power. He’d fought armies, led conquests, spilled blood on every corner of the galaxy.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the moment he held his newborn son and daughter.

He stared down at them like they were made of starlight and gold. Your daughter’s tiny fists curled in his cape. Your son sneezed and made a little sound that had him laughing, almost breathless. The grin that spread across his face was so wide, so genuine, it made even the Viltrumite guards in the room look away.

“This—this is my legacy,” he murmured. “You made something stronger than a throne.”

At home, he was still intense. Still commanding. But softer in subtle ways.

He’d sit on his throne with one twin on each leg, daughter tugging at his hair and son sleeping against his chest while he held council. He’d feed them himself, not trusting anyone else to get it right.

“Only the best,” he’d say, wiping his daughter’s mouth gently with a silk cloth. “They came from you.”

He was so smug about them too. Would not shut up. Would show hologram pics of them mid-battle. “See that? That’s my kid. She threw up on me this morning. Isn’t she perfect?”

You caught him once, dead of night, sneaking into the nursery. His expression completely softened, one massive hand stroking your son’s hair while he whispered Viltrumite lullabies you didn’t even know he remembered.

He never let you carry them up the palace stairs.

You’d try—and he’d just scoop you and both babies up without blinking. “My queen,” he said, kissing your temple, “you gave me the empire I never knew I wanted.”

OMNI MARK

Omni Mark had stared down monsters. He’d broken planets with his bare hands, shattered civilizations, and rewritten the course of history in blood and fire.

But now, in the quiet of your home, he stood before two tiny cradles—his children—and he felt something he hadn’t in centuries:

Uncertainty. A boy and a girl. Twins. Perfectly healthy. Human… and yet, undeniably his.

He didn’t speak when the doctor placed them in his arms. He didn’t blink. He simply looked down at them like he was studying some foreign object. Something he didn’t quite understand.

“Mark,” you whispered from the bed, exhausted but smiling, “they’re waiting to meet their dad.”

He looked up. Then slowly, with the same care he used to disassemble machinery with lethal precision, he cradled them closer to his chest.

“They’re… small,” he said, quietly.

You smiled. “They’re babies.”

He was quiet again. His expression unreadable. You could tell he was thinking—calculating, as if trying to understand how two fragile lives could belong to him. “I don’t know if I’m… built for this,” he admitted after a long silence.

You reached over and touched his hand. “You’re learning. That’s all that matters.” And he did try. His version of love was quiet. Stiff. Awkward. He didn’t baby-talk them or cradle them for fun. He didn’t dote or coo. But he was there. He stood like a sentry when they slept.

He ensured every bottle was measured, every schedule followed. If they cried, he picked them up efficiently, holding them with a stillness that somehow made them calm. He didn’t rock or hum—but his presence was a constant reassurance. Sometimes, you caught him watching them. His eyes weren’t soft. But they were intensely focused.

One night, you walked in to find him holding your daughter, her tiny hand clinging to his cape. He wasn’t saying anything—just standing there in the moonlight, watching her sleep against his chest.

“She doesn’t understand what I am,” he murmured. “She doesn’t need to,” you whispered, walking over to lay your head against his arm. “She only needs to know you’re here.” He didn’t answer. But he stayed there. All night.

With time, he learned their patterns. Knew when they were hungry, tired, scared. He wasn’t affectionate in a traditional sense, but his version of fatherhood was methodical, devoted. Every decision, every gesture, was meant to ensure their survival.

And eventually, something in him shifted.

The first time his daughter reached up to touch his face—he froze. Then, slowly, he leaned into her palm. You watched from the doorway. Tears in your eyes. He still didn’t smile. But when she gurgled, he whispered: “Strong. You’ll be strong.”

He would never be the kind of father to kiss scraped knees or coddle fears. But he would shield them from every threat. He would teach them. Shape them. And if anything ever tried to take them from you—anything—he would make sure it never had the chance to try again.

VILTRUMITE MARK

When Mark brought you back with him, it was a choice—his choice. No council. No advisors. Just him claiming what was his. Pregnancy had come quickly.

But when the medical team delivered the results… and he saw two strong heartbeats on the screen? His expression didn’t change. But his posture did. Straightened spine. Chin slightly raised. A rare, breathless pause.

“Twins?” he repeated, voice low. Controlled. But there was something sharp beneath it—pride. “Two healthy Viltrumite hybrids,” the medic confirmed.

You looked at him, unsure if the news would please him or concern him. He was silent for a long time, arms folded, watching the scan like it was the universe itself unfolding.

Then he said, simply: “Excellent.”

That night, he was rougher in the way he pulled you close—but gentler in the way he touched your stomach. A large hand splayed against the small bump beginning to show, and for the first time in days, he kissed you without dominance—just presence.

He started planning.

Not for one child—but two. Double the training, double the strength, double the legacy. He cleared a sector for their future. Reshaped his schedule. Altered guard patterns around your quarters.

They weren’t even born yet, and he was already reshaping empires.

When your stomach grew round and heavy, he lifted you like it was nothing. When cravings hit, he summoned whatever chefs he trusted. He didn’t understand human symptoms—nausea, mood swings—but he endured them. Listened. Adjusted.

And when you winced in pain one night, he was there. Instantly. Hand on your belly, eyes sharp.

“Is it time?”

“No,” you whispered. “They just kicked.”

He dropped to one knee, resting his forehead against your bump.

“Good,” he murmured. “Fight. Even in the womb.”

By the time the twins arrived—one boy, one girl—he held them like future generals, analyzing every sound, every twitch.

But when your daughter grabbed his finger for the first time, he stilled. Truly stilled. Then, with quiet authority, he looked to you and said: “She will lead.”

“And our son?” you asked, smiling through exhaustion. He looked at the boy in his arms. “He will protect her.”

And you knew in that moment—beneath all the violence, beneath the cold rule—there was something real. His love didn’t need to be spoken. It would be carved into the future.

SHIESTY MARK

Mark was not built to be a dad. Or, that’s what everyone would’ve assumed. But then the twins came—one boy, one girl—and everything went sideways in a way he actually liked.

They screamed. A lot. Shitted on him. A lot. One threw up on his chest. He didn’t even flinch. “You little fucker,” he coughed, bouncing the tiny boy in one hand, wiping his face with a towel like this wasn’t the third shirt he’d gone through today.

And he meant that with love. Mark adored those babies like they were his entire world—but holy shit, he had no filter around them. None.

When you got home from grabbing groceries, you found him in the living room with both of them propped in a giant pillow nest like royalty, Mark crouched in front of them pointing at toys.

“Okay, this one’s a fuckin’ dragon,” he told them, holding it up dramatically. “He bites the fuckin’ shit outta anyone who tries you, alright?” You stared at him, jaw dropped. “Mark!”

“What?” He blinked innocently, like he hadn’t just made ‘fuckin’ shit’ the babies’ first lullaby. “I’m bonding with my son and daughter. You don’t want ‘em growin’ up soft, do you?”

…You ignored him.

Until two weeks later. Your daughter dropped her sippy cup. Looked you dead in the eye. And said, clear as day: “Shit.” You dropped the baby spoon in your hand. Slowly turned toward him. “Mark.” He was howling. “That’s my girl,” he said proudly, arms crossed.

You dragged him by the shirt collar into the other room. “You taught our children swear words?!”

“They gotta learn someday!”

“Not before they can say mama.”

“But they can say ‘fuck’ now.” You stared at him, seething. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He grabbed your wrist, pulled you close, grinning. “You just hate that they love me more than you already.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You married a menace.”

Later that night, he was lying in bed with both babies asleep on his chest. Your son was drooling. Your daughter had her tiny fist balled in his shirt.

And Shiesty Mark, the reckless, trash-mouthed bastard you fell in love with, was whispering: “I’ll kill anyone who fucks with you two. Y’hear me? Anyone. You’re mine now.” You watched him from the doorway, leaning against the frame. Still disappointed? Sure. But also… a little in love with him all over again.

PRISONER MARK

Mark never thought he’d see freedom again—let alone fall in love, let alone have a family.

When you told him you were pregnant, he’d stared at you in disbelief. Like you were a hallucination. A dream conjured up by a man who’d been through too much, lost too much. Twins? That was the part that made him sit down.

“…You serious?” he asked softly, as if saying it too loud might shatter the moment. But he stepped up.

He didn’t care that he had to wear disguises, that he had to duck and hide every time he left the house. If it meant keeping you and the babies safe, he’d burn himself out to do it. He’d bring home groceries with shaky hands, bruises from a fight he never told you about, smiling just because you greeted him at the door in one of his hoodies, the twins’ names already written on little post-its over the fridge.

He nearly cried during the birth. Tried to hide it—failed miserably.

He whispered to both of them that night, laying beside your hospital bed, holding one in each arm. “You’re safe now,” he promised. “No one’s ever taking you from me.”

He was so attentive. You’d wake up at 2am and he’d already be feeding one of them, quietly humming some old Earth song he barely remembered the lyrics to. He was protective in a lowkey, constant way—checking the locks three times, always standing between you and a window, never letting his kids out of his sight. His daughter liked to pull his hoodie strings while he was holding her. His son liked to curl up on his chest and nap.

Prisoner Mark was softer than the others in those moments. He smiled more. He relaxed—only around you and them. He’d lie in bed with you at night, watching them sleep in the bassinet beside you. “…Do you think they’ll ever have to see the kind of world I did?” he asked once.

You answered, “Not if we can help it.” He nodded. “Good. ‘Cause I’ll kill the world before I let it touch them.”

The List Of My HOTD Reader Insert Works:

The list received a makeover. There is no longer a second one. All is here, in one place.

Aegon II Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Daeron Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

Daemon Targaryen

Gwayne Hightower

Alicent Hightower

Cregan Stark

Harwin Strong

Criston Cole

The List Of My ASOIAF Reader Inserts Works:

Oberyn Martell

Rhaegar Targaryen

Arthur Dayne

Robb Stark

The List Of My FAB Reader Insert Works:

Aegon I Targaryen

Maegor I Targaryen

Requests are closed!

About Me

Random Texts with the jjk men.

includes: nanami, sukuna, toji, geto,gojo

warnings: crack, slight suggestive, honestly this was just for laughs

want to join my general taglisting? click here

spoil hotd s2 ep 6

no hate but i genuinely don’t know what to think abt rhaenyra and mysaria kissing

like

idk

if there was one thing at the tokyo jujutsu tech branch that would send the kyoto branch into a coma, it was the shameless pda. gojo satoru was a man in love — and absolutely nothing could stop him from broadcasting it, no matter how obscene it might seem.

where utahime ran her students with silent, disciplined rigor, gojo thrived in chaos. in fact, the tokyo campus always seemed to hum with the sheer force of his enthusiasm alone.

today was hand-to-hand combat training again. you stood at the sidelines, arms crossed, observing as your second years sparred with the first years — dominating them so well that you hardly needed to step in.

a familiar presence drifted up behind you. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. your husband had an uncanny talent for finding you exactly when he was supposed to be doing anything else.

“new uniform?” he whistled, low and appreciative. even with his blindfold, you could feel his gaze dragging over you. “seriously, it should be illegal for you to look this good during work hours.”

you didn’t answer, trying your best to steer him back to work by simply not engaging. after much trial and error, you’d discovered that ignoring him was the most effective method.

predictably, gojo pouted when you didn’t respond. then, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“you know,” his voice drops lower, silkier — the kind of tone he thinks is persuasive. “the students are so busy right now. they won’t even notice if we sneak off to my office and have some fun.”

“satoru,” you warn, already bracing yourself.

he grins like a fox. “it’ll just be ten minutes.”

“you say that every time,” you mutter, shooting him a sidelong look. “it is never just ten minutes.”

“boo,” he pouts, blowing a dramatic raspberry before slinging an arm around your waist with zero hesitation. “you’re being so cruel to a man in love.”

“satoru—”

but he’s already nuzzling his face into the side of your neck, his blindfold grazing your jaw as he whines, “just one kiss, then. one kiss and i’ll go right back to doing paperwork.”

you sigh, pretending to resist — but you lean into him all the same.

of course, one kiss turns into two. then three. then gojo is spinning you around, arms wrapped around your waist as he dips you in the middle of the training field.

“don’t make me get a spray bottle,” megumi grumbles, sparking a chorus of laughter from the others.

gojo just beams as he pulls you back up, shameless and unbothered. “sorry, can’t help it! my wife’s too hot for me to act normal.”

you swat his chest, cheeks warm. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet, you still married me,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose.

“only because you tricked me into it.”

he grins, “one of my greatest accomplishments.”

and just like always, he wins.

i

toji disciplining baby megs 😖🤏

toji was never usually the one disciplining his son. he did the ‘eat your veggies’ and ‘inside voices only please’ and that was about it. you were more the type to teach megumi to share with his classmates and not speak over others, you may not have given birth to the boy but you loved and cared for him so deeply these things came naturally. and so tonight toji was surprised when he had spotted little megumi waddle into the living room and demand you charge his tablet for him. toji watched from his seat at the dinner table, slurping his noodles as he took in your gentle voice explaining to megumi that it was bedtime and his tablet time was over.

“no mama i want to play the game” megumi kept repeating, his voice gradually getting louder as he spoke over you. he listened as you tried to get another sentence in when suddenly you yelped out in pain and toji realised megumi had thrown his tablet and it had landed on your knuckles. the little boy’s eyes were still full of determination, unknowing of the pain he had caused you until he heard his father shout his name.

“get over here.” toji called out, watching as megumi’s tiny face was struck with a look of shock. he toddled his way over to his dad, hands gripped infront of his little protruding belly.

“did you just hit mama?”

“i just wanted to play my game!” little gumi answered. he had never heard his dad shout like this at him, he didn’t even mean to do it!

“go and say sorry you’re so naughty i can’t believe it.”

that was enough to have little megumi break into tears. his podgy hands digging into his eyes as the tears continued to fall. his dad thought he was naughty?

“go NOW” and toji watched as his son made his way over to you practically choking on his tears as he gasped out multiple ‘sorry’s’ and ‘love you mama’s. he took in your gentle hands caressing the top of megumis black hair and rubbing his back while he cried and cried.

a few minutes passed and toji had warmed up some chocolate milk for his son. he plopped himself into the gap on the couch by your side letting out a long sigh at the heat radiating off your body. megumi had his head safely tucked into your neck refusing to look at his dad as he made little hiccuping sounds.

“cmon buddy i need to talk to you. want some milk?”

and with a little encouragement from you megumi crawled into his father’s lap. toji found his own heart hurting at the tear stricken look on his sons face.

“sorry for shouting at you megs but remember we aren’t allowed to hit girls especially not mama. me and you are meant to protect mama yeah?”

“i’m sorry i won’t do it again” gumi said in his tiny voice as he cuddled up closer into his dad’s side.

“you’re a great dad.” you whispered whilst leaving soft kisses on tojis bicep and tickling megumi’s little toes. he wiped at the remaining tears left on gumis eyelashes thinking about what you said. if an angel like you saw good in him then maybe he was doing something right.

author’s note : this is so completely random i just couldn’t stop thinking about toji cuddling his little baby 🤏 apologies for any mistakes i wrote this on the train lolz

To DeServe You - Masterlist

Pairing: Choso Camo x Fem!Reader,

CW: JJK AU, Angst, Good Boy Kink, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Oral, BDSM, Unprotected Sex, Edging, Drunk Sex, Aggressive Sex, Overstimulation, Intense Yan(dear) Choso🖤

Note: please block me if my work is not your cuppa tea:)

I do not own the character art.

Please respect my blog art.

Total WC : 22.3K

AO3 | Wattpad | Playlist

Synopsis: Reader is working hard, meeting new people in a new town, and runs into someone she never thought she'd see again. After she left an impression on him that he never forgot, he vows to do anything he can to solidify a connection between them that will cause her to stay by his side for good.

This Gorgeous piece of artwork was my inspiration for this fic. Choso is a beautiful character and I think it captured him very well. I love all my guys, but he's grown on me lightning fast. I'm excited to work on this piece as I continue with others.

▶TDY - PLAYLIST CHAPTERS: 01 - Unexpected 02 - Pardoned 03 - 04 - ...

Borders by @cocomanga Fanart Art by: @arekushisu11

love that trend of “your boyfriend takes away your ability to walk and then goes off and does whatever” and that’s toji

you’re face down in the sheets, covered in sweat and ecstasy with your legs still shaking and your head still in the clouds. you don’t even notice him leave the room and come back until he pats you on the leg.

“hey”

you hear and feel him, but you can’t bring your body to move or react yet.

“hey! hey baby, wake up.”

you lowly hum and he huffs, turning your head to face him and he sees your eyes blinking in an attempt to wake up.

he pats your cheek, getting rougher in each hit to get you to wake up.

“hey baby come on, i’m hungry and we don’t have shit here to eat.”

he finally pulls your head up and that’s when you’re able to fully open your eyes, blinking at him and then pouting.

“toji…tired…”

he laughs and pats your cheek again when your eyes try to blink closed again.

“nah come on, get up and i’ll treat you to some tacos.”

you smile at the promise of food and then whine.

“can’t move my legs, pick me up?”

he huffs again before picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist for you.

“i spoil you way too much, baby”

“well, if someone didn’t fuck me hard enough to take away my ability to walk, you wouldn’t have to carry me now would you?”

he smirks before smacking your ass, making you whine again.

“well, if someone wasn’t actin like a fuckin brat, they wouldn’t have gotten what they deserved.”