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celestie0 · 10 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer.

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was.

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal.

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far.

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.”

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft.

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji.

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin.

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more?

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story.

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was.

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad.

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it.

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.”

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them.

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood.

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly.

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you.

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up.

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them.

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena.

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast.

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up.

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them.

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet.

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off.

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight.

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue.

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath.

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm.

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet.

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you?

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it.

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty.

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to.

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue.

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you.

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.”

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough.

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad.

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable.

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest.

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him.

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking.

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

@joemama-2 @erencvlt @pickuptruck01 @hanakotateyama @nuronhe

@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

@aliidarling @ninjaturtletoes @lavender-hvze @lanadelreylover11 @chckn-pi

@satoryaa @gojodickbig @v4mpieres @reinam00n @sleepyyammy

@haikomaiko @tbzzluvr @myahfig4 @arabelluhhh4200 @bloopsstuff

@nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf @badbclub @blackunecorn @geniejunn @n0tviv

@verystrawberryhottub @iheartshopping @peonysfordayz @dreamsxmerci @aishies-stuff

@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

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im-too-emotionally-involved · 1 year ago

Text

And Then It Went Dark

It wasn’t the first time he’s done this. Erebos Ormskirk had been absorbing light for years now. And it’s slowly been making him sick.

The first time it happened was a year ago during an ordinary performance. Nothing out of the usual, Lightstealing for the tourists, his wife weaving light into the mix of shadow and shimmer. And then pain. Searing, burning pain that started in his hands and spread to his chest so fast he had little time to brace himself.

He didn’t fall, didn’t falter, but that was the day Erebos experienced true fear.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second time it happened was worse. Erebos was working with Kieran on Lightstealing techniques just hours before, and he was sitting down and reading a book on Oppakin history when the pain happened again. This time was different. This time he did falter. Blinding light blurring his vision, he tried to stand but he couldn't move. Pain drowning out all reason, he tried to yell, he tried to scream, but no noise escaped his lips. He was stuck in crippling pain and there was no one there to help him.

It lasted little more than an hour, and he passed out five minutes in, but unlike the first time, this wasn’t something he could dismiss as stress and fatigue.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t know what this is Mr. Ormskirk. You probably just need to rest,” When Erebos brought himself to ask for a doctor, he didn't expect a ‘You just need to rest’, “This sounds like an over intake of light. Have you maybe been taking in more light than the Lightrocks can hold?”

Color drained from his face as realization sunk in. Every time he absorbed light, he had been killing himself. “Oh yes. That must be it. Good day Dr. Marrow. Thank you for everything.” Erebos stood up, signaling that it was time for the doctor to go.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Months later, and it had only gotten worse. Blinding blackouts had become a weekly occurrence, and he’d lost control of his power more than once. He’d sit down in a room, and it would go dark or he would try to Lightsteal and it would blow out of proportion.

He was becoming dangerous.

He hadn’t told anyone about his loss of control, and the doctor was the only one who knew about the searing light running through his body. He did not want the public to know. He did not want his family to know.

He had stopped leaving his house in fear that people would see. He had started neglecting work and family. He had stopped using his power because every time he had, it made things worse.

Fear and pain were growing together, and helplessness was joining the pair.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Erebos, you haven’t been present, and rumors are beginning to spread. I don’t know why you’ve been locking yourself in your room like an adolescent, but I do not appreciate it.” Nerezah was upset and he couldn’t reassure her. The truth wouldn’t make things better and neither could a lie. He just had to endure her wrath.

“Nere, I have no explanation I wish to share with you at this moment.” The look on her face was enough to bring him to his knees and beg for forgiveness. But they were not in that kind of relationship, and he had a reputation to uphold. She turned away fuming and shut his office door harder than necessary.

He sighed. He did not sign up for this today and his headache was bad enough already. And then it got worse. Pain seized him by the throat and panic rushed in. His whole body screamed give up, give up, give up. And he did.

Darkness rushed into the room. He didn’t know how because he didn't absorb the light, darkness just formed.

And then everything started shaking. Thing after thing came crashing to the floor and he didn’t know what because there was no light.

He was trying to find the door to get to his family when the floor collapsed, and he fell through.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay so this is a little backstory for the book I'm writing, and it was actually so fun to write.

#I dont outright say it but absorbing light is basically like doing drugs #and buddy is gonna die bc of it #kieran is his son and nerezah is his wife and he has a daughter too but he doesnt care about her #lol not elaila getting neglected #<\3 #but yeah um this was the downfall of bliss #super fun yeah yeah yeah

0 notes

madamechrissy · 5 months ago

Text

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, teasing and eventually violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- Oral (Female recieving) fingering, sexual tension, snorting cocaine off bodies lmaoo, coke lips just a lil, mentions of violence and mafia mentions- WC-6.9k

Based on Stripclub Owner Sukuna IDK how many parts this will be, maybe six? That mobster art in the banner is by Sketch B on X- CHECK it- LINK

<<<Part One - Playlist - Masterlist- Part Three>>>

Part Two

You’re yawning as you get your little boy ready to sleep, and your good friend and now babysitter Miwa comes in, a pretty smile on her face as she walks in and sees Touma, your little son yanking on your hair then. “Ow, hey now!”

You’re all laughing as you disentangle your hair, huffing a bit. “Sowwy, mama.” He says so cute, and you melt then.

“It’s why mommy wears a bun.” You tap his little button nose, earning a little scrunch of his nose, and then he looks at Miwa, opening his little hands.

“Miwa!” She giggles, getting down on her knees and opening her arms, he goes to hug her then as you get everything ready for the night.

“Are you sure it’s fine? I swear I feel so awful asking you…” You murmur, you’d just gotten a funds transfer that was far too much from Sukuna labled ‘sitter money’ which was hundreds of dollars.

“No, please, it's fine.”

“Um… is two hundred good?” You ask, as Sukuna sent another note saying ‘for you to eat something - you’ll need energy’ which made you blush insanely, memories from him yesterday making you overheat.

“Two hundred, what? That’s too much.” She says with a frown. “It’s one night, like a hundred?”

“Miwa…”

“Girl, I’m not taking two hundred for it.”

“It’s not even from me.” You show her the text then, and she has a blush of her own on her cheeks.

“He did that!?”

“Yeah… so please take it, literally it’s not from me, and I promise, he’s got plenty. Clearly..” She sighs, smiling a bit then as she studies you.

“You really like him, hmm?”

“It’s intense, Miwa.” You murmur softly, looking as your little boy is laughing and tapping on his tablet. “He makes me feel really pretty.”

“Oh baby.” She hugs you then, and you cling to her tightly. “You’re beautiful, I tell you that all the time.”

“I know, and thank you but like, the stretch marks that… he trashed on me for, Mr. Sukuna thinks they’re so sexy.” Your voice is just a breathy whisper, you don’t know how much Touma may or may not hear or know yet.

“Ugh, I’m so glad you left him.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes, shivering in disgust at the thought of your ex, it’s a common response to anyone with sense. “But Toji is kind of related?”

“Loosely. He’s different, I promise, than any of them.”

“I’ll trust it, but jesus the Zenin family is no joke. Just be careful.” You nod as you continue to get a bag together, blushing when you grab pajamas, you don’t know if you’re going to even use pajamas.

Sukuna did things to you that have never been done just existing, what’s terrifying is you know it’s probably a hookup, but after two years of nothing, even that sounds so good. But you’re scared that you’ll catch feelings fast with him, just his presence alone is intoxicating, as much of a drug as any of them push.

You certainly weren’t telling Miwa that.

Sukuna seems night and day from your ex, Naoya, as if they couldn’t be two more different men, despite the clear mafia ties. Something about Sukuna screams that he wants to protect you, and as independent as you are lately by being forced to be, something about him taking care of you was heady and addicting. You can’t stand how much you want it, want more.

“You’ve got those dickmatized eyes.” Miwa says with a sigh and you shush her, as she giggles.

“Not even… I… Miwa!”

“I’m kidding.” She giggles then, shaking her head. “The girls will be very happy to hear you’re meeting someone.”

“Don’t tell our friends yet, what if this ends… with nothing?” You murmur, and she shakes her head, blue hair falling softly.

“Look already, he's more thoughtful. You have fun, and shit if he wants to give me two hundred more to stay another night I will. Easy money for me.”

“Miwa!” She’s laughing and you can’t help but laugh too, before nervously biting your lip. “I feel guilty leaving, it’s one thing to make money, but it seems so selfish to just go do this.”

“Please don’t, he’ll have fun. Won’t you?” She asks him then, as he comes out with his tablet, slicing at fruit rapidly.

“Mommy go have fun!” You blink back tears then. “Mommy should smile, Miwa, smile!”

“She should smile.” Miwa’s hair falls over her brow as she picks him up, propping him on her hip, and your lip trembles a bit at just how sweet he is, before your teeth clamp down on it.

“I love you both, I swear. Touma baby, Mommy will be back tomorrow, will you tell me all the fun that you have?” You ask, feeling emotions catch in your throat, this would be the first night away from him since you all have been on your own.

“Mhmm!” He gives you a big kiss on your cheek, and you giggle at him then, but as you’re heading into your big old SUV, you tense when you see the number, pressing answer and sighing.

“What do you want.” You bite out, trying to sound firm despite the nerves eating you alive.

“That’s not a very nice greeting, sweetheart, don’t you miss me?” His voice makes you sick to your stomach, you tremble when you start your car, and he’s laughing. “Still got that old thing, I can hear it.”

“Well I own it, and it’s mine. So yes. What do you even want?” You murmur, and hear the dark chuckle of Naoya Zenin.

It’s disgusting, even his laugh.

“Just wondering how my son is.”

“Now you care? Sure didn’t on his birthday.” You hear his scoff.

“You’re such a bitch, as if you’d let me see him.” He mutters, tone changing from the cloying fake one to fully disgusting.

“I tried to let you, even after it all, it’s been your choice.” You gulp down some water that you’ve brought as you sit at the turning lane, blinker ticking loudly in the quiet car, as your heart races.

“Well maybe I miss you and Touma, did you think of that? Oh, I just bet you miss me.”

“I’m good.”

“Ha, you say that, but I remember things.” His voice takes on a purr now, you can almost see those narrow brown eyes, his malicious grin, how had you ever fallen for someone like that?

“Remember what?” You ask, voice harsh as you remember the last time you all had been together, after he’d cheated again. You’d been so fucked up from him you’d wanted to please him, to make him desire you, but there was no pleasure in it, shit Naoya himself had never been one to pleasure you.

Selfish in every single area including sex, you think you got off more from Sukuna fingering you for a moment than your entire relationship, just the way his ruby eyes looked at you was like a drug. The way he’d kissed you, how he wanted your pleasure, and did all this for a night. It was a million times more than you’d ever had with Naoya.

“You don’t remember me inside you, sweetheart?” He cooes, but you’re shivering in disgust at the memory.

“Sure I do, I’m good.”

“You act as if you could do better, as if you were even good enough for me.” There it goes, you think, while you’re driving down the highway toward the club, odd that it feels so comfortable so quickly.

“Yeah, if I’m not then why are you calling me, hmm?” You ask then, hearing his scoff, smiling as practically picture him losing his shit.

“Who’d want you after the kid but me? You act like you’re the same bitch you were when we met.”

“Lots of people, because guess what? I’m still hot, so fuck you.” He scoffs as you’re giggling.

“The fuck!?”

“Mmhmm, I’m still very hot. And if you don’t think so, go knock up some other poor girl I guess, then down her for the changes a baby makes to her body. Because I’m not it anymore.”

“You little-”

“I’ll block this number if you call for anything personal again. Our agreement states you should be talking through our app.”

“Yeah, really ya think I’ll listen to that shit? Why don’t you admit it, how much you miss me?”

“Because I don’t. Anyway, I have work.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” He demands in his slick tone, one that makes your tummy lurch.

“Bartending.”

“Hah, you were only smart enough to look pretty and blink those lashes, back to it hmm?”

“Didn’t you just say I’m unattractive, how contradictory are you?”

“You-”

“Goodbye.” You hang up the phone, shutting your eyes for a moment and gripping it tightly in your hand, shaking off the images in your mind, in just a week Sukuna, and shit even Toji as a friend, have made you feel better than you had since the split.

Getting cheated on back to back was not easy on you, but you feel like you can shove it all back and just breathe. You’re walking into the club then, seeing Gojo with a fellow tall, dark haired man, he’s beautiful actually you muse as you walk past them, Sukuna and Toji to the dressing room. Sukuna had already laid eyes on you though, and as you’re getting undressed he walks in.

All the girls scatter, his ruby eyes directly on you, and you’re trembling just a bit when he frowns. “What’s wrong, brat?”

“Brat?” You tease softly, blinking a bit when he steps closer.

“You look upset. Who do I need to kill?” You almost laugh, but he raises a brow, god how are this man’s eyebrows attractive!? You sigh then, stepping closer, naked aside from your panties, and you feel his eyes dart to your bare breasts.

“I’m much happier now.” You murmur, he sighs then, a big hand on your waist, taking you over, thumb slipping against the swell of your lower breast.

“Yeah, why?” He mutters, so gruffly, already throbbing hard under his slacks, as he thinks of everything he wants to do.

“Because you’re touching me.” Your vulnerability almost breaks him then, his lips parted in shock, he squeezes tighter, leaning down and cupping your face.

“Did you get the money for your sitter?” He murmurs, and you nod shyly.

“It was too much, but I’m sure she appreciates it.” Your hand comes to grip his strong wrist, heart beating erratically in your chest now.

“And did you eat?”

“Not yet.” You giggle, softly, he sighs then, lips a breath away.

“I’m not fucking kidding, you’ll need the energy.” His words and his tone make your mind wander, just how would it be, to have Sukuna inside you?

“Oh yeah?”

He smirks before chuckling, throwing his head back. “You’re cute, brat, oh yeah.”

“Hey!” You sigh now, stepping back as he eyes your breasts, and you pop your little tassels out of your bag, eyeing him then, watching him drink the sight in. “Wanna help?”

“Shit.” You kill him. Sukuna takes them and presses them, as the little sticky adhesive suctions on, but he’s cupping your breasts in huge hands, as one of the girls, Candy walks in, pausing. “What do you want?” His voice is so terse, it’s just nothing like the man that just asked if you got the hundreds he sent for a sitter and your lunch.

“Um… Mr. Sukuna… could you help me with mine?” She asks then, yanking her tassels off, bare breasted. She makes you tense a bit.

Naoya had cheated over and over, but you and Sukuna were nothing yet, shit you’d just sucked him in his office so far, that’s it. And maybe a hook up tonight? So you can’t be upset if he wishes to, you just look away nervously, leaning forward in the mirror to adjust your makeup and pulling away as he eyes her, so clearly irritated by her presence.

“Ask Toji or something.” He grumbles, before turning you back to him, your eyes glimmer then, with some moisture, making him stutter. “What’s wrong now, shit?”

“No, it’s… your…” You hug him then, making him freeze, as your pretty little body is against him, your breasts so soft on him, he wants to tear you apart, put you back together, make you his. His hands stall though, unsure as you look up at him with tears down your pretty cheeks.

Candy leaves as Sukuna’s mouth opens and shuts. “Brat, what is it?”

“You m-make me feel really… um… it’s stupid…”

“Out with it.”

“Sexy? Pretty? Wanted?” He blinks in confusion then, how could you ever not be, especially with the amount of attention you get here? “I’m not used to this.”

“You know you’re pretty, just… shut up, stop that shit.” He’s swiping at your eyes though, as you elicit emotions that make him insane. “Why’d you feel like you’re not, that brain fried from your kid or something!?”

“No… I just… shitty past.” He sees it then, you’re so hurt from something, and anyone who ever made you feel that way!?

Sukuna would take him the fuck out.

“Whoever says you’re not is trying to fuck with you, fuck your head up, so ignore that shit.” He says softly almost, still a little gruff, cupping your face then. “I have excellent taste, trust mine hmm?”

“Yeah.” Your lip trembles, and Sukuna can’t stop the word from spilling from his lips then.

“Beautiful.”

“I… huh?”

“Shut it.” He kisses you then, and you’re falling against him, pressed on the counter where he can see your back and ass in the mirror, tempting him just as much as your pretty breasts, he moans as he steps between your thighs.

“Did you say beautiful?”

“Shush it, fuck you’re annoying hmm?” You just giggle a bit, and the action does something odd to his heart, god you do something to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna.”

“Just Sukuna, shit.” He kisses you again before taking a breath, eyeing your body up and down slowly. “Wanna sit on my lap during this meeting? You may… have to have some coke on your body.”

“On me!?”

“Yeah but I’d like you there? Don’t smile like that, you’re too excited.” He says with a glare, you can’t stop it though. The way Sukuna makes you feel, even if this is just you two hooking up, it’s too addicting.

“Which outfit should I wear?” You hold up a few, when Sukuna picks a sexy little red number.

“Turn, I’ll snap it up.” You do as he says, he brushes your hair off the back of your neck over one of your shoulders, eyeing you in the mirror, when he’s done snapping it his fingers trail down your spine, sending shivers down it. His hands then grip your waist, pulling your back against him, and you feel him, hard and insistent against the small of your back under his dress pants.

“You like this outfit?” You manage to tease softly, he exhales then, trailing his big hands down your shoulders, then brushing the sides of your breasts, making your nipples taut under these tassels.

“What do you think?” He says gruffly, before stepping back, letting you both take a breath, he leans forward, palms on the counter, nipping at your shoulder with his teeth, making you gasp a bit. “Keep thinking how good you fucking taste, wanna bury my face inside you.”

“Sukuna…” Your voice is a whine, pathetic, your head falling to the side, as his palm now presses on your tummy. “You do that?”

“Do I do that?” He chuckles against your neck now. “Yes I do that, don’t tell me whatever shit ex you had didn’t.” You just blush now, looking down, and his brows raise in surprise. “And how long were you together?”

“Four years.”

“Not once.” You shake your head, and he scoffs, finger drifting just across your red lace, touching you over the material, finding you drenched, making him moan at the heat he feels. You’re soaking his fingers, turning to look up at him, your eyes dilated and lidded. “You want me to drink you up?”

“Y-yes. I do.” You admit softly, he chuckles as he studies the color decorating your skin, brushing his thumb along your cheek so overheated. Before Naoya you’ve had guys do it, and of course it felt good, but you imagine Sukuna will be this entire other level.

“You won’t ever want me to leave once I do.” You hear the vulnerability in his voice, making you pause before he backs away, clearing his throat.

As if you’d leave him if he was yours, does he not know what kind of man he is to you? How you feel? Well… no, not yet, you’re swallowing it all down, it’s new and it’s scary, and…

“First, be a good girl and let’s do this meeting, yeah?” His gruff words make you focus once more.

“Yes Sir.”

“Shit don’t say that.” He scowls, turning to adjust his raging hard cock up in his waistband, and your giggle earns a deeper glare. “Keep acting up.”

“I won’t! Promise.” He doesn’t give you the smile until you’ve already stepped in front of him, but it’s quite a dopey little smile, as he watches your ass bounce in the little outfit. There’s this possessiveness he feels he can’t explain, he wants to wipe out anyone who looks at you, and he barely knows you.

He can’t wait to have you cumming all over his face, can’t wait to drink your pretty pussy up until you’re a writhing fucking mess under him, he wonders, do you squirt or do you just drip? Has anyone gotten you off good enough before? Sukuna would fuck every thought out of your mind anyway, until it’s just him, because damned if that’s not all that’s in his head lately.

You both step out into the heady club, the scent of women’s perfume and men’s cologne mixing with cannabis and cigars, along with some fragrant incense burning somewhere. It’s smoky from the little fog machines, the lights strobing just so, highlighting everyone dancing, laughing, lounging. But all Sukuna can see or sense is you.

Even your scent, so sweet and intoxicating, is it fuck your arousal he could damn near feel it, when you next to him, now, looking up just so, your face so pretty it’s damn near irritating to him, the music thrumming through until it’s pulsating both of your bodies. “Where to, Mr. Sukuna?”

“I said to call me just Sukuna, brat.”

He bets you’re blushing, even if he can’t actually see it. “Sukuna.”

God his name from those lips makes his cock throb, how will he focus on business like this!?

“Right in the VIP, c’mon.” He leads you in, where Toji has Candy on his lap, she scowls openly at you until Sukuna catches her, suddenly her scowl disappears, you can’t help but be a little amused.

You recognize Gojo, who is leaned back with an ankle crossed over a knee, grinning up at you with those insane blue eyes, even in the dark they’re ridiculous, you can’t help but smile back, he’s been very sweet to you so far. “Hey sweets, come sit on daddy’s lap, hmm?”

“She sure the fuck won’t, and you’re not daddy.” Sukuna growls, but you’re giggling just a bit as a couple more girls come in, and Sukuna sits next to Toji on one couch, across from Satoru and his friend. Satoru pouts at you.

“He’s mean, isn’t he?” The man next to him snorts, and takes your hand, bending over and kissing it, making you melt a bit.

“Suguru Geto.” He says, you smile before Sukuna has you yanked down firmly on his lap, you laugh a little breathless as you tell Suguru your name, and he watches amusedly when Sukuna wraps an arm around your hips.

“See how greedy he is with her?” Gojo says, but he’s soon amused by another one of the dancers coming by, handing him a drink. “Ooh, thank you.”

“That’s the girliest drink I’ve seen, little bitch drink.” Sukuna grumbles, Satoru sticks his tongue out, sipping on the pink concoction.

“Mmm, and I hear you’re already the star of the club, hmm?” Suguru says your name as a girl hands him a drink, and you shake your head nervously.

“She sure is, stop being shy, doll.” Toji says, tucking a lock of your hair back, before Sukuna glares at him and he chuckles. “Not that he lets her do much dancing, really.”

“Shut it Toji. Business time.”

“Boring.” Satoru leans back in his seat, long legs spread, and sipping his drink as Suguru leans forward, while a dancer lets him snort a line right off her thigh, lapping at the residue with his tongue and sighing.

“Satoru, focus.” He says in a calm tone, Satoru eyes you though as another girl comes to him.

“Wanna snort a line off you, mommy.”

“Satoru I swear to god.” Sukuna threatens, Gojo pouts now, blinking snowy lashes as Sukuna’s grip on you tightens brutally.

“I can’t take a line off the star girl?” Sukuna sighs, and you look at him then, lips turning up at the corners, as his ruby eyes narrow.

“Trying to make me jealous?” He hums quietly, you stand then, earning his hands slipping down your hips.

“I wonder if you’ll show me how mad you are later.” He smirks at you, raising a brow arrogantly.

“Think you can handle that, little brat?” You step over to Satoru, who exhales, sitting up straight then, smiling up at you.

“Look you’re defying him and everything, cute.” You roll your eyes as Satoru takes the snowy powder, tapping some gently on your thigh then, using this fancy black and silver card to line it up. “You’ve never done any, have you?”

“No…” You admit, and even as Toji, Sukuna and Suguru talk, you feel those crimson eyes boring into you, when Satoru slips his long fingers, your heel propped on the other side of him, and he wraps up a bill.

“What’s a good girl doing here though?” He asks curiously, plump lips turning up when he finishes rolling the bill.

“Single mom life is expensive.” He pauses then, blue eyes looking down a bit at your body, as you overhear the conversation in the background.

“And the Zenin family seems to think they have claim to parts of our territory, the Kamos are on board with Gojo now though, so that expands us and what we’re moving significantly.” Suguru says to Sukuna, who laughs then, throwing his head back as Toji grimaces.

“Don’t call me a fuckin’ Zenin, ya know that’s not my name.” Toji grumbles, considering he does use Fushiguro, but you can’t blame him, just look at Naoya? Who would want to be related to that?

“So you really are a mommy then. Hot.” Satoru says, before snorting the coke off your skin, one of his hands pressing into your calf as he does. Then his face is far too close to where you feel his breath tickle your inner thigh, he presses a kiss on your thigh then, earning Sukuna standing up and Satoru grinning.

“You’re gonna get killed.” Toji chuckles, and Satoru holds his hands up, as Sukuna places you behind him, grabbing him by the collar.

“I was just thanking her!?” He’s sputtering and you can’t stop your giggle, something was stupidly attractive about Sukuna like this.

“I’ll cut your dumb ass tongue out of your mouth if you-”

“Sukuna, chill. Satoru, apologize.” Suguru says calmly then, humor in his violet eyes, and Sukuna flops down Satoru right on the couch, he brushes himself off, laughing like a psycho.

“Sorry Sukuna, it's not my fault she’s so pretty.” Satoru earns another grab of his neck. “I said sorry!”

“Hands off.” He looks to you, his glare making your giggle stop, as he bends low over you, his big hands on your bare waist, your pulse racing, pounding in your ears as the room watches you both for a moment. “And you, you’re not leaving my lap anymore for the rest of the meeting, got it?”

“Yes, Sir.” You can’t stop the little smile when he sighs at that, before sitting down and firmly planting you on his thigh, Gojo winks over at you, earning an eye roll as you feel Sukuna’s firm thigh against your head, addling your mind.

“Now, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Sukuna clears his throat, one arm wrapped around your waist, dragging you further up his thigh, making you ache in need, more and more. “We absolutely have an active Zenin member approaching our area, and they’re doing a lot more than running drugs.”

“They’re running people.” Toji says, disgust in his voice, and your eyes go wide as you look at him.

“This convo too much for you?” Sukuna murmurs, and then you look at him, shaking your head and gulping.

“So we stop them, then.” Suguru says calmly, and Sukuna sighs.

“There’s no other option, considering who we’re talking about, not like they’ll make any deals.” Sukuna now takes some of the powder, turning you and sprinkling just a bit on the curve of your neck and shoulder, snorting it off you and then licking the line off your body, exhaling as he tastes you mixing with the numbness of the cocaine. “Fuck…”

It’s a murmur no one hears but you, but you feel him clenching you tightly, so protective, his hands not leaving you as they speak, little brushes against your back playing with your hair, all while your pussy throbs in need for him. But more so your mind craves to know more of him, just who is the man you feel so comfortable sitting on so damn quickly?

What makes him… him?

“No one hates the Zenins more than Toji.” Comes Suguru’s voice now, shaking you out of your reverie, you blink a bit as Toji laughs, downing a shot.

“She does.” He says your name, gesturing to you, earning the eyes of every man, including Sukuna, as his mouth parts. “Shit, sorry doll.”

“What’s he mean?” Sukuna asks tersely, and you sigh, shifting a bit.

“Do you have a connection to the Zenin?” Suguru asks curiously, you sigh again, that’s two sighs, Sukuna counts, while you tense, and he watches your jaw clench just a bit as he turns your chin to face him.

“They got something on you?” He asks quietly, and you look at Toji again, unable to really say the words.

“Her kid is a Zenin.” He says then, gruffly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw your shit out there.”

“Your kid is a Zenin?” He asks, you nod then, just a bit. “So your shitty ex is a Zenin?”

“He’s the shittiest of them all.” Toji mutters.

“Who?” Sukuna asks quietly.

“Naoya.” You whisper the name, bitter and disgusting in your mouth.

“Oh shit. Mommy, that's bad taste.” Satoru says, and you watch the room put their heads in their hands.

“I know, okay, trust me. Leaving him wasn’t easy, that’s why I ended up having to come here, it’s not like he has much to do with our son. Touma doesn’t even remember him. But he did call me today.”

“He did what now?” Sukuna’s grip makes you wince just a bit, it’s so tight. “If he calls you I really should know from now on, you have no clue how dangerous he is.”

“I was with him for years, I do know.” You stand then, taking a breath, and shaking your head. “I should go… dance or something.”

Sukuna’s saying your name, and Toji is trying to apologize, but you can’t stand another moment, wondering how even here Naoya fucks with you. But it’s just moments before Sukuna is yanking you off the stage, literally picking you up, and carrying you to his office, sitting you right on his desk. Your breasts are heaving up and down with each breath when he caresses your cheek, surprisingly gentle.

“What’d he say to you? Did he threaten you?” Sukuna murmurs, you shake your head.

“Just mean shit, like I must miss him, and who would want me. His typical poison he likes to throw, nothing more.” You swipe at tears that form, falling down your cheeks, and Sukuna feels rage destroying him from the inside.

“And you surely know it’s bullshit, hmm?”

“I told him to fuck off.” You smile just a bit, a hand slipping over a strong chest, one you wonder about, how far do these tattoos lead? How does he look with it off? The thoughts tantalize you to no end. “You helped me do that.”

“Good girl.” You exhale, biting your lower lip, as he spreads your thighs, standing between them and leaning over you. “If he calls you anymore, tell me, you don’t want to know all what he’s into, he could hurt you.”

“He never has, like physically at least.”

“Just promise me, I can’t protect you if you don’t.” You frown then at that, nodding.

“But my kid is most important to me, Sukuna.”

“Then I’ll make you both safe, even the little… kid or whatever.” He grumbles, melting you utterly, you blink rapidly, pulling on his tie, your lips a breath from his now, tasting the sweetness of his breath.

“Why are you so good to me already?”

“I haven’t been good to you yet. Or you’d be fucked out.” He says, whispering those words, you’re kissing him now, gasping when you feel the numbness of your lips, and he chuckles a bit. “It’ll go away.”

“Will I get…”

“No, it won’t fuck you up. But I will.” You’re back to kissing him, his lips working over yours again and again, big hand slipping down the small of your back. “Take the day off, I need you all day I can’t wait for later.”

“I can’t, Sukuna.”

“I’ll pay you three times your average day.”

You shake your head at him, lips parted in a moan when he presses his clothed cock against your dripping wet pussy, your hands cling to his suit jacket, whining out. “Don’t pay me, I don’t wanna be that way…”

“I’m fucking rich, baby, just take it. Give it to your kid, I don’t know.”

You snort at him, your entire body responding to his every touch. “Sukuna, you don’t give a little kid money like that!”

“I don’t know what you do with those things.” You burst out laughing at him, and he glares, while you swipe back a lock of pink hair. “Take. The. Day. Off.”

You certainly do take the day off, and soon you’re in the back of the limo you’d watched Sukuna climb into many times, but now it’s just you and him, and you’re kissing him, straddling his lap, nothing on you but that lingerie and his suit jacket. He’s under you, feeling your cunt against him, ready to fuck into you, fill you, you’re driving him so crazy he’s sensitive.

If he busts from this he will never forgive himself, so he pushes you off, on your back now, you’re breathless as you look up at him, his coat is swallowing your body, so small compared to him, your eyes locked on his, so gorgeous it makes him want to be stupid. He’d cum in you, give you more kids if that’s really what makes you so happy, fill you so good, keep you.

“Annoying.” He says then, and you blink curiously, not realizing the inner turmoil of the obsession he now has over you, this gorgeous mom who has a fucked ex, and a soaking wet pussy grinding up for attention against his thigh. This mom who he’d make a mom a million times over, and he doesn’t even know you.

“I’m annoying?” You ask curiously, he sighs now, nodding, and you just giggle a bit, more pretty, fueling his obsession as he grips your thigh then, rough thumb pressing against delicate skin. He watches your breath catch, as he feels his cock leaking precum from just touching you.

“So annoying.” He confirms, but it might as well be sweet words when he kisses you again, and then down your throat, until he gets to your pretty breasts, while the limo steadily drives you both, jostling you just a bit, only serving to put his face closer to where he wants to be.

“Sukuna, um… are you…” He’s kissing down your stomach now, nipping right at your belly button, tongue trailing a line that would previously make you so nervous, but with him you just feel…

“Fuck you’re perfect.” He murmurs, rough fingers suddenly slipping under your panties, making your hips buck up, clit twitching in response. “He really didn’t eat you out?”

“No, I didn’t… um, cum with him.”

What the fuck is wrong with him. Aside from the obvious.

“Hmm, then she’ll be all mine, hah.” You’re watching his eyes dilate to the point they’re black, sharp teeth biting at your thigh, while you’re drooling out of your little hole, finally he’s down there, eying your pussy in the back of this limo, groaning at the sight. “Oh you’re so fucking perfect.”

“Please, please.” You’re whimpering, and he smirks, before parting your folds, breathing on your clit and watching the little thing twitch for him.

“You’re so needy already, gonna be so fuckin’ easy, brat?”

“Sukuna please…” You glare then when he’s kissing right above your clit, your hands enwrapping in his silky pink locks, pulling just so, only making his cock harder for you.

“Need something?”

“Oh my god…” He’s spitting on your clit now, groaning as he watches it bubble and slip down your hole, and you’re squeaking, only earning his chuckle.

“M’gonna have so much fun with you, baby, shit.” He slips two fingers down and up your slit, still just breathing on your damn clit, as your hands fall from his hair, instead clinging to his shoulders, feeling the broad shoulders move under your touch. “Perfect pussy, fuck you for it, shit.”

“Fuck me for it!?”

“Better than I could even picture, stroking my cock every day this week, so much it’s raw damn near. Almost cumming from kissing, you do this shit.” You’re lost in the sensations of his two fingers sinking inside you then, pressing up and finding that spongy spot so fast you can’t breathe, screaming out, back arching. “There it is, dumb fuck couldn’t find it huh?”

“God no he couldn’t. F-fuck!” You whine out as Sukuna flicks his tongue against your clit now, a sensation you can’t describe, hot and sticky as it laps at your wetness, as he moans at your sweetness.

“Fuck….” Sukuna wants to tease you, but he’s done once he gets that taste fully on his mouth, he’s pulling his fingers out and burying his face against you, fucking your little gummy walls with his tongue as you shatter under him. He’s moaning against you, tongue lapping all the wetness pouring out of you, as you’re clinging to his hair so hard it’s painful.

It only urges him more, your moans, your cries, how pretty you look when he stares up at you, his thumbs holding your lips open so he can fuck you even better with his tongue. He feels your walls fluttering, gripping his wet muscle, feels you tense when his nose bumps your clit, you’re screaming out, so loud it’s echoing in the limo, and he knows it then.

He’ll never get enough of you.

Just tasting you is better than any girl he’s fucked, and there have been a lot, shit he’s never enjoyed eating pussy like this either. He’s one that enjoys tasting a woman, it makes him excited to get women off, he’s never been selfish. But to love it like this? God no one tastes like you.

You’re falling apart now, he can feel it, when you’re mumbling incoherently, sniffling, thighs squeezing his head, just urging him on more and more, as he drinks your sticky clear cum all up. Your sounds are filling his ears, mixing with the racing of his damn pulse, his cock oozing precum and making him sticky. He could cum just eating your pussy.

Fuck, he thinks he’s already in love with you.

“M’gonna, Sukuna I’m c–close I…” You’re whispering, pulling at his hair, as the sensation of him devouring you takes over, and he smirks up at you then, pulling off for the first breath you’ve seen the man take.

Is he human even!?

“Cum all over m’face, be a good girl, huh brat?” You nod weakly, fuck you need no urging to cum, but you needed to know it was okay, you want and crave his permission for some insane reason.

When he’s back buried against you, your body convulses, all this pressure in your tummy letting go, until your orgasm has your back arching, has your pussy drenching his handsome face. Sukuna’s moaning, hands tightly gripping your hips, drinking every bit of your arousal that pools, as your cunt now pulses around his tongue, and you’re crying it feels so good.

The orgasm breaks your brain, whatever was left of it from him, you can’t remember ever even having a damn thought but this. You’re whining his name out over and over as he pulls back grinning so damn sexy and arrogant from between your thighs, lapping his tongue up to your clit now, and you scream out hoarsely as he bites your little clit.

“Oh m-my god, f-fuck it’s too much!” He chuckles again, shaking his head as he slips two fingers back in your hole, now soaked and sucking them up so easy, as your pussy drools down his hand to his rings, to his rolex.

“You’re so messy, huh? Look at you, all over me, all over these seats, fuck.” He huffs, enamored with how wet he has you, and your eyes struggle to look down, you squeak a bit, so cute he smiles.

“I’m s-so sorry I’m n-never, Sukuna I’m gonna cum again, fuck!” He curls his fingers in your slick walls, you hear the lewd sound of the squelching wetness in the limo now, it’s obscene, mixing with his moans as he flicks his tongue on the underside of your clit. “Ah s’good-mnh!”

“Cum again for me, lemme drink you all up, messy girl.” You’re coming undone for him, with each flick of his tongue as he now presses up his fingers on that spongy little spot, and you see stars behind eyes as they roll back in your skull. It’s so good you’re crying as he rides out your second orgasm, slurping sounds of Sukuna drinking you even louder, just making it headier.

“Mnh… ngh… ah…” You’re unable to form a word, a twitching mess under him, while he licks more of your slick off his lower lip, grinning down at the mess he’s made you, your pretty face covered in tears and drool.

“Ah, look at you baby, so fucked out, don’t even have my dick yet, hmm?” He taunts now, fingers scissoring in and out as he leans over you, cupping your face with his other hand now.

“Want it, want it.” You’re reaching for him as he hisses, losing control once you find his bulge over his pants, kissing you again, now you taste yourself, making you lap the arousal off his lips, as you’re eagerly unbuckling him, for the limo to stop. He takes a breath, pausing your hand then, wrapping you back in his jacket and adjusting you, as you cling to him eagerly. “Need you.”

“Fuck if I don’t need you, driving me insane.” He grumbles, adjusting himself then, and soon you’re in the elevator, kissing again, riding up to Sukuna’s penthouse, you have your phone going off and he scowls at it. “Better not be him.”

“It may be Miwa.” You take a breath as you look at the phone, smiling then, it’s just a little picture of Touma happily grinning with a cookie, you show Sukuna, and he sees your damn face light up, making him falter a bit.

God you’re beautiful lit up.

Sukuna would do anything to keep you this way.

“He’s getting spoiled. Sukuna, thank you for this… I was so worried, being away for a night but… I can’t wait.” You say softly, as you step inside, you barely get to look around however, because he’s pressing you against a wall, leaning low and grinning now, white teeth glinting under soft white lights from the high ceiling.

“I hope you can keep up with me, brat.” He says, before picking you up in his arms like you’re nothing, pulling the hair at the nape of your neck. “You’re getting no sleep tonight.”

Kuna is so in love already aha. Part three coming soon (just like Kuna about to lol) There will be a LOT more drama and plot along with some freaky ass smut and a whole fuck session next chap. If you wanna get tagged and aren't already on one of the lists just lmk - also omg ty for the love on the first part!?!?!

If you're interested in Satoru from this here's his headcanons so far

Taglist #1 - @naammiii @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @uhnosav @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @waterfal-ling @the-dark-creature @lulunx @minaa-06 @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x fem!reader #sukuna x female reader #jjk smut #divider by cafekitsune #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #Sukuna is whipped #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen smut

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tteokdoroki · 10 months ago

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˗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

yeahxsurexokay13 · 6 days ago

Text

mum's favourite, lando norris

part 1 | part 2

summary yn's mum is a well known sky sports reporter and an even more well known lando norris supporter. her close relationship with the mclaren driver has sparked plenty of fan jokes over the years, with lando affectionately dubbed the reporter's honorary son. while everyone knows yn and lando are connected through her mum, not many expect how close they actually are.

warnings none.

a/n yet another lando smau....... because he's the only one i seem to be able to write about. not that anyone cares, but i made this in between crying over tiktok edits of him winning silverstone (!!!!!) lol. it was getting long, so i've decided to split it into three. enjoy &, as always, i'd love to know what you think (it'll probably -hopefully- get better next part).

y/n.y/l

Liked by lando, naomischiff and 59.012 others

y/n.y/l april as the second in the favourite child championship (according to the internet)

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user1 CHAT? I THINK SHE SAW THE TWEETS ?¿¿

user7 sabrina concert?? SO JEALOUS omg hope you had fun 🥰

y/n.y/l thank you! i did (:

user2 second place is still a podium babe xx also it could be worse... you could be third

y/n.y/l but i'm an only child😭

user9 how do I sign up for the 'being your friend' competition?

user12 at least she's self aware ♥︎ by author

friend1 that Sabrina Carpenter concert literally changed my life 🫠

y/n.y/l i need to marry her

carolynwest_ ✓ Not true! You're both my favourites ❤️ ♥︎ by author

user3 selfie in slide 1?? STUNNING

user14 next time u see lando can u tell him it's the drivers' championship he has to win and not this one? thanks x

user10 you might be the second favourite but you're still the coolest🤷🏽‍♂️

user4 YOU'RE A SABRINA FAN?????? omg that's +100pts ♥︎ by author

user5 not you feeding McDonalds to a cat😭

user11 lowkey jealous of how close your mum is to Lando omg it must be so cool

user6 the cAPTION I -

friend2 slide 6 was the exact moment I got my will to live back after an awful week. I love u guys sm🥹 ♥︎ by author

user8 Sorry Yn, Carolyn's other child is just too charming 🧡

30 April 2025

ln4.updates

Liked by user81, user4 and 1.020 others

ln4.updates Lando was spotted at Yn Yl's (Sky Sports reporter Carolyn West's daughter) birthday celebration with her family and close friends in London last night.

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user1 um i think the 'honorary son' joke has gone TOO far now 😂

user12 wait yn and lando are... actual... friends? did I miss a chapter??¿ 👁️👄👁️

user14 same. i thought they just knew each other through her mum?? lol

user2 getting p2 in miami one day, at his favourite reporter's daughter's birthday another... busy guy🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

user10 lmao why did I expect him to be sat next to Carolyn and not Yn 🤡💀

user3 did NOT have 'lando norris at carolyn west's daughter's birthday' on my 2025 bingo card

user4 how many races do you have to attend before a driver shows up to your birthday??? i'm asking for a school project xx

user5 this goes way beyond 'my mum knows him' lmao

user6 i'm side eyeing 👀

user7 someone give me the tea on this bc I have no idea what's going and I feel left out :(

user9 basically: yn is the daughter of sky sports reporter carolyn west with whom lando has a great friendship. we all thought she was just a background character in the lando + carolyn dynamic. then boom, her birthday party, he's there. now everyone's spiraling. there, you're caught up xx

user15 in fact i'm starting to think she might actually be the MAIN character...

user13 ship name when? I need to know what we're working with here

user8 does he even know other families this well?? just wondering...

user11 um so i have something to say about the flowers she posted on her story yesterday.....🫢

10 May 2025

#social media au #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 x reader #lando norris smau #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris social media au #formula 1 smau

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manticorecure · 5 months ago

Text

drawings of my second favourite polycule and their son once again inspired by @rhymeswithchronic's mercy for the lamb series! (cropped individual designs under the cut + design notes)

all of these designs are made with details that are included in chronic's mercy for the lamb fic, so the matching jewelery that the polykour trio and boey have are from the fic -> specifically, the earrings that seawatt, emf and evbo wear are from the fic with my own little spin on them (such as adding a hanging amethyst to evbos plain gold studs so now it represents both sea and emf), the bracelets on seawatt and emfs hands (also i forgot to colour the rings on seawatt and emfs hands but . they ARE there)

all of the jewelery that represents emf has star designs on them btw lol

seawatt has vitiligo and tribal(? i hope that im using that right) markings because i just. thought it would be fun for him to have vitiligo but also with the partyloving and very culture centric environment the fighters used to be i felt like giving him those would fit well

he ALSO has heterochromia but thats not normal -> his right eye is black because of revival hjinks, not because he was born with it black

bandages on his chest are there cause of revival too and he always carries around health/regen pots incase his family needs it (and this guy denies being the mother? lmfao get a grip)

seawatt wears chainmail sandals with gold soles because he looks good in gold and he knows it

emfs 'BOOTS' are more like leg guards than anything his grippers are out 24/7 cause of his unique . mmmmmmmonster...??? anatomy and they have designs that are carried over from his former master boots + netherite engravings that evbo put in himself

emfs scars from when he was being held hostage above the void are gold cause he bleeds gold. i think. i dont know where i was going with that

evbos halo and wings are made out of netherite and they glow a little. his boots are shorter than most champions boots because hes a parkour Freak and he needs to be jumping 24/7 (this is not canon to the fic im sorry im projecting)

notice that evbo and boey look extremely similar if you ignore the copious amounts of scarring lmfao yeah thats intentional becasue apparently some people keep confusing evbo and boey ? anyway they both have jewelery from emf and seawatt, boey also has earrings from evbo

boey has grey streaks in his hair. is that from stress or revival am i a former dsmp fan who knows youll never get that out of me

evbos hair is a bit better off in terms of revi i mean grey hair but his hair ends are a little darker and frayed because the fic canon has his hair being in abysmal condition (understandable given. um. the whole state of the noob layer)

boey has his gloves that prevent him from scratching at himself!!! he keeps those on most of the time and a ceremonial sword given by some of the worshippers at the offerings altar

#🖼️ oz draws #boey #evbo #seawatt #emf #parkour civilization #pvp civilization

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dollyswishingwell · 1 month ago

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GIRL PLS I'M A BIG FAN OF YOUR FANFIC, THEY'RE SO CUTE I'M SO OBSESSED 😩😩 thank you for your service!😋🥰 but can you please write the same scenario as mama's princess pt 5 but with boys? if you don't want to it's totally okay! thanks in advance girly! 😽💗💖

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Prince P.2

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, adorable, lmk if you guys have more requests for mamas prince cause mamas princess is atleast at like part 13 lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your babyboy’s ready to defend mama at all cost

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The children’s gallery opening was meant to be a soft launch for your son’s first official art show, a pastel-filled space brimming with tiny easels, velvet cupcakes, and his watercolor paintings of shells, fish, and dreamy undersea castles (most of which featured a “mama mermaid” in the center).

Rafayel spared no expense.

The entire exhibit was sponsored by his studio. The invite list had been personally filtered. You were in Secret Honey lace and platform heels, sat on a tufted bench with your son in your lap, while he proudly clutched a mini plastic paintbrush like a scepter.

He looked just like his daddy.

Purple waves brushing his cheeks. Pale lashes. Big, serious, blue-pink eyes staring down every adult who dared enter the room like they were a threat to your peace.

And then, of course, someone slipped through.

A woman from the city’s creative committee, tall and overly perfumed, leaned in too close to where you sat and cooed, “Oh, he’s so talented for his age! Must’ve inherited it from daddy’s side, hm?”

She laughed lightly, eyes flicking toward you. “Not to be rude, dear, but you don’t really strike me as the artistic type. You’re more like, um… decoration?”

She probably meant it as a joke.

But your smile faltered. Just slightly.

Before you could even respond,

Before Rafayel could step out from behind the display he was adjusting,

Your son turned around in your lap and glared at the woman like a royal insult had just been issued.

And then, in a voice that was eerily calm:

“Don’t talk to my mama like that.”

A pause. A chill.

Then he turned his head slightly, nose tilted up with perfect Rafayel-level disdain, and added:

“You’re not even invited.”

The room went still.

The woman blinked. “E–Excuse me?”

Your little boy didn’t flinch.

“You’re not on the list. My daddy said only nice people can come.”

And then Rafayel appeared, silent behind the woman.

A sweet smile on his face. Icy fingers grazing her wrist as he plucked the untouched champagne glass from her hand.

“Oh? You aren’t on the list, are you? How strange. You’ll leave now, won’t you? Before you embarrass yourself further.”

He turned to your son, ruffling his soft curls.

“Thank you for protecting mama, little moon.”

“She’s my mama,” your son muttered stubbornly. “Mine first.”

Rafayel chuckled lowly, kissed your temple.

“He’s right, you know,” he murmured, smiling against your skin. “Even I’m not allowed to upset mama. So what made her think she could get away with it?”

Needless to say,

The gallery staff escorted the woman out, and your son received a second cupcake for “excellent taste and judgment.” Rafayel carried you both home after the event, mumbling how lucky he was that his wife and son were perfect and terrifying, and how he wouldn’t want it any other way.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The hospital’s pediatric ward was throwing a celebration, your son’s finger-painting had won first place in a fundraiser art contest, and the gala was to honor all the kids who participated.

Naturally, you were there in a pale pink sundress with matching heels. Your baby boy wore a tiny tailored vest and slacks, hair combed neatly just like Zayne’s, and clung to your side with a death grip on your hand.

He wasn’t smiling.

But he never really did, unless it was just you and Zayne.

Zayne had been called away briefly by a nurse, leaving you to mingle quietly with a few hospital board wives. The ones who smiled with their teeth and made passive-aggressive comments about “how lovely it is that you get to be a full-time wife now.”

And then one of them chuckled, sipping her champagne and gesturing toward you and your son.

“He’s adorable, I’ll give you that. I mean, no offense, but you clearly lucked out in the gene pool. Your husband’s got those sharp features, and the boy takes all after him, doesn’t he? Hopefully he gets his brains too.”

You didn’t react. Just gave a tight, neutral smile.

But your son’s head turned slowly.

He stared at the woman for a long, deadpan moment. Then,

“…She’s not just pretty.”

His voice was quiet, flat, serious.

The woman blinked, startled. “Oh, I didn’t mean,”

“She’s smarter than you.”

And then he tugged on your hand.

“Mama, let’s go. I don’t want to be near rude people. You can tell Daddy later.”

You can tell Daddy later.

That was a threat.

You were still recovering from the shock when Zayne returned, crouched down to straighten his son’s collar, and murmured, “Everything alright?”

Your little one leaned in and whispered exactly what the woman said.

Zayne’s face remained unreadable, except for the way his eyes locked onto her across the room, sharp and clinical like he was mentally dissecting her.

“…I see.”

She was asked to leave not long after. Something about “violating the event’s code of conduct.”

You sat down with your son on your lap, his arms looped around your waist as he buried his face into your chest like nothing had happened.

Zayne came back a few minutes later, smoothed your hair back, and murmured:

“I heard what he said. You raised him well.”

“You helped raise him,” you whispered, touched.

“…I never said I was talking to you.”

He kissed the top of your head, then your son’s.

“Good work, kid. I’ll buy you a better set of paints than whatever the hospital gave you.”

Your son just blinked up at him and said flatly:

“You should buy mama a new dress too.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The Deep Space Hunter Association was holding their annual memorial gala, honoring the families of retired hunters and their contributions to the field. This year’s theme was “Beyond the Stars.”

You weren’t a hunter anymore. You were Xavier’s pretty, pampered wife now.

But your son’s drawing, an oddly accurate rendering of a decommissioned Starclass cruiser drifting in a starlit field, had made it into the memorial booklets, and a miniature 3D model of it was placed on a display table with his name.

He stuck to your side like glue the entire night.

Tiny silver-haired copy of his father, dressed in a suit Xavier had custom-commissioned in midnight blue silk. His little hand clenched tight in yours. He didn’t speak much to anyone. Just blinked slowly at them and occasionally stared at the ceiling like he was thinking about the fate of dying galaxies.

And then it happened.

A guest, some washed-up former officer’s wife—approached you during cocktail hour.

She smiled too widely.

“You were a hunter, weren’t you, sweetheart? Gave it all up to play house?”

You laughed politely, brushing your son’s hair from his cheek.

But the woman leaned in conspiratorially, loud enough for the nearby table to hear.

“Well, I suppose even a little darling like you needs a fallback plan. Married a high ranking hunter, didn’t you? Smart. That’s how you keep eating. Pretty face, cozy job title, the baby’s probably the only reason he keeps you around now, hmm?”

You froze.

And before Xavier could even reappear from behind the wine bar where he was reading the gala sponsor list…

Your little boy turned his head toward the woman.

Very slowly. Eyes dull. Voice flat.

“You shouldn’t talk to mama.”

She blinked. “Sorry?”

“You shouldn’t talk to mama.”

“Ever.”

There was something eerie about how still he stood.

How his little mouth didn’t move much. How his hand was still in yours, but his words felt like they came from the void.

The woman frowned, awkwardly laughing it off.

“Oh, he’s a serious one, isn’t he—?”

“Mama doesn’t need to be smart. She’s perfect already.”

“And I’m smart enough for both of us.”

You gasped softly, touched. But the room had gone tense.

That’s when Xavier’s voice cut in, quiet, but sharp, from behind.

“…Is there a problem?”

He was suddenly next to you. One arm around your waist. The other resting protectively on his son’s small shoulder.

“Because it sounded like someone was disrespecting my wife in front of our child,” Xavier said softly, expression unreadable. “And frankly, I’m feeling… territorial.”

The woman stammered. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Leave.”

“He already told you once. You shouldn’t talk to her. Don’t make me repeat him.”

She left. Pale.

You turned to your son to kiss his temple, but he was already clinging to your leg again like nothing happened. His little voice whispered:

“I don’t like loud people.”

Xavier nodded in agreement, lifting the boy into his arms with ease.

“Neither do I. But you did well, little star.”

“I didn’t like what she said,” your son mumbled, hiding in Xavier’s neck.

“Me neither,” Xavier murmured, brushing your lips with a soft kiss. “If I’d gotten to her first, I might’ve removed her from the guest list literally. But you were faster.”

He paused. Smiled faintly.

“Like father, like son.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It was supposed to be a harmless little ribbon-cutting ceremony, The Learning Annex, a gleaming, high-security facility for early childhood education and strategy training (because of course your husband thinks kindergarteners need chessboards and surveillance-proof lockers).

Your son had helped design the logo.

A dramatic silver phoenix… wearing a crown.

“Like mama,” he said with a perfectly straight face when reporters asked him why.

You were seated in the front row in a frilly pearl-toned dress and heels that Sylus had picked to match the annex aesthetic, while your son stood beside your chair like a tiny bodyguard. His suit was custom. His posture perfect. His expression already disgusted with the general public.

Then someone made the mistake of speaking.

A local board member, trying far too hard to sound cute in front of the press, smiled and said loudly:

“You know, it’s sweet. You can tell the boy worships his father. He’s got the blood. Strong. Sharp. Knows how to command a room.”

Then came the fatal line.

“Though I suppose his mother’s… charm is more aesthetic, isn’t it? Not everyone’s built for real influence.”

There was a beat of silence.

You felt your stomach drop. You weren’t even sure what you would’ve said.

But your son stepped forward.

One hand in his pocket. The other pointing right at the man.

“…Say it again.”

“Excuse me?” the man blinked, flustered.

“Say it again. I dare you.”

He tilted his head slightly, red eyes glittering with his father’s exact brand of premeditated malice.

“Say one more thing about my mama. And I’ll tell papa you touched her.”

You choked.

The man paled visibly. “What—?!”

“I won’t even have to lie. I’ll cry in front of the cameras and say you yelled at her. I bet you’d get fired. Or worse.”

At that moment, Sylus himself stepped into view, sipping wine from a black crystal flute like he’d been watching from the wings the entire time.

“Is that true, darling?” he said lazily, eyes flicking to the man. “Did he say something stupid?”

Your son turned to Sylus, voice cold.

“He called mama a decoration.”

Sylus’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Unforgivable.”

He turned to the man and said smoothly, “Your invitation to the gala next month is revoked. Your grant request? Shredded. Your seat on the board?”

He reached into his coat, pulled out a folder, and ripped it in half.

“I don’t trust anyone who underestimates my wife. And neither does my son.”

“Smart boy,” he added, ruffling his hair. “He knows power when he sees it.”

Your son beamed for the first time all day.

Then promptly turned to you and climbed into your lap like nothing had happened, muttering:

“Don’t worry, mama. I won.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The banquet was being held in your husband’s honor. A sprawling, glimmering Skyhaven function for his most recent Farspace Fleet success, one of the most high-profile operations in the last five years.

You were seated near the front in a dark velvet dress, wearing a diamond collar Caleb had clasped around your throat himself. Your little boy sat beside you in a mini formal uniform tailored to match his father’s, a gift from the generals. He refused to sit still unless your hand was resting on his thigh.

Caleb had stepped away briefly to speak with a few councilmen. Which was exactly when someone got brave.

An older officer’s wife sat down beside you and offered a tight smile.

“You must be exhausted, dear. Being married to a colonel at your age?”

You tilted your head with a polite smile. “I’m quite happy, thank you.”

But she wasn’t finished.

“I suppose you’re what they call a pretty distraction. A soft thing he can come home to. But he wouldn’t have made it this far if he actually took your opinions seriously, hmm?”

You blinked. That one stung.

But you didn’t respond, because someone beat you to it.

Your son had stood up.

“You don’t talk to my mama like that,” he said, voice shaking. Not from fear, but fury.

The woman turned in surprise. “Excuse me?”

He narrowed his violet eyes, and for a moment, he looked exactly like Caleb on the battlefield.

“You don’t talk to my mama like that. Ever.”

“She’s not a distraction. She’s my dad’s whole world.”

“He says that to us every night.”

You froze, eyes softening.

The woman let out a nervous laugh. “I think you’re a bit too young to understand how grown-ups—”

“I’m not too young,” your son snapped. “I’m smarter than you. And I have better ears.”

Then came the final blow:

“Do you want me to tell my dad what you said? I don’t think you’ll get to keep your table.”

And then you felt it: Caleb had returned. Quiet as a shadow. Standing just behind the woman now, arms crossed and gaze cold.

“…He wouldn’t even need to tell me,” he said darkly. “I heard every word.”

The woman turned pale.

“I’d suggest you find a different banquet to slither into next time. Preferably one where my wife and child aren’t in attendance. Because if I hear you speak to either of them again—”

“—you’ll find yourself uninvited from Skyhaven entirely.”

The woman stammered and fled, heels clacking.

Your little boy turned to you, pouty but proud.

“Did I do good, mama?”

You pulled him into your lap and kissed his forehead.

“You did so good, baby.”

Caleb crouched down beside your chair, smoothing his son’s hair and brushing his lips against your cheek.

“He’s right, you know,” Caleb whispered. “You’re my whole world.”

“And if anyone forgets that,” he murmured, violet eyes glittering, “our son will remind them.”

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corroded-hellfire · 9 months ago

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I can't remember if you already answered or wrote this, but when was the first time Ryan and Luke called reader "mom"?

+ AYW request for ya--Eliza has started saying "mama," which prompts Ryan & Luke to discuss what they call Reader and whether or not they want to call her "mom."

+ When was the first time Reader referred to Luke & Ryan as her sons and when was the first time Luka & Ryan called Reader their mom?

+ What was the first time like when Ryan and Luke started calling Reader "mom"?

+ What was the first moment like when Ryan and Luke first called Reader "mom" or how did the Munson boys react when she called Ryan and Luke "my sons"?

I love how so many people wanted to see this 💜 This does get kind of cheesy and corny at the end (more so than usual), but I couldn't get the song out of my head while writing this, so it gets put in lol

Words: 4.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Say it again, say it again,” you gush, grinning at your daughter.

“Mama!” she gleefully replies.

You clap your hands together and she copies your motions with the same enthusiasm.

“Still making her say it, huh?”

You look up and see your husband leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a playful smile on his lips.

“Like you didn’t have her saying ‘dada’ over and over when she first learned it last month.”

“Dada!” Eliza chimes in.

“Hi, sweet pea.” Eddie steps into the room and leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

The little girl preens at all the attention she’s getting. Her short legs happily bounce as she wiggles from side to side on the couch.

“Mama, Dada, Mama, Dada,” Eliza singsongs.

“My little smarty pants!” You grin and gently tickle her soft belly.

“You girls have fun,” Eddie says, mussing up Eliza’s curls before heading down the hall.

“Well, do you want to?”

The shaky tone of Luke’s voice has Eddie coming to a halt a few feet away from the younger boy’s bedroom.

“I mean…yeah. I think so,” Ryan replies. “Do you think she would mind?”

“I don’t know,” Luke says. “I don’t think so. But it feels weird to ask.”

“We’ve said it a lot trying to get Eliza to say it. It felt…”

“Good,” Luke finishes for his brother.

Eddie’s brow furrows as he tries to piece together what’s troubling his boys. He doesn’t intend to eavesdrop on the two of them, but it’s become second nature to pay close attention whenever Luke is talking in case there is a scheme in the works that needs to be foiled.

“She’s always felt more like our mom than Mom does,” Ryan says.

The words are the key Eddie needed to unlock the stronghold. It makes complete sense now. The boys have been encouraging Eliza to say “Mama” for weeks now, so they’ve been referring to you in that way in front of their sister. Eddie feels like an idiot for never considering the internal storm that must’ve brewed in his sons. It’s no secret that they feel that you’re their mother more than Brittany ever was, but it’s become so normal for them to just refer to you by name. But Eddie can’t blame them for wanting to use the more official title they’d like to bestow on you.

Slowly, Eddie walks past Luke’s door, acting as if he was always going this way straight from the other room, without making a pitstop to solve a puzzle.

A long yawn further reminds you of how tired you are as you pull the blankets down on your bed. Curling up between the sheets is all you’ve been able to think about for the last hour.

Your husband walks into the room, unhooking the black watch from around his wrist. He’s already comfy in his green plaid pajama pants and holey Dio t-shirt.

“So, um, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Eddie says, placing his watch on his nightstand.

“What’s up? You climb into your shared bed and get comfortable on your side, facing him.

“Well, I heard the boys talking this afternoon.” Eddie lifts the blankets on his side of the bed and slips in right next to you. He clicks off his bedside lamp before getting comfortable and laying nose to nose with you. “They were talking about you.”

“Me?” you ask, a frown pinching your face. “Did I do something?”

“Not at all, baby,” Eddie is quick to assure you. He reaches out and gently trails the rough pads of his fingers against your jaw. “They were talking about how Eliza finally said “mama” and how they refer to you that way for her.”

Dread pools in your stomach.

“Oh no. Did that make them uncomfortable? I never asked them to, they just started saying it to help her learn. I feel so—”

“Baby, baby,” Eddie says, gently cupping the side of your face. “No, that’s not it at all. Actually, it’s kind of the opposite.”

“What do you mean?” Your face is still pinched up in concern, so Eddie gently rubs his thumb over your scrunched up forehead.

“They were saying that it felt good when they called you that. That you’ve always been their mom more than the witch ever was.”

Love’s warming touch cocoons you in an embrace as you process Luke and Ryan talking about calling you “mom.” It’s not something you ever would’ve forced on them. They call you by your name, it’s been that way since you’ve met.

“They were wondering if you’d mind. And that it would feel weird to ask you about it,” Eddie adds.

“The boys…” you trail off, needing to clear the emotion out of your throat before continuing. “The boys want to call me ‘mom’?”

“It looks that way.” Even in the dim lighting of the bedroom, you can see your husband’s grin. It’s contagious.

“I feel kind of speechless,” you admit. “I never expected it. I mean, they already have a mom. I guess I just thought that was her and I’m…me.”

“Do you not want them to call you that, princess?” Eddie asks, his tone completely devoid of judgment.

“No, no, it’s not that!” you’re quick to assure him. “I would be…so honored if they wanted to call me that. I just don’t want them to think I’m trying to overstep or take their mom’s place.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a laugh, “they wish you would take their mother’s place. Brittany may have birthed them, but you’ve given them more maternal love today alone than she’s done their whole lives.”

“They’re my boys. My sons,” you say, unable to keep a smile off your face at the words.

“And you’re the mom they always wanted. The one they deserve.”

That causes the tears to finally spill over. You lean forward and bury your head in the juncture between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. He slips his lean arms around you and holds your body against his own.

“I’d be so happy if they called me that,” you whisper against Eddie’s skin. “Ecstatic. But I don’t want them to feel pressured to do it.”

Eddie nods, one hand rubbing up and down your back.

“Why don’t we wait to see if they bring it up? Luke said it would be weird to come out and ask, but they might bring it up in another way. I just wanted to talk to you about it so if they do bring it up, you’re not caught off guard.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” You tilt your head up to gaze at your husband through the pale moonlight shining into your room. “You raised such wonderful boys.”

“You mean, ‘we’ raised,” Eddie counters. “You’ve been around for more than half of their lives now.”

“Sometimes it feels like yesterday that Luke was four years old and trying to convince me he needed candy to live.” You chuckle at the memory. “They’re becoming little men now, though.”

“That they are,” Eddie says with a sigh. “Guess I should teach them how to use basic tools and shit then, huh?”

“Well, who’s going to teach you?” you tease with a playful smirk.

“Wiseass,” Eddie mumbles as he rolls you onto your back and hovers over you.

“I learned from the best!”

It takes just over two weeks for the subject to come up. Eddie is at work, Eliza is spending a little time with her grandpa before he has to get ready for work, and you’re picking the boys up from basketball practice at Hawkins Middle School.

You step into the gymnasium and are immediately choked by the stench of over a dozen boys going through puberty, and not all of them have discovered deodorant yet.

Luke is still running around on the court, where a few kids linger, and Ryan is sitting on the bench, talking to a friend. It doesn’t surprise you. Ryan was initially excited to join the basketball team when Luke first brought it up. But now, a few months in, Luke is loving it and Ryan would rather be doing almost anything else. But he made a commitment to the team and Eddie told him it’s the right thing to do, to honor that commitment. So, he’s counting the days until the end of the season.

You catch Ryan’s eye as you walk over to the sign out sheet, so he says goodbye to his friend and comes over to join you as you scribble down your name. One of the parent volunteers glances down and then smiles up at you.

“Munson?” The perky blonde woman asks in a chipper voice. “You must be Ryan and Luke’s mom.”

Just as she says this, Ryan reaches you and smiles up at you in greeting.

It’s not unusual for people to assume you’re Luke and Ryan’s mom, so navigating answers like that have become second nature, and in most cases, it’s just easier to say yes. But with this, you see an opportunity to broach the topic with the boys.

“Yeah, I’m their mom.” You grin and wrap your arm around Ryan’s shoulders. See? I’m saying it. I would love for you two to call me that.

You feel Ryan lean more into you and you breathe a sigh of relief that he’s acknowledging what you said as well.

“Luke!” The volunteer calls out onto the court. “Your mom’s here!”

The eleven-year-old turns his head in your direction, sweaty curls whipping around, and gives a smile when he sees you. He waves to his friends and jogs over.

“How was practice, boys?” you ask as you head with them toward the gym doors.

“Good!” Luke says, an extra spring in his step because he’s wearing the new sneakers he just had to have. “I’m getting better at shooting.”

“Atta boy.” You muss his hair, then have to wipe the sweat clinging to your hand on the side of your jeans. “What about you, Ry?”

“Was alright,” he replies with a shrug. “Got bored.”

“Where’s Liza?” Luke asks as the three of you get into the car.

“At Grandpa’s. We gotta go pick her up so he can get ready for work.”

Ryan buckles his seatbelt in the front passenger seat and turns on the radio. It’s quiet except for Stacy’s Mom coming from the speakers as you back out of your parking space and head off school property.

As you pull up to the first red light you’ve encountered, you turn down the music a few notches so the boys can hear you.

“Is that blonde lady from practice a team mom?” you ask.

“Who?” Luke asks.

“The lady who called out to you that your mom was there.” Why do you feel so nervous? This is Luke and Ryan. Your boys.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s Gavin’s mom,” Luke says. “I think she does sign-ups for if other moms wanna bring snacks or something.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Would you guys want me to do that sometime?” The light turns green, and you start down the main strip of Hawkins, towards Forest Hills.

“You wanna be a team mom?” Ryan asks, looking over at you.

“Hell yeah,” you say with a nod. “Show those other moms what it’s like to raise the two best boys in Hawkins. But I’ll only do it if you want me to. I don’t want to embarrass you guys or barge in on your activities or anything.”

“No, it’d be fun!” Luke interjects. “Whenever you bring snacks, everyone will go, ‘Thanks, Ryan and Luke’s Mom!’”

“Um, if you want them to call you that,” Ryan adds softly.

This is it. The opening you’ve been waiting for. So, why do you feel so tongue-tied all of a sudden?

“Guys,” you speak slowly and deliberately, wanting them to know just how much you mean this, and that it’s not some throw away comment, “I love when people call me your mom. But…does it bother you?”

“No!” They’re both quick to answer simultaneously.

“We like it, too,” Luke adds.

You nod and adjust your hands on the steering wheel, psyching yourself up to get the next words out.

“Listen.” You pause to clear your throat. “If you guys ever want to call me that yourselves, that is perfectly okay. I would never force you to call me that, of course. But if that’s something you’d like to do, that’s good with me.” It’s actually much more than good with you, but you don’t want to bear down too heavily on them.

“Really?” Luke asks, voice almost as soft as you’ve ever heard it. “We can?”

“Absolutely,” you assure them. “You’re my sons. You can call me whatever feels right to you.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks.

“Yes.” You say the word with more confidence than you’ve ever said it before. The conviction of the answer rivals that of when you said “I do” to Eddie.

“I’d like that,” Ryan admits, a sheepish smile growing on his face.

“Me too,” Luke says.

“I think I just…” Ryan trails off, so you take a quick look at him before looking back to the road. “I think maybe another version of it. Because, like, when I think of calling someone ‘Mom,’ I can’t help but think of her.”

“Yeah, it’s like she ruined the name,” Luke agrees, nodding his head vigorously.

“That makes sense,” you tell them. “There are definitely different variations of the word. Whatever feels best for you is fine with me.”

“What about, ‘Mother-I-Wish-I-Always-Had?” Luke suggests with a small playful giggle.

“That’s quite a mouthful!” You laugh as well, looking at your younger boy in the rearview mirror again.

“I mean…” Once again, Ryan trails off, but this time he’s fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

“What is it, Ry?” you ask. “You know you can tell me anything. Or ask me anything.”

“Well, it felt nice when we were trying to help Eliza say your name.”

“Yeah!” Luke seconds. “Calling you ‘Mama.’”

“Is that too childish?” Ryan asks, a slight tremble in his voice.

You turn the car into Forest Hills trailer park and wait until you come to a full and complete stop outside of Wayne’s place before speaking. Wanting to see both boys better, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn your body to look at them from your seat.

“It is not childish,” you assure him—assure both of them. “I liked hearing you guys call me that, too. When you were helping your sister.” You smile and tilt your head to the side. “I actually feel like that name suits me better than ‘mom,’ anyway. It feels right to me. Like, I’ve been waiting my whole life to be called that.”

“You’re better than ‘mom’.” Ryan confirms with a nod.

The urge to reach out for him is too strong, so you gently cup the side of Ryan’s face and gently rub your thumb back and forth over his cheek bone. Luke unbuckles his seatbelt and moves forward—closer to you, signaling he wants the same affection. You’re more than happy to give it to him.

“You’re my sons,” you tell them. “You’re my everything. You, your sister, and your dad. You guys are my whole world. And there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. So, if you ever want to talk about anything—and I truly mean anything, no matter how weird or uncomfortable you think it might be—you can come to me. I’ll always be in your corner, no matter what. And nothing you tell me will ever change the way that I feel about you. There’s not a force in this world that can do that. You guys are stuck with my love forever.”

Trying to drive home the point as much as you can, you look them straight in the eyes to make sure they know how serious you are. Ryan nods and gives you a small smile. Luke has unshed tears gathering at his lash line, and when he nods as well, they pool over and run down his cheeks. You’re quick to wipe them away for him.

“Is there anything else? Anything else you guys want to talk about while we’re here?” you ask.

“No,” Ryan says softly but strongly.

“Nothing for me,” Luke echoes. “Oh! Except that I love you.”

Now your eyes start to fill with moisture.

“I love you, too.” Your words are quiet because you know if you speak any louder, you’ll start full out crying. “Both of you. So much.”

“Mamaaaaaaaa!”

Little hands pound against the driver’s side window, and you look over your shoulder to see Wayne holding Eliza just on the other side of the car door. She’s leaning in towards you, possibly trying to figure out how to get through the glass.

With a soft chuckle, you roll down the window and raise an eyebrow at her.

“Is there something I can help you with, madam?” you ask.

“Mama!”

“That’s me,” you tell her. A pleasant buzz in your stomach reminds you of just how true that is.

“We were waiting for ya inside, but she knew you were out here and was adamant about seeing her mama,” Wayne says, adjusting the one-year-old in his arms.

“I am sorry I took so long, Your Majesty,” you tell the young toddler. “I was having a conversation with your brothers. Is that okay with you?”

“Mama!” is her only response. Then she pauses, thinks about it, and adds, “Dada!”

“He’s not here, squirt,” Ryan says. “But I think next we have to get you working on my name.”

“Mine’s easier,” Luke argues.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ryan says with a shake of his head. “She’s learning names from oldest to youngest.”

“She skipped me then!” Wayne laments.

“Cause ‘Grandpa’ is harder to say!” Luke informs him.

“Alright, Little Miss, let’s get you buckled in your seat so Grandpa isn’t late for work,” you say.

When you pop open your door, Wayne shakes his head and gestures to the back seat.

“You stay there, I can get her in,” he insists.

Luke leans across Eliza’s car seat to open the back door for his grandfather. Wayne leans in and Luke makes sure all the straps and snaps are out of the way, so Eliza won’t be sitting on any.

When Eliza realizes her brother is there in the backseat, she squeals in delight as Wayne sets her down. Between the older man and the youngest man, they’re able to secure Eliza snugly in her seat.

Wayne presses a kiss to Eliza’s head and reaches to rub over Luke’s curls before he stands up straight and closes the car door.

“See you kids later,” he says.

You’re included in that, you know. To Wayne, Eddie is still a kid, which means you’ll always be one in his eyes too. But that is something else that you are perfectly okay with.

“Everyone buckled in?” you ask.

The boys answer the affirmative and you shift the car into drive.

“Let’s go home.”

Eddie was running late at work, so he doesn’t walk through the front door until you’re setting dinner on the table.

He lets out a long sigh and rubs a grease-stained hand over his face.

“Hey, baby,” he greets you.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

You walk over and give him a proper kiss hello, which has his tired face pulling up into a small smile.

“Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you get cleaned up and then all you have to do the rest of the day is relax.”

Eddie grunts in agreement, nodding his head before he shuffles down the hallway.

You chuckle to yourself as you finish getting dinner on the table.

“Okay, Liza Bean!”

She’s happily roving around the kitchen and living room in her pink walker, but she scoots over to you at the sound of her name.

“Time for dinner.”

You scoop her up and bump the walker with your leg to make it roll into a corner and out of the way. Eliza gets set in her princess high chair and her tiny hands bang on the tray as she awaits her food.

“Gotta wait for the men of the family, you.”

She coos when you press a kiss to the top of her soft, downy baby hair. Eliza continues her drum solo as you take a few steps into the hallway and call, “Boys! Dinner!”

The middle schoolers make it to the table before their father, so you start doling out the food onto everyone’s plates. Eddie saunters out, looking much better and more energized now that he’s no longer covered in dirt and grime.

Eddie takes his seat at the head of the table and manages to give your ass a light swat as you walk past him. You giggle, despite hearing Luke pretending to gag.

Once you take your seat, you pick up your glass of water and take a sip.

“Want some peas, Liza?” You spoon a handful onto her plate, and she immediately grabs one and smooshes it into her mouth.

“Mama, can I have some more applesauce?” Luke asks.

Eddie’s breath hitches as his eyes meet yours. The warm and elated smile you give him tells him all that he needs to know for right now. Pressure forms behind his own eyes and he clears his throat before spearing a chunk of meatloaf with his fork. He does his best to push the emotions down for now, but he can’t help but beam from ear to ear.

“That depends,” you respond to Luke as you pick up the jar of cinnamon applesauce.

“On what?” Luke asks.

Your grin grows to match Eddie’s.

“Say it again.”

It takes Luke a second but then he laughs.

“Mama, can I have some more applesauce, please?”

“Mama! Mama!” Eliza cheers.

“You guys,” Ryan whines, giving an over-the-top roll of his eyes to show he’s not being serious. “You're gonna drive her crazy. Be nice to Mama.”

You feel as if you could explode from all the happiness growing inside of you. All three of your babies calling you “Mama” right in a row? A giddy light-headedness takes hold of you, and you can’t help but giggle girlishly.

“I’m Mama,” you say to no one in particular as you hand Luke the jar of applesauce.

“Well, now I feel left out,” Eddie says, letting his fork drop onto his plate.

“Mama,” Eliza says, looking at her father.

“Oh yeah, you little wisecracker? Rubbing it in?” Eddie narrows his eyes at her and the baby giggles.

“You can say, ‘mama’ too,” Ryan tells him.

“Ah, I’m not gonna say it just for the hell of it,” Eddie says with a dismissive hand wave. “There has to be a reason.”

He picks his fork back up, but as soon as he spears another piece of meatloaf, he drops it again, the utensil clinking against the ceramic dinner plate.

“Wait! I got it,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow at your husband as he sits up straighter and clears his throat. Whatever is about to happen should be interesting.

“Mamaaaa, just killed a man! Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead!”

Both you and the boys start laughing, which makes Eliza laugh as well.

“Mamaaaa, life had just begun!” Luke continues the song, “But now I’ve gone and thrown it all awaaaaay!”

“Mamaaaa, ooooooh!” Ryan picks up the next piece. “Didn’t mean to make you cry! If I’m not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you say as you stand up. “Bravo, everyone.”

You give a slow clap as you walk over to your iPod dock on the counter. Its music kept you company while you were making dinner, but now it’s about to serve another purpose. Little clicks fill the quiet as you scroll through your small silver iPod and make sure to increase the volume from where you had it before.

“If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to do this right,” you say as you come upon the correct song. “And we need to start teaching Eliza how to headbang, even if she doesn’t have a whole lot of hair to whip around yet.”

The moment you press play, the opening notes of Bohemian Rhapsody fill the air. As you walk back to your seat, you slowly wave your hands in front of you, as if you were conducting the tinkling music.

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality

Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see

Luke slides off of his chair and walks on his knees over to you, hands clasped together just below his chin as he sings the next line to you.

“I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy.”

His theatrics make you chuckle, and you run your hand down the side of his face.

Because I'm easy come, easy go

Little high, little low

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me

“Okay, we all ready for the next line?” you ask, tugging Luke up off the floor and half onto your lap.

Ryan nods and you grin as Luke wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans his head against yours.

“Two, three…” Eddie counts down before everyone at the table—sans the very confused and entertained baby—belts out the next line.”

“Mamaaaaaaaaa!”

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