#a young child especially a girl | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunnys-kisses · 2 months ago

Text

retired!price liked that you had daddy issues. aw, did someone not have a functioning relationship with their father as a child and now has to find that relationship in older men? aw, poor doll. price was more than okay with being called 'daddy' as long as you called him 'captain' too, especially when you were on your knees. while you got off to having an older man praise you, he got off to a pretty little thing calling him captain. you even went as far as to worship his strong physic, how easily he could bend, flip, turn and press into you.

didn't help that your pussy became a fixation for him.

he was close to fifty, his hip had a habit of locking from time to time. he had been hearing about it for years that it was time to have a family. even simon had managed to make a family, price was still hung up on young tail that he could bully his fat cock into. while most younger women were flavours of the week with no string attached. price made sure to attach every metaphorical string onto you. he had a copy of your apartment key. he added a profile for you on his streaming services. he knew on wednesdays you enjoyed pasta, but hated cooking on the weekend. he knew everything about his precious baby girl. you folded into his praise and always were eager to please. and that was what price loved about you. so imagine his shock (anger) when you told him that you thought you'd have to end your arrangement because you met a guy at your university. and when he asked why, you simply said, "i have to grow up at some point.", and that hit price in the head like an ice pick. if you wanted to grow up so badly, baby girl. there were other ways to do it.

the broken condom held weight in price's pocket while you had few drinks during your last 'date' together, he waited till you got all soft because of the wine. till you were on his side of the booth with your leg over his lap and your face pressed against his bicep. you ran your hand across his chest and giggled, "you're taking this whole break up thing so well." and he petted your head, watching you fold into him further, "like you said, you need to grow up." but you both had different definitions of 'growing up'. for you it meant getting over you daddy issues, but to him it was making him a daddy, for real. you giggled further while he gave you another glass of wine. when you tried to say no, he simply pushed it closer to you, "don't want to waste the bottle." and so easily you were in price's grip.

price took you three times that night. first was in the backseat of his expensive car. he pressed you into a corner, claimed that he needed more space for his larger body. your hazy vision was transfixed on the glimmer of his gold chain against his hairy chest in the low light. your poor body bent in such ways while he pace was relentless. he admired your unsteady gaze and your heavy breathing. he continued to move against you with such a pace that the whole car rocked. but don't worry, the parking lot was dead at that hour. you could scream your head off and no one would hear either of you. he did however put a tear in your panties. right in the crotch area. he sighed and said that he'd need to buy you something a little. while he loved the cheap pairs you owned, he thought his woman deserved something a little nicer. the future mrs. price needed to look next to perfection.

then he fingered you heavily in his bed and watched you squirm. he had to make sure every drop got deep enough before he bullied your sweet pussy once more. he loved the sight of you, still so fucked out from prior. you were in a daze in the car ride home. your breathing was heavy when he pushed the skirt of your dress up a little and teased your cunt while he drove. only to go further once you were naked on his bed. he watched your ass jiggle with each of his power thrusts while he took you from behind. he felt like a mad man while he fucked you. he was determined. he only got to where he was in his career because of grit and determination. he wouldn't back down to a challenge, especially when the stakes were so high. your pussy need to be bred, you needed to be with price. he never wanted to hear anything about another man ever again. price would hate to take drastic measures if another man tried to get in his way. if you needed a collar or a tattoo, the taste of his cum constantly your lips or leaked into your panties, price would do it all to ensure that you were his. the most effective way to ensure that was what kept him going through two rounds of sex without any pains. to get you pregnant. you had already forgotten about the broken condom, it still was in price's pocket! no use using it now, even bother giving the illusion that he wasn't breeding you.

the third time was when you tried to leave the next morning, he had you upside down on the bed. your bottom half on the mattress while all the blood rushed to your head as you tried not to fall on your head. price put bruises on top of bruises. your poor cunt was creamy with promises of the future. a future with him. the blood rush made you cum twice on his cock, adding fresh slick to his coated cock. you thought that older men were supposed to slow down with age. but it felt like price was even quicker than before. his pace brutal, almost like punishment for trying to leave him. but price didn't get to be captain because he followed one plan. he was going to ease you into married life, slowly make you the perfect woman for him. he was traditional that way. church wedding, the white dress, the vows. that would all happen, but might take a little longer. he wasn't too sure that a baby bump would fit nicely in a wedding dress. the thought of you pregnant, trapped to him made him eagerly finish in you two times. and when he got you back up onto the bed, you were fucked out. when you managed to collect your clothes and stagger out of his flat by mid-afternoon, you thought you made it in time to the pharmacy to get emergency plan b.

you prayed, and you never prayed. you promised three versions of 'god' that you'd convert to their religion if the pill worked. but three deities failed you and a month later price was in your apartment with his hands on the plastic pregnancy test. he scratched his beard and looked at you. he tried so hard to put on his best acting face. "that's a real shame, baby girl." he said in that rough voice of his that got you in trouble in the first place. he leaned back a little in your kitchen chair and placed the test back down on the table, "always wanted to be a father." he frowned a little bit, "never got the chance too. they said when i retired that the chances were low of me havin' a baby..." he looked at you. you should've known he was lying. his swimmers obviously weren't shot by how easily you got pregnant. you felt bad, almost like you were burdening him with getting pregnant. that it was your fault. you rung your hands and admitted softly, "we can try... we can make a family." and price smiled, "oh, doll." then got up to embrace you. you sniffled and cried a little in his strong chest. he held you in his strong arms. he was your protector even though his cock was straining in his jeans at the knowledge that he fundamentally changed you.

your body, your life, everything. when he released you from the hug, he got down on his knees. made a point to make a small 'huff' noise from being down on his 'bad' knee before he pushed up your t-shirt and pressed a kiss against your stomach. he said to you, "don't worry, love. daddy'll take care of ya." then gave that smile that wrapped around you like a vice. <3

2K notes · View notes

targaryen-dynasty · 6 months ago

Text

REDAMANCY.

Cregan Stark x female Targaryen!Reader (Part 4 here)

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept your younger brother’s offer to return to the capital for your child to receive his blessings. And when you‘re finally on the way, it’s your husband‘s duty to take care of you.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant sex, pregnancy, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight degrading, angst, fluff

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: Redamancy means A love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you, and let me tell you: these two are in love. Thanks to @sylasthegrim, it‘s always good to know you help me with my zero grasp on English!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Ravens from Winterfell flying all the way down to King’s Landing has always taken quite some time. And therefore it was no wonder you were surprised that one of your younger brother’s ravens reached the castle not long after you'd informed him you were with child, inviting you to birth it in the Red Keep for it to receive the young king’s blessings.

Being the ever dutiful Lord of House Stark, there was no way your husband would refuse the offer, and once your pregnancy had crossed the seventh moon mark, a carriage and your husband’s entourage were sent south.

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept the offer. Westeros’ capital has brought nothing but pain and grief to you, and you’re afraid coming back ruins the comfort and peace you’ve found far, far away from the castle in the North, in Winterfell. But a part of you misses and longs for your siblings and the part of your family that’s still left, hence it didn’t take too much convincing from your husband.

You’ve lost count of the days you spent in that damned carriage by now, solely accompanied by your maids as your dear husband rides at the front of his entourage, joining his men on horseback. But there’s one thing all days have in common: it’s you being exhausted beyond relief once night comes.

For the longest time you thought your unborn babe to be no-fussy and calm, which proved to be false just one week into the travel. It’s restless, kicking and moving especially when you finally find rest in the bed of the receptive inn you stay in for the night. Your feet are swollen, just like your breasts, and your body provides milk as though the babe has been long born already, and all you crave at this point is for the pregnancy to be over already.

As the wheelhouse comes to a stop, you rub your swollen bump with a sigh, looking toward the door with heavy footsteps approaching. Your beloved husband opens the door, and even though he won’t admit it, he looks just as exhausted as you do.

“Is it time?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet with another sigh. You place your small hand in his large one, allowing him to help you out.

He nods, bringing a hand to the small of your back. “Indeed. We have reached the crossroads. From here we are only ten days away from King’s Landing, which means the end of our journey is in sight,” he replies. “How are you and our son feeling?”

Cregan guides you away from the wheelhouse, escorting you through the crowd of his men towards a large inn sitting right where the river road crosses the kingsroad. And from old tales of your uncle you know it has to be the Bellringer Inn, a place where even your great-grandfather and great-grandmother have stayed at before.

“We do not yet know if this babe will be a boy or a girl, husband,” you chastise him in a teasing manner.

“You are right, we do not,” he says. “But I feel it in my bones. Just call it a father’s intuition.”

You roll your eyes at his words and nudge his ribs with your elbow, yet there also pulls a smile at the corners of your lips. He chuckles at that. “Careful, my love, I am not as nimble as I used to be.”

Shaking your head, you giggle softly. “Do not tell me that you are an old man now, Lord Stark.”

As you make your way through the courtyard and towards the inn, you can feel the curious glances of the passerby; a man of Cregan’s caliber always drew the attention toward him, just like your hair did. But you’re unbothered by it all. You carry a piece of your husband within you, and that thought fills you with a sense of fulfillment and pride.

He looks for the innkeeper as you reach for his hand, pulling it from your back around your frame, squeezing it softly. “Might you join me tonight? I know that you can not leave your men alone, but one night will surely do no harm. I must admit that I have hardly found sleep without your warmth for the past weeks.”

With a gentle, intimate gesture, Cregan brushes his fingers over your swollen bump, before pulling you against his side. “How can I ever be expected to refuse anything my beautiful wife asks of me? Of course I will join you tonight.” Leaning a bit closer toward you, he adds with a quiet whisper: “Your presence has been missed in my bed as well. The nights feel cold and lonely without you by my side.”

Heat crawls onto your cheeks at the proximity and the slight implication that comes with his words, solely interrupted when a stout man with a bushy beard but otherwise pleasant demeanor walks around the corner and welcomes you two.

Upon Cregan’s inquiry about the availability of a room, he hands over the keys and leads you toward your place of retreat for the night. More than once have you told Cregan you’re perfectly fine with sleeping in a tent with him, yet he always came back to your delicate condition, stating he only wants the best for you and his unborn child, and you eventually have given up and accepted it.

The room is decent. Not as big as your chambers at home, but still larger than what you’ve slept in for the last few weeks. Your maids already scurry into the room to bring some of your belongings and clothes to get you ready for the night, while Cregan leans in to kiss your temple. “Let me arrange for my man to sleep outside the inn for the night,” he mutters against your skin. “And then we shall spend the night in warm beds.”

Even with your maids bustling around you, you can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at his words. The prospect of sharing the night with him is enough to make you forget the soreness of your swollen curves that has become a constant companion over the past few moons.

“I will freshen up in the meantime,” you say, leaning into his touch before he pulls away to take care of his men’s sleeping arrangements for the night. Once everything was adjusted in the chambers, your maids moved to help you out of your clothes, but you refused them, having planned something very special.

Standing in front of the small window, overlooking a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower, you all but admire how quietly Cregan opens the door, and with the lock falling right into place behind him, the room grows even quieter and the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation.

“Is everything sorted?” you ask, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“All set,” your husband replies with a low voice as he approaches you.

He comes to tower over your frame from behind, moving his hands over your hips up to your waist. Lifting your head, your eyes lock with his. “Alone at last, hm?” There’s a sultry smile on your lips now, and you gently reach behind you to cup his cheek with one hand. “Now you’re all mine for the night.”

You lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths against your back. Cregan seizes the opportunity and brushes your hair over one shoulder before he presses his lips to the crook of your neck. The touch makes you sigh, stirring something inside of you you have had to keep at bay for quite some time. When he brings his large hands to your swollen breasts, fondling them through the thick fabric of your dress, you can’t help but moan, the slight squeezing aiding against the heaviness.

But then his hands and lips leave your body, and he slightly leans around you to look at you – or rather your breasts – and you immediately know the reason why.

The gray fabric has become damp under his touch, two dark spots prominent in the front of it. While it brings a bit of shame to your cheeks, the low rumble that escapes his chest sends a fire straight down between your legs. “I should have warned you I started leaking a fortnight ago,” you admit ashamedly, biting your bottom lip.

“I quite enjoy the sight of it, you know,” he says, voice laced with a combination of awe, adoration and burning need. His hands shift to the lace in the back of your dress. “But let us put this to good use.”

The dress comes undone with ease, falling to the floor in a puddle around your feet. Damp spots are decorating your smallclothes, but this time you don’t mind the sight. Cregan’s hands now roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist and your growing bump.

Although you know exactly what it is his words are meant to imply, you choose to tease him. “And what is it you have in mind right now, hm?”

His gray eyes briefly flicker to the bed close to you, before meeting yours again. “I have a few things in mind. But for now…” He cups your chin, tilting your head up so he can claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss that’s full of desire and passion. It makes you feel as though the air is sucked right out of your lungs by him, as if you can’t survive without his lips on yours. “How about we make the most of this night, my love?”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe against his lips.

His large hands roam your curves, helping you out of your undergarments, until they settle at your thighs, wrapping around them to effortlessly hoist you up. Although Cregan is quite the bull of a man and appears to be a brute, he possesses a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him, gently keeping your body against his and lying you down on the bed not far away just as carefully.

Soft, gentle kisses are pressed to your collarbones, igniting a fire within you that has been smoldering for too long. As his fingers glide over your skin with featherlight touches, leaving a burning trail behind, he finds his hands drawn to your full breasts, cupping and holding them, and eventually squeezing them.

More droplets of your milk trickle into his calloused palms, wetting his skin, but he does not care–not when he has you writhing and whimpering beneath him at just the faintest of touches.

Your husband’s eagerness would have almost made you chuckle, watching him rise from the bed to rid himself off his clothes hastily, if it wouldn’t match your own desire and greediness. With his breeches falling to the ground, his cock stands to full attention, hard enough for it to almost seem painful.

His hungry gazes devours your bare form, tall frame slightly hunched forwards as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“Will you just stand there and watch, my wolf?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What happened to ‘let us put this to good use’?”

It’s the teasing lilt in your voice that pulls him out of his stupor like a wave, the chuckle he releases low and throaty. “You are a temptress, my love,” he replies. “You are lucky I am a man of my word.”

“Then touch me,” you whine, words coming out more desperate than actually intended.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly approaching the bed, Cregan bows forwards and grabs one of your feet. He lifts your leg and starts to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along the inside of your leg, occasionally nibbling on the skin of your inner thigh.

Your back slightly arches off the mattress, body thrumming with desire. Entangling your hands in his dark curls, you use the grip as reigns to where you want him most, but your husband acts completely unfazed, not allowing you to tug him higher up.

He takes his time, kissing and nibbling your thighs, before he boldly presses a kiss to the apex of your legs, tongue briefly dragging through your folds. It elicits a shudder in its wake, and you can’t stifle a moan.

Making his way up, he licks your navel, and eventually traces the curve of your full breast, circling your hardened bud. Cregan laps up every drop of milk that oozes out of your bud like nothing else than a starved wolf, the edge of his teeth applying just a faint pressure to the sensitive skin to stimulate the flow.

But when his other hand comes up to fondle and squeeze your other breast, that’s the moment you lose your composure, shamelessly smothering him with your breasts. “Gods, Cregan…” you whimper, immediately bringing you relief. There isn’t even time to waste a thought about the indecency of it all, not when it feels just so right.

It’s your mewls, your whispered whines and moans, the sound of you saying his name in such a desperate manner that drives him to continue. “You make me ache for you,” he rasps against your skin, voice thick with desire. Your husband never falters to ignite a fire inside of you with his words, especially when there’s an innuendo hidden between his praises.

Bringing his hand from your breast down between your bodies, he aligns himself with you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds in a way that makes you bite back a moan and grind against him. You grip his dark curls harshly as he finally eases inside, pushing into you inch by inch, agonizingly slow to make sure you feel him enter you.

His suckling falters with the tightness of your walls embracing him, overwhelmed by pure bliss and a feeling he’s missed for the past few weeks.

Every gasp and whine that escapes you only serves to embolden him further, continuing to tease and taste your breast with unrivaled enthusiasm. It juxtaposes the slow, sloppy thrusts of his hips, and brings you two different kinds of sensations at once.

Cregan has made himself home between your legs, rocking his hips leisurely back and forth. He has dropped his weight on one elbow and leant his upper body to the side, determined to not put any weight on your swollen bump. His lips are firmly wrapped around your bud while his hand teases the other, pinching and squeezing it between his fingers. The proximity is unmatchable, feeding into your constant desire to be as close to him as possible.

You can practically watch him lose every ounce of self control, his suckling becoming more intense and the thrusts growing in determination. His groans and grunts are muffled, and droplets of your milk trickle idly down his chin, getting lost in the dark, coarse hairs.

You fully expect him to say something when he releases your bud, but he’s far too eager to get his fill again. Pinching the perky bud of your other breast harshly, droplets of milk run down the curve of it, only to be traced by his tongue, liking a flat stripe over your skin. He chokes on a groan as the sight has you clenching tightly around his hard cock.

“Please– do not stop,” you whimper, applying a bit of pressure to his head to urge him towards your breast again. “... not yet.”

Dark-blown eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours, and a shuddered breath leaves your lips. “My my, what a greedy wench I have for a wife,” he chuckles to himself. You don’t take offense, but the statement does make you duck your head and bite your bottom lip sheepishly. “I do not intend to.”

Despite the teasing, it’s obvious your pleas fall upon eager ears as he heeds your command and closes his lips around your bud again. Every hungry pull of his lips draws more and more milk from you, and while relief makes itself known in your breasts, a different kind of pressure starts to settle in the pit of your belly.

Squeezing him so well, you make it impossible for Cregan to move on his own accord, and quickly take over, rolling your hips against his. It’s a race for completion, making your pearl throb with anticipation.

The coarse hairs of your husband’s beard drag over your sensitive skin with his eager suckling, tickling you and causing you to arch against him even more. You have your arms wrapped around his neck at this point, keeping him tightly against you.

A string of yesses falls past your lips like a chant, and the pace of your hips increases as far as your bump allows you to. Your mind grows hazy with pleasure, until your peak washes over you with a loud gasp.

You haven’t noticed Cregan watching you through it all, too focused on the sensations coursing through your body. His gaze is mesmerized, clearly relishing in the relief that’s etched onto your features and the way your walls flutter around his cock.

He pulls back, droplets of milk resting in the corners of his lips, and lifts his body to tower over you. The thrusting of his hips grows sharper now, determined to help you through your pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasps, one hand resting on the mattress next to your head while the other gropes at your now relieved breasts.

“Once this pup is born,” he emphasized the words by rolling your sore bud between his index finger and thumb, drawing out just a few more droplets of milk. “I shall put another in you to keep you round with my seed.”

Your head grows dizzy, lightheaded even, and you can’t do more than whimper and whine through your peak, not fully comprehending what he’s said.

Cregan snaps his hips into yours once, twice before he topples over the edge with a loud groan, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of you. Cupping your breast, his fingers dig harshly into your flesh.

You continue to roll your hips against his, prolonging his pleasure. Switching roles, it’s now your turn to milk him for every drop, taking everything his cock spills inside of you. Every muscle in his body tenses, until eventually, he collapses to the side, careful not to put his weight on your swollen bump.

With his cock slowly becoming flaccid again, the sensation of his seed leaking out of your cunt is more apparent, causing heat to spread throughout your body. If it wasn’t for you carrying his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Cregan eventually lies down on his back, and you seize the chance to rest your head on his chest. It’s hard to keep your eyes open as his hand softly entangles into your hair, scratching your scalp in the manner that usually lulls you to sleep. His breath is slower now, his chest rising and lowering your head.

“I can not bear to spend another night without you by my side,” you all but whisper, bringing a hand to his stomach.

Your finger trails the contours of his muscles, before following the dark trail of coarse hairs down.

“You needn‘t worry about that,” he says. “We shall not stay in King’s Landing for too long. And I highly doubt that anyone could get me out of your chambers during the time we stay there. Once we arrive, we shall stay together.”

Nodding your head slowly, you hum a ‘mh-mh‘, too engrossed in the feeling of his hand in your hair and the other rubbing soothing circles over your back. Having trouble staying awake, you’re hardly able to process his next words, already drifting off to sleep.

“Let us sleep now, my love. We have another tiresome day ahead of us.“

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @aemondsbabe

4K notes · View notes

tteokdoroki · 2 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ 💎 JJK MEN AS OVERPROTECTIVE GIRL DADS gojo, sukuna & geto .ᐟ

⋆˙ ᯓ★ about ! “a little girl’s first love will always be her father." three scenarios in which the daughters of three jjk men introduce their boyfriends to their fathers. ( 5.7K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. video banner. not beta read. sfw, fluff, angst if you squint, no-curses!au, mentions of pregnancy, children and babies, the children have no names, some family issues, married life, domestic bliss, husband + father!jjk men, mother + fem!reader.

sonic says ! hello everyone !! i wanted to try my hand at some head canons and scenarios, i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so put a pause on working on kinktober to write it lol!! hope you enjoy <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊

ᯓ★ SATORU GOJO:

before meeting you, satoru gojo had never been fond of a family dinner.

in his childhood home — they were cold and quiet, pockets of clattering cutlery would cut through painstaking silence and distract from the loud emptiness of the seat at the head of the table where his own father was supposed to be. his mother, often solemn and sunken in the shoulders, never spoke. never cooked and slipped small bites to her son in between preparation or steps.

they had staff for that, they had staff for everything.

to keep the household clean and together. to keep him fed and breathing. to keep him alive. all requirements felt almost clinical, the environment in which he was raised almost like the white walls of a hospital — without a trace of love needed for a child like satoru gojo needed to thrive.

even if he had all the money in the world, he hadn’t a drop of love. he wasn’t ever sure if he was capable of the warm and fuzzy emotion, didn’t know if it was something his heart could ever open up to — sealed in by layers of cool, cold concrete and cement. kept in a safe without a key. at least until you miraculously found it and melted the thick layers of ice blocking satoru’s veins. you brought back colour to his cheeks and light to his eyes, taking up the space in his heart where his family had left a swirling, black void.

to satoru, you were a saving grace. his everything… and he swore he’d never be like his father; who left his wife unhappy and empty, like a abandoned shell. he promised; he’d do much better than his parents ever did. especially when you found out you were pregnant, even more so when your little girl came into the world with plentiful white curls and lashes, screaming at the top of her teeny tiny lungs.

at the time, you were sure you’d never seen satoru gojo so in love ( and so teary eyed too ) — but you knew what becoming a parent meant to him. what it meant for the new life you now shared.

but now, having met you and married you and created life with you — satoru had found a new appreciation for family dinners. they were a sacred event, a special time for him to keep up with the lives of his children and let them know he was there. present.

it wasn’t a time to be imposed on and certainly not by meddlesome boyfriends brought home by sixteen year old daughters.

“so kid, what’s your 401K look like?”

satoru carries a look of disdain, his nostrils flared, blue eyes narrowed and perfect pink lips curled in an unhappy frown.

the young boy opposite him, a little scrawny and awkward, shrinks underneath the white haired man’s intense gaze — if you squinted, you could probably see him shaking like a little leaf in the intense wind from across the table “um… i don’t know?”

“hear that little guy? no 401K… how’s he meant to take care of your sister. yeah, yeah.

you’re right, i’ll give him a chance,” he mutters to the baby boy snoozing happily in his arms under his breath, engaging in a one sided conversation before switching his focus back to his daughter’s…sorry excuse for a partner. “okay then… finances, clearly not. academics and common sense —“ pausing, the white haired father of two clicks his tongue, pushing it into the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek as if to feel his next words out in his mouth. “do you even know what a bouquet of flowers is, kid? a corsage? gojo women don’t play about their flowers, yanno.”

“sir—“

without giving the boy a chance to speak, gojo drops his intrusive gaze under the table and back up again — pointing an accusatory finger at his little girl’s partner. “your top button’s undone and your shoe laces are untied. you might wanna fix that! if you care about my daughter’s safety!” he turns his nose up all petulant like a picky toddler being forced to eat his veggies, he even sticks his tongue out for good measure. gojo’s eccentric movements nearly jostle his sleepy son in place. the baby whines and gurgles a little bit, only soothed by a pat to his back from dad — who repositions him to snooze over his shoulder.

in a silent, quieter gesture, satoru uses two fingers to point between his eyes and the boy’s. almost as if to say ‘i’m watching you.’

catching him in the act, the eldest gojo daughter bounces into the room carrying plates of steaming hot food, exhaling with worm down patience evident in her body language. “daddy please, you don’t act like this normally. stop messing around.” rolling her eyes, she sets the dishes down, freeing up her hand to smack the back of her dad’s clearly empty skull. just like her mother.

“well sooooorrry for being a good dad and caring about your wellbeing! who you’re dating! who you’re bringing into our bloodline!” gojo rebuttals with petish grunts, unable to cradle the back of his injured head like he does with his son.

and as if by magic, you, his beautiful and loving and gorgeous wife appear with dinner plates in hand to double down on a scolding the white haired man. amused, you also swat at your husband’s head and tut down at him. “satoru? what are you doing?” there’s something about the way you tease and tell gojo off that always makes his heart race, even after all these years of marriage and raising his kids. he loves you, his family so much. he almost keens into your touch like a pathetic dog, until your daughter starts gagging at the sight — slipping into her set. you were supposed to be watching the baby. not interrogating the poor kid.”

“we’re having a heart to heart, babe,” gojo swoons, clearing his throat as his head bobs in the direction of his daughter’s boyfriend. “jimbob here was just telling me about his 3.4% grade point average.”

“it’s hiro sir! and uh… 3.5% sir.” the boyfriend in question chirps shyly.

you know that your husband feels… almost threatened by another man entering your daughter’s life — they’ve been practically inseparable since the moment she first opened her eyes. to give up the duty of loving and protecting her and pass it onto someone else is probably what scares him the most. “that’s pretty good hun!” you comment absentmindedly, hoping to pull satoru away from the conversation.

“no it’s not! our daughter has a 4.0%.”

“s-she was failing in math, i was tutoring her.” the boyfriend hopefully interjects again, whispering next when the baby stirs at the dining table. “i hope that makes up for my 401K sir. i-i also work part time to save for college and—!”

“haha — no i wasn’t!” the younger gojo girl tenses in place, elbowing her date in the ribs not so discretely from under the table. it’s this interaction that makes her father smile, only briefly, before you scowl his way.

“i thought you told them we met at a tutoring session.”

“you were failing?” you raise a brow, taking your own seat beside her father.

“see! this boy failure is a bad influence on our daughter!” a glare settles on the slopes of satoru’s angelic features, mirrored by your child’s unimpressed expression across the table. in his arms, your youngest fusses about as if he senses the mounting tension at the table — earning a bounce or two from daddy, who turns your way all matter-of-factly like. “see, this why he doesn’t have a 401K”

“why would a teenager have a 401k, satoru!” comes your exasperated sigh.

“i had one when i was his age.” satoru shoots back and the kid sinks nervously in his seat. the poor boy looks as though he wants to disappear, squirming in place like he’s no better than a worm on a bait hook — it’s torture being interrogated and inspected by someone so close to the person you love most, but even he knows how important satoru’s approval is to your daughter.

she wouldn’t say it now, not when she was all grown up and finding her way out in the world — but she idolised gojo, all of her fondest memories are painted in his colours. shades of sapphire and azure like his vivid eyes, snowy white from his hair that almost rivals the clouds in the sky — the backdrop to days spent riding her father’s shoulders through the big wide world, racing down grassy green hills and wasting the hours away. she wouldn’t admit it here, today, but she never wanted to leave those memories. leave her father behind in her youth — it was written on each dip and curve and highlight on her youthful face, she wanted her father to move into this next phase of life with her too.

“daddy, you were a trust fund baby with shit grades and no prospects until you met mum,” she huffs but her words hold no malice, even if the sass brims over the edge of her tone like an emotionally charged, overflowing glass of water. you’d chide her for cursing — but you know she means well, stubbornly expressing her desire for approval to her man child of a father. “a loser, if you will.”

gojo slumps, the rosey petals of his plump lips pushing into an age old pout. “how could you say that about dear old dad?” he whines, as though he’s a wounded animal.

“well she’s not wrong, baby. you were a loser satoru, you still are.” the words are fond and light hearted on your tongue, a similar state to the wisps of a smile that trace over your own lips. leaning in close, you tickle the nose of the gurgling baby boy in his arms, heart heavy with affection — grateful that the one interaction you had with your husband all those years ago ( when he was a scrapier and misunderstood ) led you both to the beautiful chaotic family you have together now. “a hot one at least.”

“gross.” your daughter groans and buries her embarrassed gaze in the spread of food on the neatly laid table — grabbing a plate and piling it high to cope.

her boyfriend chuckles nervously, wanting nothing more but to eat and do the same. desperate to hide from gojo’s intimidating aura, but too afraid to cross another one of his ridiculous invisible lines. “i think that’s very sweet mrs gojo!”

the brief moment of peace in the war of dad v boyfriend is then interrupted by the white haired man’s temper tantrum, realising that his only daughter is still in the room. “don’t push it kid.” the father of your children all but wails and finds something else about the young couple to pick apart. “you’re sitting too close together! move apart!”

“daddy—!”

“w-what?”

“i said move it or lose it kid, before i keel over and die of heartbreak.” “betrayal. my own daughter, leaving me for someone else.”

the two separate, shifting their chairs away from one another despite never actually being too close. you share an empathetic look with your eldest, empathetic to your husband’s actions. you both knew he wouldn’t handle the meeting well, but this was beyond your whilst dreams. the young couple’s hands remain intertwined under the table cloth as the meal begins properly, and when satoru notices, he doesn’t comment — biting down hard on his unhappy tongue. he knows all too well what it’s like to love against the odds, his father in law hardly wanted him around you. it’s not like he wasn’t aware how bad he was for you, how your standards might have even dropped for the man to be with him. but you loved satoru with your entire being, wholly and against all of your own parent’s wishes.

in a way, the dinner tonight reminds him of himself meeting your father for the first time — how he had to work for his approval too. prove that he was more than just a spoilt brat. too caught up in the memories, the odd sense of loss threaded between his every breath and the love he holds for his daughter settled in his lungs — gojo almost kissed the way you whisper to him adoringly, head drooping to rest on his shoulder mostly to look at your baby but partly to comfort him. “you’re being dramatic satoru. look at them, don’t you just love young love.”

and he does, he looks, really looks — softly staring across the table and through the haze of his own judgement, noticing how happy his little girl looks all wrapped up with her boyfriend. all he’s ever wanted is to keep her smiling, give her a life that his parents couldn’t give him, he feels all of his resentment and fear or losing his daughter melt away like a plain sheet of paper dissolving in water. he loves her too much to not let her be happy, his baby. his little girl.

“no, not at all,” satoru finally relents with a wobbling voice and silvery tears that dot his vision — shaking his head back and forth to stop them from dropping onto his sleeping son gathered in his arms. “w-why would you say that? god, is it allergy season? my eyes are killing me. they’re not cute at all, why would you say that i’m crying?”

your teenage daughter glances over, relief evident in all of her identical gojo features. “no one mentioned you crying, daddy.” she coos softly in an attempt to console satoru.

it doesn’t work, he starts dry heaving and sobbing. which is new for her, he hasn’t cried this hard since her baby brother was born.

the kid scrambles into his pocket and damn near stumbles over the table in order to hand your white haired lover a tissue. “i don’t think you’re crying sir!”

“shut up!” gojo sniffles dramatically, putting on his best theatre kid act and drapes himself ( and the baby ) all over you. “shit, is this cushioned tissue? three ply?” pale, deft fingers swipe at the blue pools of eyes which well with tears while the kid nods over enthusiastically — desperate to please his girlfriend’s guardian. “good stuff this is… but this doesn’t mean i approve of you for my daughter!”

“gojo!”

“whaaaaat!? he doesn’t have a 401K!”

ᯓ★ RYOMEN SUKUNA:

if you’d told sukuna, almost a decade and a half ago, that he would end up with a life shrouded in domestic bliss — he would have laughed in your face. maybe even called you a cunt whilst telling you to fuck off. back then, when he was younger and the spirit of ambitious fire burned brightly in his veins as though he had petroleum for blood, the pink haired man never dreamed of settling down. buying a house. getting married. or having kids.

he was as untameable as a wild horse, with only one goal in mind. to open up his restaurant and get his family out of that shithole town by all and any means. he’d cross whatever rivers he had to, climb whatever mountains he needed to — push past societal hurdles that judged him for the pink in his hair and the thick ink on his body. ryomen sukuna did not care. not about anyone else, only about his goals.

at least, until he met you.

in many ways, you were a blessing to the world where sukuna was a curse. his complete opposite, the day to his night. though the worlds and lives you came from were completely different —

nowadays, the man is a little softer around the edges and weaker in the heart — they say that’s what true love does to you.

a set of keys jingle at the front door, followed by the dull thud of trainers on the shoe rack and footsteps on the mahogany wood floor. sukuna hardly looks up from the article he’s reading — something about the best recipes for autumnal vegetables. who would have thought, ryomen sukuna, reading up on gardening. he would tell anyone who asked it was for his restaurant, not because he actually enjoyed it. would make him look soft.

“hey, i’m home!” the voice that calls to him is sweet and youthful, a dulcet symphony that tugs paternally at the pink haired man’s heart strings. “is ma here?”

sukuna smiles to himself behind the newspaper, inhaling its fresh ink scent. “in the kitchen, workin’,” he replies absentmindedly, listening to his daughter skid down the hall after dropping her backpack. “oi squirt, you ain’t slick. you know what day it is, report card. now.”

there’s a dramatic sigh that follows footsteps trailing back into the living room. sukuna’s daughter, his pride and joy clings onto the doorframe with a scowl that could very well rival his own, ruby red eyes twinkling with annoyance — she’s in a rush to chat with her mother after school, he knows, but he can’t help but to tease her just a bit. “s’in my bag, can i go now?” she whines impatiently but takes off at the first gentle nod from her father in reply.

but the pink haired parent’s peaceful evening is quickly turned upside down at the discovery he makes in the bottom of his pride and joy’s bag. no matter how much time has passed, how many decades have gone by in which he’s been a father — nothing could prepare him for this new challenge, the new wave of emotions that come with having a tween daughter and swirl hotly in his chest.

“what the fuck is this?” he announces with a foul snarl, slipping into the kitchen where his girls chitchat idly over a test batch of cookies sukuna had made earlier in the day. for his restaurant of course. not because he’s a doting husband or loving father. he’s got an image to uphold and it’s not one of domestic bliss.

his daughter chirps, not looking up from the sweet treat she picks apart and pops into her mouth — seated on the kitchen island while you work away on your laptop. “what’s what, daddy?” her innocent nonchalance about the older sukuna’s discovery almost makes him pop a vein. “also, ma told you to stop saying the f-word. so, swear jar.”

the hulking man with the contrastingly soft pink pokes his tongue into the soft epithelium of his cheek, his jaw ticks and a playful frustration tingles throughout all four of his limbs. the swear jar was something you’d brought into play as soon as [daughter name] had learned how to talk, afraid that your rough and rugged husband’s potty mouth would rub off on her young impressionable mind. every time a cursed word falls from between ryomen sukuna’s lips, a couple hundred yen is popped into the jar as punishment. the thing was practically full by your baby’s third birthday, so you’ve been putting it down as her college fund ever since.

paper rustles between deft and tattooed fingers as sukuna reveals not a report card, but a crinkled note like the kind passed back and forth between distracted kids in the middle of that one class before lunch. “don’t play dumb with me, squirt.” ryomen holds the note up to the light so that both of his girls can see, blood diamond eyes squinting so he can inspect it better. somebody get this guy his glasses. “‘do you want to go out with me? tick for yes, cross for no.’” he reads out loud, each word leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, his frown so deep that lines of disapproval form on his well-aged face.

thoughts of the once all-important report card vanish into thin air, the relaxed aura in the room replaced with a palatable tension that not even your husband’s finest knives could cut. your precious baby girl shoots up from the counter to scramble with her dad over the note in hand. he holds her back with a large palm to the forehead.

“oh my god! you weren’t supposed to see that! daddy, give it here. please!”

“fat chance, squirt,” the tattooed man retorts. “you passin’ notes in class? that why you’re hidin’ your report card?”

“you can have my report card, when you give that back!”

with the two standing side by side, the resemblance strikes you as clear as day. they share the same hair, same scowl and same rugged intonation to their voices. they’re both yours, your entire world under one roof. before they can blow said root off, you stand between the elder and younger sukuna — turning to your husband with hooded eyes and a gentle hand on the centre of his broad chest. “oh ryo,” you coo in flirtation, slowing his train of thought as you sneakily swipe the crushed paper from his grip. “shut up ‘n let me see that.”

your daughter gags behind you at the display of affection, contrasting with the amused smirk you share with your long time lover. after all this time, marriage and the perfect kid, you’re still able to make a fool out of him — make sukuna’s heart skip a beat and a heat he refuses to acknowledge crawl up the back of his neck. he’s gone soft, for you and his family. for now, for you, he relents on taunting his precious little girl.

casting your gaze over the note, you grin at the pink-ink chicken scratch scribbled across the page. it’s sweet and endearing, reminding you of young love. “did atsushi finally ask you out?” you ask tenderly, handing the paper back to your daughter who cuddles it to her chest like the physical version of a precious memory.

a bashful expression lines the contours of her face, seeping into features you’d recognise from your husband on her. sukuna would argue that she has the shape of your eyes and your beauty too — but all you see is a culmination of love. “ma you were so totally right, playing hard to get really works!”

she gushes dreamily over her crush like it’s puppy love, biting her lip and bouncing on the spot.

“like a charm, every time.” comes your entertained response, much to your husband’s dismay.

“you weren’t playin’ hard to get with me…” sukuna questions rather than states, trying to piece together parts of the gossip that he’s missed. an anxiety corners the beat of his heart at the thought of his daughter dating, something in which the burly man never thought he would be afraid of. the world had been hard on sukuna; he only worries that it’s not as safe for his pride and joy as it were for him. “never mind that; the brat asked you out with a piece of paper? y’better not have said yes. we have standards here.”

his words make you roll your eyes with the hint of a smile. ryomen almost reminding you of your own father around the time you’d met him.

your daughter scrunches her nose petulantly, gearing herself up for a witty reply. “well ma married you, so her standards can’t be that high.” she snaps, earning a stifled laugh from you and an unimpressed grunt from her hardheaded dad. “and no, i didn’t. told him he needed to ask me out properly. face to face. with words. he said to meet him on the running track tomorrow at lunch for a surprise!”

pulling her into a hug, you kiss her round youthful cheek. “oh baby, i'm so happy for you!”

“well i ain’t! show me the damn kid, need to see what kind of pitiful brat wants to ask out my little girl,” sukuna crosses his arms and grumbles to himself, black ink tattoos flexing menacingly as he does so. almost as if he’s preparing to threaten the kid before even meeting him. “whatever happened to askin’ for permission to court or whatever. he should have been on my doorstep asking for your hand.”

“firstly you would have said no, and secondly this isn’t the olden days, dad. nobody does that anymore.” your cheeky daughter chides him loudly, her words slipping over her snarky little tongue. like father like daughter, the way they snip and snap at one another has an uncanny resemblance.

tilting your head upwards towards your fuming husband, you laugh breathlessly in a way that washes away his anger.“she’s right ryo; though my dad hardly approved of you either.” you say softly. even now, you make him feel weak in the knees and dizzy in the mind, like he’s so anything for you. whoever dates his daughter should feel the same about her.

“i freakin’ earned it, didn’t i?

“just barely.”

sukuna huffs but settles a hand on your waist from behind and his head atop yours. he needs to soothe himself somehow, his daughter is growing too fast. “stop ganging up on me and lemme see the damn kid.”

“here, isn’t he cute.”

lips downturned, sukuna craned his neck to look at your daughter’s phone from over your shoulder — scrutinising the instagram page that she’s opened now offering the kid his only child has taken an interest in like a lamb at the slaughterhouse. “brat looks like a noodle.” haughty laughter fills the kitchen, reverberating against the bones and organs in ryomen’s chest and buzzing right though your back. “you’re right i woulda said no as soon as he fuckin’ turned up!”

two sets of scolding eyes similar in shape, belonging to the two girls he loves the most swivel around to face the pink haired man disapprovingly.

“ryomen sukuna!”

“daddy!”

“yeah yeah, i know. swear jar.”

ᯓ★ SUGURU GETO:

“my love, were you aware that our little munchkin has a boyfriend?”

suguru looks up from the bubbling pot of child friendly pasta sauce on the stove. if it were just the two of you having dinner tonight, like it was merely three (nearly four) years ago — he would have planned for a more adventurous meal. perhaps sought out a bottle of fine aged wine for you both to enjoy on the balcony and even gotten a dessert to sweeten the date in. but now, you both had more than two hungry tummies to worry about, and bottles of wine could only be purchased when the little one was off with her uncle satoru.

“no, i wasnt. i don't believe that’s come up in discussion before,” your dark haired lover turns his narrow gaze to the giggly little girl swaddled in your arms — her chubby cheeks and dark, curious eyes just peeking out of the fluffy duck-themed towel you’ve wrapped her in. bath time is usually after bed, but someone got into the paint pots at nursery school and managed to get blotches of blue streaked through her hair and under her fingernails. “care to elaborate sweetheart?”

suguru taps the wooden sauce spoon against the side of the pot and swipes his hands on a nearby tea towel before allowing them to rest on his hips, look of faux irritation settling on the contours of his face and slopes of his features. thin brows draw together like closed gates in the middle of his forehead — the expression earning airy light and squealed laughter from your baby girl.

“nuh uhhh! not my boy-fend!” she babbles her way through the big girl word, missing a few syllables here and there, but geto still grins with pride — happily leaning forward to press enthusiastic kisses to his little angel’s damp forehead. “no boy-fend papa!

bouncing your daughter slightly, you cock your hip out to hold her weight and cheekily roll your eyes. “such a daddy’s girl, lying to him already? he’ll let you get away with anything if you keep that up,” though you muster up a pout to rival the toddler’s, the uncanny resemblance warming the cockles or your husband’s heart, your tone is playful and adoring — it’s lilt full of love for the baby girl you made together. you pinch her chubby cheek, waggling it from side to side as more of her childlike laughter tangles with the scent of pasta in the air. “we bumped into the fujioka boy and his mother at the gates this morning, he held her hand all the way up to the classroom. it was quite cute. you had to be there, love.”

“i’m sure,” he responds, gentle mirth and protectiveness swirling in dark framed eyes.

you relay the information to your husband as though it’s hot gossip fresh from the press, whispering over your dark-haired daughter’s head not so secretly. even with the hair and eyes to match suguru’s, she’s still just as much your carbon copy as she is his — he tends to say all of her spirit comes from you, not to mention the way she laughs and smiles.

shaking her head between you, both — your baby chimes in brightly. “noooo mama!! boys are gross, i don’ hold hands with boys.”

this time suguru manoeuvres to pinch her other chubby cheek, clicking his tongue as he does so. “not even papa?” he pretends to pout, crouching down with his hands on his knees to coo into her sweet little face.

“nuhhh, papa isn’t gross!! papa is my favourite boy!” she quickly tacks on with a dribbly smile.

“that’s right. i’ll be the only boy in your life always, just you and i princess,” your husband reaffirms with a firm shake of his head and presses a promise in the form of a kiss to your daughter’s nose. her chubby little hands, still wet from bath time, smack either side of suguru’s face and keep him close — close enough for her to plant a soggy smooch onto his forehead affectionately. a wet kiss only a father could love. “that settles it, i’m no longer sharing my kisses. papa says no boyfriends until you’re ninety.”

once your two loves are done sharing their candied affections, you seat your daughter on the edge of the kitchen table to allow geto the room to finish up with dinner. the comforting symphony of baby babbles and kitchen utensils clanking and food boiling fills the steamy air, it makes you smile. it feels like home. “oh come on suguru, they’re only three. don’t you think it’s the tiniest bit adorable?” you say with a sing-songy voice, entertaining both your little one and her father.“they even share their animal crackers during break time and crayons when it’s time to colour, one of the supervisors told me.”

with his back now to you as he stirs through the pasta sauce one final time, you hardly miss the way suguru’s shoulders tense at the mention of the little boy your girl has taken a liking to. he wouldn’t dare frown about it in front of her, what upsets daddy upsets baby too. that’s why he’s always smiling for her, and you find the man’s subtle jealousy endearing. it’s always supposed to be suguru and his princess, with no room for anyone else ( aside from you, of course )

“nope, no boyfriends. no amount of cuteness can convince me otherwise.” voice falling tight and flat, suguru reaches into the cupboards for plates and bowls to dish up his lovingly prepared home cooked meal, slamming them into place at the table with a little less patience than before.

the idea of some… little boy chasing after his daughter’s heart? over his dead body.

“boy-fends are gross!” but your daughter is forever a daddy’s girl, furrowing her brow and crossing her tiny arms in an act of defiance — supporting her papa’s cause. boyfriends are bad!

fuelling her excitement and even more support for papa — food is served shortly by your husband, who plates up as best as he can with toddler safe dinnerware. you adjust your little girl into her high chair at the table, giggling to yourself softly when she cranes her neck to keep an eye on suguru. “does that mean papa’s gross? he’s technically mama’s boyfriend.”

“husband, love, there’s a difference.”

three plates of hot, aromatic spaghetti are organised in a table — each a domestic reminder of the family suguru geto has been blessed with. in that moment, he thinks he would be happy if he spent the rest of his life as just the three of you. briefly his mind wonders to setting a fourth place at the table in a decade or so’s time, once his daughter truly is old enough to date. the very thought makes him feel ill.

round, doe eyes dart between you and suguru as you take your seats either side of your darling daughter at the table — she mimics you both with fumbling little fingers that reach for her baby fork and concentrates as she attempts to repeat your husband’s words. “can i have a husbsband-love?”

you laugh and kiss her cheek, helping her to gather a bite of pasta on the full end of her fork. “husband. just husband, my love. make sure you blow on your food please!” she follows your instructions with a comical air, cheeks puffing and breath huffing while you explain why her father is a second away from blowing his top. “good girl. husband’s aren’t for babies, baby. and i think papa might not like it if you got one now.”

“if you got one ever!” suguru interjects, eyes narrowing while he fights with his lips to avoid a scowl. “the answer is still no, princess. no husbands and no boyfriends until papa is old, cold and in the ground.”

now that your hands are free, you grab the nearest tea towel and wind it up in your grip — launching its tail end at geto as though to swat at him. he jumps in surprise and your daughter shrieks in amusement as she begins babbling again. “don worry, papa!. fujioka is no my boy-fend!!” she says over food in her mouth and happy tummy. geto wipes over her face again. she’ll definitely need another bath later. “hasegawa is!!”

the pair of you share a look and this time, you really think suguru might just throw in the towel.

how could he compete with pre-school love and paint pots shared over playtime gossip?

“two boyfriends? oh god, love… i think need some air.”

3K notes · View notes

fairy-angel222 · 7 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃? 𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ⋆⭒˚.⋆༄

—gojo satoru x fem! reader

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ your husband’s already given you two children, one more wouldn’t hurt right?

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ cw: fluff, smut, breeding, praise, petnames, squirting, impregnation, dirty talk

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ a/n: requested by anon, i loved writing this so much

Eight years.

You and Gojo had been married for eight years. Having met each other in high school, him being the one to get down on one knee the second you both had finished college. He knew you were the one for him ages ago.

That you were his from the moment he met you.

Some would say that you two were living the dream life, despite how young you both were. Gojo never hiding the fact that he was willing to spoil you day by night.

He loved you more than anything. And he never failed to show that through the many acts of affection. His favorite one being buried deep inside you as he whispered the sweet nothings into your ear.

The sex drive of your marriage was high, that was a fact. It was how you ended up with two children in the first place. Two girls who looked exactly like their dad, not even bothering to try with your genes. They had his complexion, his hair, his overly beautiful eyes. They had everything of his.

When you had your first daughter, most people in your life assumed she was an accident. Assumed that Gojo had simply “forgotten” to pull out.

They didn’t know how noisy you’d gotten that night, holding onto your husband tightly as you begged him to fill you up. Begged him to put a baby in you. You wanted to feel all of him.

Your second child was all him. Him begging to give you another one. To pump you nice and full with one more baby. And who were you to say no? You two were building a family and you loved it.

Four and two.

Those were your daughters’ ages, beautiful girls who looked almost identical to each other, obviously. You liked to call them and Gojo triplets. And it made his heart swell knowing that they were something you had both created. Together. Even though they clearly had a favorite already.

His daughters clung to him every second that he was around them. Refusing to let daddy go as your youngest sat in his lap with an adorable grin. Giggling softly as her big sister tied scrunchies into the soft bed of white hair.

“Mommy look! Daddy’s all pretty now,” she clapped, clearly proud of her work as she pulled lightly at the short ponytails.

You watched Gojo grumble under his breath, unable to hide his smile as he looked up at your standing frame. Cheeks tinted red when you laughed softly. “He is baby, he’s very pretty now. Looks just like you two.” Leaning down to peck both their cheeks with a smile of your own.

You yelped softly as you were pulled down, sat on the other side of your husband’s lap as he smirked. “You know who’s just as perfect as you two? Your mommy.”

Your older daughter hummed, cuddling into your lap with a nod. “You are very pretty mommy. Wanna look like you when i get big.”

You couldn’t find the words. As much as you knew that was impossible, it warmed your heart to the core. Especially when your other daughter nodded in agreement, fitting herself on you beside her sister. “You’re very very pretty mommy.”

“Thanks my babies.” You smiled warmly, an arm wrapped around each of them as Gojo wrapped one around you. “Now, you owe me a little kiss too.” He pouted. You giggled, pressing your lips to his in a short kiss before pulling away.

Neither of you wanting to hear the exaggerated ewww that escaped from your daughters’ mouths when you kissed for even a second too long.

You liked to think that you got lucky to have such sweet children. The kind that makes others actually want a child of their own.

—

You loved your life. Everyone could see that. But it had been way too long since you and Gojo were able to spend some alone time together.

It wasn’t your idea, it was his. And you couldn’t not give in when you allowed yourself to think about it. A weekend all to yourselves with complete privacy. A chance for you both to relax.

It was Friday, and you rung the doorbell to your dear friend Nanami’s house, a childish grin on Gojo’s face as he waited for the door to swing open.

Nanami raised a brow upon seeing you two, a cup of coffee in his hand as if you’d interrupted his peaceful morning.

“Uncle Kentooo!!” Two high pitched voices rung out. Little legs running to hug the blond man by his own. Nanami’s eyes widened momentarily, steadying the mug in his hand away from the two latching on to him.

A small smile gracing his face when they grinned up at him. “Well hello you two.”

Gojo grabbed the cup from his friend when your daughters started making upsie signals with their hands. Nanami picking them both up on either side of his torso, turning sharply on his heel as he asked them about their week.

“If that isn’t the sweetest thing I don’t know what is.” You giggled, Gojo’s hand on the small of your back as you brought in two pink princess bags. “So.. Kento-”

“We need a favor.” Gojo was quick to cut to the chase, Nanami not bothering to even watch him as he let small hands play in his hair. His emotions far from the bored expression on his face.

“I’ll watch them.”

“Thank you so much Kento. My parents will be coming for them tonight.” You smiled, the man only nodding with a hidden shrug. “You’re just lucky they’re nothing like him.” Pointing his head in the direction of the man sat next to you.

“Hey!” Gojo gasped in faux offense, “I’m awesome thank you very much.”

Nanami only scoffed. And you and Gojo stood up to give your girls a final hug and kiss to their foreheads. “We’ll see you on Sunday okay my darlings? Grandma and grandpa will come for you later yeah? Mommy and Daddy love you so much.”

“Uh huh, bye mommy, bye daddy!” They sung together, something else that they tended to do from time to time.

As you walked out of Nanami’s house, ready to go home and pack a few clothes, your head tilted. Confusion evident on your face when you looked up at Gojo. “Doesn’t he have work today?”

“Yeah but he adores them. He’d skip work everyday if he had to.”

It was true, Nanami was one of your biggest supports. He was always willing to take them off your hands for even an hour. He hated to admit it but he loved them like they were his own. He truly thought of himself as an uncle.

You found it adorable how serious he was until he was sure you left. Allowing himself to give into their tea parties and makeovers. He was one of the people you trusted most.

You knew that your daughters were in good hands for the day, especially since Nobara and Yuji would be there. Their inner children coming out whenever they were around your daughters.

—

Gojo had taken you to a hot spring resort nearly two hours away. One of the best that he could find.

You were in awe the second you stepped into the place. Never getting used to the amount of money Gojo was willing to spend on you.

The room was huge, and to say it was gorgeous was an understatement. But it paled in comparison to the view. The large steaming pools which were adorned with large marble sloped rocks and tall trees. The whole resort enclosed within mountains which seemed to touch the clouds. The sun setting behind beds of luscious green as the sky glimmered pink and orange.

It was perfect.

Snd the first thing you did after settling in was head into the heated waters. Breathing out contented sigh as you sunk neck down. Allowing the warmth to calm every last one of your nerves. The tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulder slowing subsiding as you leaned your head back onto one of the large rocks.

“This is amazing.” You smiled, blinking your eyes open to look at your husband, who kept complaining that the area he was in was too hot. Not allowing himself to go any further than his legs until you pulled him into a hug.

Letting the water flow in place at your shoulders. Ignoring the over dramatic faces that your husband was making at the “heat”, simply resting your head in his neck as you relaxed in each other’s arms.

—

The tv blared ever so slightly as you cuddled into Gojo’s side. The coolness of the room unable to beat the warmth that still stuck to your skin. You had just got off a call with the girls. They were at their grandparents’ house. No doubt having way too much dessert before bed. Though they’d most likely get to stay up late watching cartoons.

“You know..” Gojo started, his fingers trailing soft shapes on your skin, “We should have another one.”

You lifted your head off of his chest, “I don’t think they’ll sell us drinks right now love.”

“I’m not talking about drinks.” Your stomach fluttered when Gojo turned you over, his knee in between your thigh as his lips ghosted over your ear. “I’m talking about putting another baby in you.” Allowing it to brush over your clothed clit.

Your lips parted in a whimper when he kissed down your neck. Swiftly pulling off your shirt to kiss at your chest, taking each of your nipples into his mouth while he fondled the other. Your hips bucking up into him when he began grinding his hips slowly into you.

You shivered when his lips touched your belly. Peppering it with small kisses as he hummed against your skin. “Let me make your belly swell.”

You moaned softly, nodding your head eagerly. “P-please.”

“Hmm, gonna give me a third one sweet girl? Gonna make us a pretty family of five?” He husked, kisses getting more aggressive as he trailed back up. His cock twitching at the little whimpers that you failed to contain when you made a noise of agreement.

“Mhm, ‘m gonna give you another one. Wanna give you another one.”

“Yeah?” He breathed, looking for that final bit of confirmation before his lips smashed onto yours. The kiss hard and needy as he worked on removing the rest of your clothes. His fingers dipping down between your folds with a groan. “You’re so soaked f’ me pretty.”

He ran his hand up your slit teasingly, rubbing tiny circles onto your clit making you whine out. “Toruu, no teasing.”

He chuckled, his thick cock prodding at your entrance as he lifted your legs to wrap around his waist. Your hands instinctively draping around his shoulders so that he was pressed into you. A loud moan sounding through the room as he sank into you.

You let a small mewl escape your lips with every movement of his hips. His thrusts gradually increasing in pace till he was hammering into you. Pulling his length almost all the way out before slamming it back into you.

Bright blue eyes met yours, your breathing getting heavier as your back arched off the bed. Nails digging into the skin of his back as you were rocked back and forth. Your husband’s thick cock stretching you out so deliciously as it repeatedly kissed your sweet spot. The position allowing him so deep inside you that he bulged lightly in your stomach.

“Toru, nngh— so good. Ahh.” You were getting noisy. Your cute babbles mixing with the loud echoes of his skin hitting yours. The mere force of his loving making it twice as loud.

You could only moan shakily as you pulled him even closer. Drool covered lips parting in sweet cries when your nails scratched down his back. “O-oh fuck. Ahhh.”

“Taking me so well. My pretty little wifey, can’t wait to see you carrying my child again. Fuck,” He grunted, squelching noises growing louder as your sticky pussy leaked onto your thighs and his. The whole roomed filled with your lewd sounds of pleasure as you both fell into each other. “Gonna fill you up real good baby. Stuff that messy pussy so full of my cum and watch that belly swell.”

Your legs trembled at his words, your hold on him tightening as the rhythmic slapping clouded your brain. Your vision blurring with tears as your stomach tightened. Every nerve along your walls being set on fire as you were fucked like you’d disappear in any moment.

Gojo’s sinking to elbows at the sides of your head for you to cry into his broad chest when you felt yourself nearing your high. “Toruu— so good Toruu, so g-good.”

“Hmm you’re close f’me,” he groaned, your pussy holding him snug as your body shook. “Shit, gonna make you a mama of three. Gonna give it to ya so deep— f-fuckk. Look at me when you cum.” He whispered lowly, your glassy eyes peeling open to blink up at him dumbly.

“Nngh— ‘m, a-ahhh, Toru ‘m so c-close.” You couldn’t think. Your brain unable to process anything but him and the way his cock was fucking into you so good. Your thoughts blanking out as you were engulfed by an indescribable pleasure. Mouth opened in a final cry as you fell off the edge.

“That’s it. Cum f’ me baby. Make a fucking mess on my cock. There you go— just like that.” His thrusts never slowed as a high pitched scream bubbled in your throat. Your body trembling uncontrollably beneath him as you let go. Sopping pussy gushing all over him just the way he liked it. His thrusts never losing their pace as you squirted with a continuous string of moans.

Your husband’s thrusts got sloppy. Head falling into the crook of your neck as he unknowingly slowed down. His thrusts hard and deep as he moaned into your delicate skin. Finding it adorable how your little mewls began to match his pace.

“Love this pussy so fucking much. Could pump her full of my cum every fucking day. Shit— here it comes baby.” His slow thrusts synced with his words, lips capturing yours hungrily as he buried himself deep inside you. Tip sat at your cervix’s entrance when his cock twitched. Spurts after spurts of the the thick substance flooding your insides with heat.

Gojo pulled away from you, a small string of saliva connecting your lips to each other’s. You stayed clung to him like a koala to a tree. Tiredly smiling up at him when he pecked your nose. “If we keep having children every two years we’ll end up with fifty grandkids.”

He chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. “So, what are we gonna name her?”

“Her?”

“We only have girls so far baby, i don’t think it’s in my blood to have a boy.” He joked, both of you laughing as you thought of any possible truth of his words.

“I wouldn’t mind a boy,” You sighed softly, using your finger to brush away the loose strands of hair that fell over his eyes. “I think he’d look just like you.”

Gojo’s hand rested on your belly, using his thumb to rub over it softly. “I’d love either, only cause i’d know that i made them with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I love you so much.”

“ And I love you more than you could ever imagine sweet girl.”

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru #jjk x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo satoru fluff

7K notes · View notes