#Gojo the dad who stepped up

[let-me-cry-in-peace-guys]

GOJO SATORU WAS A TEEN FATHER. A F A T H E R. a DAD to megumi and NOTHING you can say will change my mind!!!!

just imagine teen satoru and tiny megumi holding hands, the sun setting behind them, and they're walking HOME. to THEIR home. cause they LIVE together and EAT together and COMFORT each other and i-

AND TSUMIKI!!!! TSUMIKI IS CANON YALL GOJO IS A #GIRLDAD FRFR

and-and i bet he like lets her braid his HAIR and try on his GLASSES and put lil pink STICKERS on his FACE AND UGYCRHBNDPIUJ

[yutamayo]

[lunajinxxes]

“Not to worry, Megumi-kun,” Gojo replies, waving his shiny black card around. “Think of me as your fairy godmother!”

Megumi scowls. “She left and her spells vanished after midnight.”

What are we owed, and what do we owe others? There are bonds in this life he cannot hope to repay, but he supposes somewhere is as good as any other place to start.

chapter 2 of my dad!gojo fic is up!! featuring lots of cute moments and just as much angst xd

[screampied]

DI☆MOND BOY. g. satoru

☆ sum. if there’s anything more scarier than a special grade curse to gojo, it’s coming home to his pretty ‘lil wife who’s got a sizzling hot temperature of baby fever.

wc. 8k

warnings. fem! reader, housewife! reader, fluffy smut, unprotected, mention of kids (2), baby fever, brief láctation kink, bóob obsessed gojo, cėrvix mentions, body worship, cunnīlingus, this is where you’re weak right, r has stretch marks, dad! bod gojo, breęding, sqúirting, spitting on it, fingęring, filthy pússy talk, implied multiple rounds, petnames.

an. this is kinda rawdogged, im ugly sobbing to sza, and i think … im a gojo girl now (・・?)

“sweetheaaart?” satoru steps through the doorway, doing a quick scan around the semi-tidy living room that he’s greeted with. turning to lock the door, the heel of his shoe nearly steps onto the edge of a squeaky teething toy. he picks it up, putting it in the basket of other toys with a contempt smile—remembering the kids were staying at your grandparents ‘till the weekend.

still - silence.

satoru scratched his head once you didn’t reply like usual whenever he announced himself. pulling off his coat, his husband instincts kicked in instantaneously. what if - what if, the same questions repeated through his head as he made his way upstairs. his heart’s racing, and as he’s speeding through the narrow hallway, he just hopes his wife’s alright.

but as he twists the croaking handle of the bedroom door, he’s met with you lying on his side of the bed. with a towel underneath you, you’ve got a cute scrunched-up look of frustration as you rub a vibrating wand up and down between your legs. you’re sprawled open—and as you’re whimpering repeatedly, it takes you a long second to realize satoru’s just stiffly standing in the doorway with the dumbest lopsided grin.

“s- satoru!”

“hey, girl,” his eyes avert toward your pretty thighs that trembled, occasionally leering back toward the drenched white towel that sat underneath you. stepping closer, he tossed the bag of toiletries you asked for, hearing it flop near the nightstand. “hey to you too, pretty.” and you pouted, watching as he slowly took the active buzzing toy from your hands.

leaning in, he greets your ankle with a delicate kiss. “ ‘m home, ‘toru’s home.”

his touch, it was forever gentle.

satoru’s lips softly planted against your skin, tilting his head to get a closer look at you - the epitome of looking like a guilty deer in headlights.

cute.

“how was um.. work?” you murmur, trying to ignore the quickening beats of your active heart.

thump after thump after thump and it’s just so loud that you were even starting to hear each pound sound out of your chest and through your ears.

satoru sits up, sliding a part of the blindfold to lift over his left eye.

right away - he’s staring at you with icy-blue eyes that resemble calming waves of crashing tides. long lashes of his flapped prettily as it took in your exposed figure with a single glance.

“was alrigh’,” he hoarsely mumbles before staring at the toy that was propped between your legs just a minute ago—gripping it in his palm. “are we gonna talk about this though?”

“i thought you’d be home later,” you shyly replied, feeling satoru gingerly rest his chin against your bare tummy. your voice sounded so smooth, especially whenever you were a tad bit nervous. he could listen to you all day. “and i never have time to um..”

“play with yourself?” satoru raised a snowy brow, kissing the centre of your stomach.

“mhm.”

“sweetheart, you have me y’know,” he flips a thumb over one of the pink buttons that were on the button, switching it off. the buzzing noise gradually dies down with a ‘powering off’ sound before he sets it aside.

god - you felt so fuckin’ hot.

as he laid close between your legs, showering your skin with ‘i missed you’ kisses — you let off a soft, contempt sigh.

“yeah, but- like, when you aren’t here. i would call you but i don’t wanna do that while you’re working, ‘toru,” and satoru places the edge of his wrist on the side of his cheek, intently listening to you.

his eyes softened - pupils dilating with love, nearly forming into hearts as you spoke. as your sentences continued—you could see tiny dimples forming at each corner of his crooked pink lips. he’s trying so hard not to smile. “. . what?”

satoru sits up before pressing a three-second kiss against your lips. “sweetheart, you can call me while ‘m at work, you know. i don’t mind if it’s you,” and he surprises the left side of your temple with another peck. “even if it’s a text. you’re the only thing that keeps me sane when i’m out trying to save the world.”

“okay,” you replied, cupping his face.

satoru stares deeply into your eyes, and you can already visibly see that smug grin preparing to tug across his pink-glittery lips.

there was something else though.

with the kids away ‘till sunday, you found yourself pondering a bit.

you’d be watching some random show on tv them out of nowhere — you’re hit with a commercial for diapers.

it’s like the universe was trying you.

it’d happen at least more than once a day, and you’re just thinking . . . what if.

satoru and you joked about having another baby sometimes but now - it had you thinking.

just imagining the pure imagery of you walking around with a plump, swollen tummy, again—having satoru carry you almost anywhere, hearing him lovingly brag about his oh-so-perfect wife that’s expecting in the background of a phone call.

ah.

you had baby fever,

again.

that much was apparent, and satoru noticed how you were spacing out mid-conversation.

“heeey, what’s goin’ on in that pretty mind?” he pouts, his face still cupped with both of your palms. “earth to mama gojo.”

“satoru,” you’d sigh, a breathy gasp trying to tear its way through your lungs. you felt like you were burning up—and the more he pressed sweet kisses against your tummy, the more you started to feel your temperature rising. “i.. i feel hot.”

his eyes widen, placing a hand on the back of your forehead. “is everything okay?” and as he starts to get into his ‘protective husband mode’,

satoru sits up, white brows twitching in concern. “stay here, baby. let me get a thermo-”

“no, no- not hot in that way, ‘toru,” you shake your head, grabbing his wrist.

satoru’s a bit dumbfounded and it takes his empty brain a bit to fully register what you meant. leisurely, your thumb circles around his hardened knuckles before you give him that look.

he knew that look all too well.

“oh! oh, you’re …. horny. okay!” he dryly laughs, his look of worry slowly faltering.

satoru grabs your wrists, giving each of them soft open-mouthed kisses before speaking warmly. “i should’ve . . . figured, hehh-” and his eyes flicker down between your legs that were shamelessly dripping from each thigh with dewy drops of slippery slick. “was the new toy treating you well?”

“no. you sort of interrupted me and i didn’t finish.” you huffed, and satoru cheekily grinned.

“well pardon me for thinking somethin’ happened to my beloved missus,” satoru sneaks another kiss against your lips.

he tastes sweet - his lips, were always naturally glossed and his lashes lowered once you let off a cute, impatient sigh.

“but, my poor poor girl,” you moaned as he continued to hoarsely tease you, feeling him sneak a big hand between your already cracked-open thighs.

“girls,” he corrects himself, bringing the pad of his thumb near the opening of your drenched clit. you’re whimpering, hearing a single wet slosh sob from between your legs once satoru gives your entrance a single sparing second of his attention. “she’s as wet as ever, huh.”

“s.. s- ‘toruuu-” you’d gasp, watching as his head trails down low low low until it reaches just below your abdomen.

satoru’s hair gently grazed against your skin, and you were desperately holding in a deep exhale that you didn’t even know you were clinging onto for the longest.

“let’s see how much she’s missed me..” satoru gravelly coos, giving your nub a gentle kiss. it’s a wet ‘mwah’ that sticks against his lips like paste.

your legs were already struggling to hold still, and satoru couldn’t help but hum. as he swirls the flat of his palm around your twitching pussy in sloppy circles, you could already see him hungrily licking his lips through your blurred peripherals.

lying fully back, your back hits against the cushioned pillow that flatly plumps itself out against your weight.

your breaths started to sound more and more labored the closer he pursed his puckered his lips..

wetly, satoru brings a lanky middle finger towards your entrance before gradually sinking it inside. you’re moaning, feeling the lengthy tip of his tongue before he treats the top of your clit with a few beginning kitten licks.

“f- fuuuck,” your brows curled together, feeling him cup his mouth around your pussy. it’s a damp, wet pop! that resounds from between your legs, and it’s all because of his finger that easily disappears between your folds. “more, ‘toru- pleaseplease.”

“ ‘m gettin’ there,” he purrs huskily, grunting once he swirls his middle finger around inside of you. it’s so looong, stretching all through you as he feels you tighten around his digit for a few split seconds.

“atta girl, bare ‘round it for me jus’ like that baby … fuck.” as you’re slowly wetting his middle finger with your slickness, that’s when you feel him preparing to stick another in.

it’s so slippery yet again - loudly, it pops its way inside, echoing out a pretty noise before he eases his index finger inside. satoru’s fingers were just so damn long that it didn’t take him long to locate your g-spot at all.

with a ‘c’mere’ motion of his fingers pulling back and forth inside of you, he’s flicking both fingers you’re already spasming out. he’s reaching you good, and he’s drinking every melodic moan that left from your lips.

“f- fuck, riiiight there,” you’d continue, your hips squirming a bit. parched breaths from satoru fanned against your pussy, and he’s groaning right with you.

you’re just so wet - drowning in puddles of your lustful filth, and like the doting husband he was, he just had to clean you up. proudly, he does so with nothing more than a few flicks of his tongue.

“s.. satoruuu.” you’d whimper, biting the inside of your cheek once the pad of his index finger’s starting to ruuub its way against your g-spot.

your scent - satoru went feral for it every time, and he’s starting to lap his tongue against your clit at a much more erratic speed.

he’s forming slow yet steady stripes in an up ‘n down motion, occasionally smearing a thumb across your cunt to hear you whine. satoru’s low groans were muffled—sounding husky and all, and he’s just merrily slurping you while you writhe uncontrollably against his face. he even had the goofiest grin on his face the entire time too.

he had to admit, being between his wife’s legs or even being in your presence alone was far better than fighting some ugly special grade curse.

your grabby hands found their way to your full, jouncing breasts and you gave them a nice squeeze before whining again. even that made you sensitive.

between the wet thrusts of his long tongue—satoru’s giving your heat sloppy, sloppy kisses, even making sure to give your pussy a few pecks also. he left no area unattended.

satoru’s eyes shined bright, even brighter whenever when he was between your thighs.

in a way, the colors of his blue eyes had parallels to the shade of sapphire or any jewel, really.

as his eyes occasionally met against your own— you’re always staring at a vibrant, luminescent shade of cerulean that was forevermore fixated on you and only you.

his wife.

“mhh, hearin’ her cry for me is just the recharge i need from work, sweetheart,” he groans, cautiously pushing his twinned digits in of your cunt before pulling them riiiight back out.

not all the way, but just to where the glossy tips of his fingers showed. you’re clamping down on them both well—and he made sure that you felt every inch. you were indeed loud though, especially between your legs.

as satoru’s counting each vulgar squelch in his head, tittering to himself at how you just couldn’t help but pop out slosh after soddened slosh..

he’s paying attention to certain spots inside of you, and he’s stickily hitting all tender spots inside of your pussy - treating each one like a target.

bullseye after bullseye - he hits you in all the right places, and if it was one thing satoru’s long fingertips didn’t do, it was that they never miss.

ever.

your back’s just arching like a stretching feline, and your unsteady irregular breaths were far more than labored by this point. satoru’s tongue glides its way across your pussy before he takes a moment to spit right against your sopping entrance. you’re moaning, peering down at him, and he’s so focused on the mess taking place between your cute, shuddering thighs..

“haah-” he breathes, pulling out his fingers briefly to suck on them for a taste. “missed her so bad. she’s missed me too - fuck, can’t . . help but clench all ‘round me,” he whispers, prying your legs even more apart.

satoru’s taking his precious sweet time, savoring each honeyed drop that dribbled down your thighs before he feels your hand gripping his hair. as his head abruptly yanks forward, satoru looks up at you while sliding a tongue over his lower, slick-covered lip. “hm?”

“ ‘toru, m- my stretch marks,” you hesitate, your thumb gently digging a path through his scalp.

pausing, his dripping lips rested near the crevice of your thighs before he kissed the inner corner. “yeah. what about ‘em?”

truth be told, you were never so fond of them.

you knew your body would change after pregnancy, even more after the second time but still -

it had you feeling a bit iffy sometimes, pouting whenever you looked in the mirror and peeking down to glance at the stained marks reminding you of your visibly changing body.

“its just.. so-”

“beautiful, perfect, gorgeoussss..” he lowly whispers, kissing your thighs after each compliment that sang from his twitching lips.

satoru always knew the perfect time to cut off your sentence that he just knew was gonna be something negative.

with him—he’s listened to you express about your stretch marks, or anything new appearing on your body, and every single time, he’d remind you of just how flawless you were - to him.

you moaned, looking down to see his crimson-pink lips halting from your aroused entrance, pressing dozens of wet kisses down each striping mark that stretched against the inner parts of your thighs.

his lips were so zealously soft, and each impact of the kiss had your heart fluttering in the same way a butterfly flapped its wings. satoru’s fluffed ivory tresses were still gripped tightly in your hand, and he could feel your hold lessening by the second.

“even if you may not like your body, i love it,” he murmurs lowly, closing his eyelids. “and i love you.”

your skin was burning up, probably hotter than before and your heart felt like it was about to burst out the middle of your rising chest. each beat was more powerful than the last, and you started to feel a tingle in your toes.

“but baby-” he continues, bringing the back of your hand toward his lips before giving it a chaste kiss.

“i hope you know that you’ve gifted me two children with this beautiful body,” satoru sighs, guiding his lips down the bottom of your tummy to shower a kiss there too. “i’ll remind you every day of why i love you ‘n your beauty marks if that’s what you want. besides! i’m growing some too heh-”

“ ‘toru-”

“starting now,” he coos hotly, trailing his kisses back down between the valley of your legs. “such a perfect body, can’t believe i get ‘ta call you mine,” and with one concluding kiss against your marks, he brings an eager closing kiss against your drooling cunt. “can’t forget ‘bout her too, my other pretty wet girl.”

whining, you felt an impatient heat pooling its way around inside of you. your legs started to quaver again, and you were feeling your jaw tighten before slacking. “sa- satoru, ‘m gonna .. cum,” you rawly mewl out, your grip on his hair tightening again like before.

pursing his thin lips into a straight line, he brings them back toward your pussy, sluuurping everything out of you whilst you’re nearly dragging his head back and forth against your dripping heat.

satoru’s stubble tickles against your folds and it cutely makes your legs twitch. with your ankles having a mind of its own, they wrap around satoru’s neck — keeping him in a lock.

“mmgh-” his white lashes remained shut as he cupped his lips with such intensity.

satoru’s chin was getting drenched with your mess, and he couldn’t care less. his head moves and moves, swaying frantically between your legs while forgetting to take a single breath.

you tasted like candy - equivalent like honey, and the tip of his tongue was adamant on slurping up any ‘n every single drop of nectar that dribbled from between your puffed slit. satoru’s always had a sweet tooth, and your cunt was the only treat he’d happily feast on all day long if he could.

“c’mon, pretty,” he huffs breathlessly, the button tip of his nose swiping its way down your clit. you’re so so close, and your orgasm’s just sitting on your maddened tastebuds.

as his head continues to ferociously bob between your shaky legs, you’re whining with those same sweet babbles and babbles of his name, begging for him to not stop. his tongue’s just covered with his sugary-tasting saliva—sticky webs gluing against the bottom part of his chin as he’s now buried nose deep.

“toru, satoruuu,” and its more of a pitiful battle cry.

the edges of his teeth softly nip against your cunt before his tongue lazily circles around your throbbing frenulum. an incoming prolonged moan gets caught in your throat as you feel his head tilting for a better angle. “cum- ‘m cumming, fuuuck!”

as your release was coming to its teetering demise, you were shrieking at the top of your lungs in overwhelmed pleasure.

satoru’s giving your labia its final sweet ‘lil wet sucks before feeling your legs weakly releasing its temporary lock around his head.

heavily, he’s panting sharply against your pussy before bringing a thumb toward the top part of your puffy nub.

satoru’s sloppily spreading it apart with a single finger, staring at the cute excited pulse that occurs from the very inside of your pussy.. “haah- good girl.” he praises, feeling you arch further once his drenched stubble scrapes against your crying entrance.

you’re wetter than ever - and satoru’s lips shined even brighter thanks to your treacly juices. passively, his reddened tongue chafed ‘n twirled ‘round inside of you, and as you’re still riding out your eye-boggling finish on his face, you grab him by the hair. “s- satoru, just.. hah- came.”

“mhm~” he clumsily falls face-first against your cunt, giving your teary folds a wet kiss.

smugly, he looks up at you with a slick chin before whistling against your clit. “phewww. did ya?” he grumbles, creeping a plump thumb near your puckering hole.

you clench at that, and he ogled as your tummy sinks inward. “fuck, s.. sooo damn pretty,” and as he gives your pussy a few departing french kisses, he sighs. “mmch-” he smacks his lips, and you stared as he swiftly removed his blindfold with one hand.

as you’re panting yourself, your legs remained spread.

still lying on his stomach, satoru brought his black blindfold up to his sneering lips before wiping it side-to-side, using it as a handkerchief.

“hah- wifey tastes as good as always,” he snickers, closing the gap between you two with his own body. as satoru’s towering figure falls against you, he brings a longing, silky peck to you before groaning against your trembling, kiss-swollen lips.

satoru awkwardly moves against you before mumbling out a few ‘f… fuck’ ‘s once he feels a certain something poke from the middle of his boxers.

he’s … hard.

you felt the bulge stick out of the cloth, pressing against your bare cunt — its hard to miss, and your hands instinctively reached for the knotted string of his pants.

“baby-” he bites his lip, feeling the tent prod wider. its almost painful, and he’s even starting to grind against your leg to ease the throbbing. “mmgh-” he goofily grins, his expression shortly switching to a look of lustful panic.

he’s been so focused on you that he didn’t even realize all this time—he’s had a raging boner that’s been aching for any sort of crumbs of attention.

“baby, were you working while being this hard?” you timidly murmur, watching as satoru’s face flushes with a burning tint of strawberry red.

“h.. heh. no silly,” lie.

satoru had a bit of a bad habit of randomly thinking about you - his adorable, sweet ‘n perfect wife while he was out fighting enemies.

sometimes, the longer he thought about you - the longer his problem got.

satoru brings a hand toward your right breast, and you gasped once he gives it a loud ‘popping’ suck. frosty-white strands of his hair drag against your skin as he’s slooowly running his balmy, hot tongue around your sensitive nipple.

you were still tender - not just anywhere but everywhere.

it’s fully marked a year since you had your second child, meaning that of course, your body would still be a bit sensitive in some places. places like your soft, rounded breasts—especially.

you moaned, feeling the tip of his drooling, wet tongue criss-cross its way around your perked areola. every suck suck suck pops out from his lips louder, and you start to play with his hair.

“s.. satoru,” you whined, a pout starting to display against your lips as he tended to each breast lovingly.

“i know.. i hah- know,” he breathes through rushed exhales, turning you on your side. “jus' wanted to make sure my favorite girls got some attention too.”

you felt the cool air whoosh against your skin at each second he released each nipple from his lips. it's brief - but quick, and satoru’s already got you pulsating. he’s flicking his tongue while fluttering his lashes at you, allowing clear driblets of saliva to drizzle from the cracks of his mouth.

you’re biting your lip the entire time as you held the back of his head close—hearing a bit of shuffling before satoru’s eyes trail down your fidgeting body.

so cute.

there’s a shiny sparkle in his eyes, it’s glimmer never faltering and he’s just falling in love all over again.

every moment he spent staring at you or your body, he felt that same lump forming in the back of his throat.

“ ‘s this comfy?” he wantonly purrs, caressing the bare flesh of your ass. you cling onto the pillow beside you before giving him a nod.

the slight shuffling you heard was from satoru. his sweats fell to the carpet floor with a loud thud, and his boxers shortly followed afterward.

finally - he could breathe.

his boner was just crying weakly, the tip feeling so hot as it had pearly-white globules of pre-cum wetly darting from all veiny sides.

sighing, satoru wraps a palm around his hardened cock before clicking his tongue while continuing to tease you. “ah- words, sweetheart. y’know how ‘ta use ‘em.”

“y- yes.” and with how whiny your words came out, you mentally slapped yourself.

satoru’s skin was just so close to yours - radiating hot waves of heat against your thighs. within seconds, he’s already enveloping you gradually with his embracing warmth.

pouting and all, you were steadily impatient, and he heard your cute ‘lil sighs of agitation repeating ‘till he lifted your leg.

sideways.

he was gonna take you sideways, and the single thought alone brewed up a flittering feeling of butterflies in your empty tummy.

“haah- missed you all day, have no idea.” satoru inhales through each nostril, bringing his cherry-capped tip towards your weeping entrance.

so … damn … soaked..

as he gawked, he could still taste the sugary-sweet remnants of your essence in his mouth, coating his lips like a natural gloss.

as you’re on your left side, your tits end up smushing against each other. it’s such a pretty sight too, ‘cause not even seconds later, you heard a raspy ‘ohhh fuck’ draw from satoru’s lips.

your pussy was just profusely leaking, and satoru’s holding back all hearty grunts the minute his swollen tip smacked its way against your lustrous-coated slit.

as it sops with nothing but runny molasses of your own colorless slick, your chest sucks in. “ ‘toruuuu, baby- fuckk. don’t tease me,” you’d whimper, quietly huffing at each commencing pap sound of his tip gently hitting against your folds.

he hums, hearing his wet you were - how sloppy you sounded.

satoru’s tip’s an angry red, fuming with a carmine flushing shade and he’s groaning once his vast thumb sinfully brushes past a prominent throbbing vein.

pulse after pulse after fuckin’ pulse, and you’re just making him harder.

“s… shit, you’re right. if i tease you, ‘m just gonna end up makin’ myself finish early, princess.” satoru diffidently chortles, and you hear the pathetic squelch of your pussy begging for him to just shut up and ease his way inside already..

finally - satoru’s making his way inside, ploddingly sinking a few inches inside.

with a few wet ‘fwop’ sloshes, he’s disappearing into you. like always, you’re hugging him tight - dependent on never letting him go.

your pussy’s warmth makes satoru’s glitzed lashes flap shut for a moment, and he’s kissing his teeth. your wetness was taking him to a whole new world almost. it’s almost entirely satisfying at how you’re just swallowing all hefty nth-inches like it was nothing.

as satoru’s trying to carefully fit his way in, he runs a hand down his tummy that’s growing a bit of a pudge. he was starting to develop a dad bod himself.

satoru was still very much fit, but as the years went on—he was eventually starting to get plump, more . . soft.

overtime, he liked being the little spoon in bed. he was really soft - identical to a teddy bear with strong arms wrapping around you. his favorite position to sleep would usually be with his head resting between your chest or on your stomach.

he’s got a trail of white hairs that sprinkled all across his chest like paint splattered on a canvas. a few hairs even made their way toward his chiseled v-line, dashing just below his pelvis. all over his body, he still had multiple scars—scars from countless battles, and he himself always found them unpleasant to look at.

but just like he did for you - you made sure to kiss all of his scars that decorated his skin.

you still felt his sharpened natural abs - they were just a bit softer though.

satoru grunts, stuffing a hand underneath the crack of your bent leg before he’s juuuust about bottomed out.

his rotund base was as full as it’s ever been, and he heard your cute gargled whines trying so hard to conceal themselves.

“hng- pretty mama, don’t . . do that,” he takes stingy puffs of air, gripping firmly against your skin. satoru’s brows come into a furrow, and with the final gushing ‘plap’ alerting you both that he’s stuffed balls deep, satoru phews. “i wanna hear ya, let me- hah- hear that pretty voice f’ me.”

“f- fuuuck.” you moan out, your entire steady body becoming unstable, wriggling like jello with just a single rigid thrust.

satoru’s tip is always nice and wide, and it curves its way around your insides before expanding further and further.

with your leg bent at a near-perfect ninety-degree angle, he’s got you right where he wants you.

his dick’s sliiiiding in and out, and fuck- you felt it all.

satoru’s leaning, still holding up your leg before grunting. your cunt’s oily wetness nearly drove him mad, and you’re just coating him with your slick through and through..

the achy muscles in his lower thigh muscles quickly clench, and satoru’s already starting to feel himself break a sweat.

fuck.

“ngh- ‘toru,” you’d whimper out rawly, the chords in your throat struggling to maintain their natural pitch. he’s just hitting you so deep, swabbing the tip of his cock around your pussy like a q-tip.

it was just so sloppy at how it swirled its way in a circle, leaving you nothing but goosebumps from the inside everytime. he’s deep, stuffing you full with all capped inches of his stretching cock.

as he’s sideways right with you—satoru’s skewing his hips a certain way just so you could feel each delicious pound.

if he kept jackhammering into you like that, you were sure you were gonna start drooling against your fleecy pillowcase within no time.

satoru’s sweaty fingerprints were practically glued in between the crevices of your held-up thigh, and he was letting off sharp raspy breaths after each stroke.

he’s full, groaning as his base thwacks its way back ‘n forth into your dripping pussy. the lewd sounds rang through the four thin walls of the bedroom, and you’re just faintly nibbling on your numbed tongue. “s- so full, mngh- right there baby. keep.. hah- fuckin’ me there.”

“god-” satoru leans in, his chest flatly pressed against yours. he helps you sit upright, and you can now crane your head slightly just to see him through your bleary peripherals again. “right here, princess? right .. fuckin’ .. here?”

he’s sloppily punctuating each thrust with his words that coarsely flew past his lips.

satoru’s shaft had the right kind of lean that made you gasp. the lazy, hanging curve of his cock dragged its way through your cunt and had you whining loudly, filling his ear with constant cacophonies of your cute ‘lil ‘pleaseplease’ ‘s, ‘yesyes’ ‘s, and his personal favorite, ‘satoruuuu.’

with your head vaguely turned, he leans in to kiss you.

it’s barely a kiss - more like a bumpy battle of teeth clashing, because with his delirious thrusts, you could hardly reach against his lips.

between kisses, you heard the mixture of wet moans and hearty ‘i love you’ ‘s fall past both shared lips.

satoru’s sly smile stretches across the corners of his mouth as he’s still pounding you into straight oblivion, making sure every single orifice of yours remembers any incoming inch of his.

“hngh- feels.. so hah- good, baby,” you’d babble, taking a few hastened milliseconds in between to breathe.

it felt like you were racing with your breath, forevermore losing.

satoru’s just ruthless - stretching you wholeheartedly as the bed underneath you both grunted in horror. its creaking competed with the headboard from above which was probably older than time itself.

with this particular angle, he’s hitting you even deeper, and you feel the buds on your tongue preparing to sodden with pools of rich, cloying saliva.

“sato- ah!” you squealed, growing cross-eyed for a second.

right there,

as satoru’s hand still clings onto the opening of your drooping thigh, his tip kisses a direct path near your cervix before that kiss turns into a thrusting smooch.

your mind’s just blank - fog surrounds it, and your voice starts to pitch higher. he’s hitting you there, and satoru hissed at the familiar spongy texture that was trying hard to clamp around him oh-so tight.

the feeling of melting-hot pressure from the very inside of your sopping core makes you let off a cute, ‘oooh’ as he shimmies his hips.

“toru don’t s- stop hittin’ there, please.”

“mng- there she is. found it, didn’t i?” his guttural voice murmurs.

panting harshly—satoru snakes a free arm around your waist, and he gently presses his palm against your belly.

sliding up up up, he adds just a wee bit more pressure to near the exact area he’s reaching inside of you.

his cock’s stupidly long, and it’s continuously locating all the right spots before your mind tirelessly shot blanks. as his dampened fingertips warily graze circles around your heaving tummy, he brings his glimmering lips up to the searing lobe of your ear.

“here, princess?” satoru huffs darkly, his breathing almost animalistic as he lifts your leg even higher.

as you’re sideways, you felt multiple inches of his cock steadily continue to bruise your cervix with a plethora of heart-felt, mean tip-kisses.

your eyes were bulging, lashes batting, mouth dangling wide open. “this is- hah- where you’re weak riiiight? this.. fuckin’ .. spot where ‘m hitting, oh fuckk-” he pauses, his nose wrinkling from the immense sliding stimulation.

“y- yes, there- fuck! ‘toruuu-”

it’s just soooo slick inside you, and satoru’s groaning all up against your ear.

“dirty girl. mngh- pussy can’t.. help but talk back. god, jus’ listen to her, she’s even singing for me ‘n everything. wettest lyrics of a song i’ve ever.. hah- heard,” and as if on cue, the sloshing sounds slosh even louder after each overzealous jam of satoru’s pivoting hips.

you’re stammering on your own words, choking on every shrilling whine and whimper that dared to tug away from your worn-out voice.

satoru’s dick knew each pressure point to hit too.

every. single. one.

after all, if it was anyone who knew your body - it was him.

that included bedaubing his crowned tip near erogenous places. satoru’s easing his way in and out, making not only your heart flutter but your insides too..

it’s one wet whack of skin against each other after another, and all you could do was clamp around his cock and take it like the good girl you were.

with your tummy heaving consistently, it’s doing nothing but sending a horde of nerves all through the axons and nerves that run through your body.

it’s sending staticky signals that are more than enough to make your brain lose a few circuits.

satoru’s berserk-like thrusts were at damn near lightning speed, and he was snickering at each whine that flew past your trembly-glossed lips.

“ ‘toruuuu,” you’d drag out his name, moaning once you felt a few of his thin fingers wisp down your back that’s starting to perspire with tears of sweat.

he’s stretchy, molding the inside of your cunt with each pump of his stiffening cock that’s drilling into your very core.

panting like a greyhound, you’re stunned for a second once satoru lets off a rough groan against the shell of your ear.

his mushroomy tip faultlessly smashed its way against and into your flittering cervix that felt almost heart-shaped—zigzagging its way down before smashing against that pulsating spot again.

he feels it and you feel it too.

“ngh- ‘m gonna cum again,” you’d mewl out, feeling the sliminess of both sweaty bodies slick against each other in raw harmony.

his ramming hips naturally arched into yours, deepening the steep angle even more before hearing you squawk out a tiny warning sob. “cum- ‘m gonna cum, sato—mmngh!”

as satoru’s still holding you from your side, you’re hit with a multitude of elated emotions. you’re clamping down on him tightly, feeling your legs grow limp within seconds.

sloppily, your pussy squeaking wetly between your open thighs as you cream all down his shaft, creating nothing more than a miry, slippery mess..

your cheek presses against the middle part of your pillow as you’re spasming underneath him, whining out the same ragged, incoherent babbles.

“satoru, s- satoru,” you’d coo out, hearing his huffing puffs of air from behind you.

satoru slows himself down, wrapping soft arms around your torso as you ride out your orgasm.

with your hips still feebly stuttering back against him—it left the sweetest taste in your mouth.

all over, you felt overly sensitive - and satoru could feel your body succumbing in pleasure and defeat within his firm hold.

he held you close, brushing a thumb around your navel before whispering murmurs of, ‘there we go’ ‘s or, ‘i gotcha,’ ‘s.

“fuck, such a good sloppy girl,” he flips you over, still entirely buried inside of your clenching cunt. satoru brings his quivering lips toward yours, giving you kisses before speaking in between rushed, humid smacks. “hah- you okay, princess?”

“mhm.” you nod, crawling your way on top of him. satoru has a sheepish grin, and he does a quick peer down at your body.

damn.

the first thought that would always pop into his mind whenever his eyes landed on you—his wife’s perfect body.

they’d trail down down down, stopping at your plush thighs before darting right back up towards your face. his thumbs gently caressed near the familiar marks that creased faintly against your thighs before he sneaks a kiss near your relaxing jaw.

“heh- think the missus is gettin’ a bit cocky today, no?” satoru jibes a toothy smile once he watches you straddle him, bringing an open palm to the left cheek of your ass, grabbing a bit of skin.

you nearly slipped off a sultry-sounding moan at his sudden touch but cutely grumbled, making him lie back with a flick of your finger before attacking the crook of his neck with wet kisses.

“oh.. my, aren’t you a frisky one today.”

“shut up, ‘toru.”

“hmph. you’re kinda mean when you’re horny, princess.. sexy.”

☆ ☆ ☆

it’s probably been hours - satoru’s had you in any and every position possible, showering every part of your body with its favorite combination of kisses ‘n compliments.

he just couldn’t help it.

especially when you just looked so effortlessly pretty like that underneath him.

currently, he had you in a mating press and oh-

as he’s on top of you—satoru gets lost in your lust-filled gaze. your eyes, they were like some sort of maze he could never find the exit from.

he’s much slower with his rhythm this time, cupping two palms underneath your thighs as he’s gradually feeding your cunt stroke after stroke. both pounds of skin ricocheted against each other, noisily papping as the clashing of grinding bodies continued.

your cunt’s just drooling, leaking with endless amounts of buttery clods of his sticky, hot cum. it dribbles out of your gummed slit, creating a frothy white ring around his base as his hips continue to wedge into your sopping wet pussy.

“ ‘toru- oh, satoru—ooh!” you’d squeal out, digging the edges of nails into his bare shoulder.

satoru’s grunting lowly against your neck, using a hand to bring both knees up to your chest. “haah- c’mon, princess. ‘m still not done fillin’ ya yet, gotta get this tummy nice ‘n plump,” and as his kiss-bitten lips hover against yours, he’s pouting.

satoru squeezes one of your tits before huffing. “these too. n- need to see ‘em full again, so fuckin’ full.”

satoru’s competing pitchy moans with you, each sound laced with nothing but lust and utter carnal desire.

from the inside, you had a sticky grip on him that had him utterly whipped.

satoru’s crimsoned tip spiraled its way around your cunt before sloppily thrashing its way against the convulsing nub of your pulsating clit.

leisurely, it batters its way toward that spot repeatedly until you’re just short-circuiting on his cock once again. “hngh- satoru, ohmygoddd,” you’d hysterically sob out, feeling his big hand cup underneath your chin.

your chin’s slick, and you were messily salivating a bit as he continued. moments later—satoru slips his middle finger inside of your mouth and you moaned, sucking it without a single given thought. “m- mhm.”

“good girl,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as his rickety pace picked up its quickening speed.

satoru’s hips were just downright rude, and he was just trying to savor each clasping clap of skin that he possibly could.

you looked so pretty with half-lidded eyes and webby clear strings of your saliva damply cascading down the sides of your lips.

“ ‘m gonna cum, sweetheart. you’re gonna . . hah- make me fuckin’ cuuum-” and you could hear solely from the tone of his voice, it was turning shaky.

each gasping syllable - it’s struggling desperately to hang on, faltering at each delivery of the next word that spills from his sleek lips.

“mng-” your moan, and satoru hummed before snatching his digit back from between your lips. he leans in to kiss you, delving his hot tongue straight into your mouth.

he’s hungry, demanding access as the tip of the pink muscle circles its way around the inside of your mouth.

it brushes against your flat tongue before his teeth greet your lips once more—giving it a needy ‘let me in’ gnaw. you part your lips so he could have more access, and satoru moans into your mouth.

“satoru, ‘m gonna cum too-” you breathlessly admit, briefly seeing splotches of white once your eyes mindlessly roll back on their own.

he’s so biiiig, stretching you to the very fullest ‘till the very end.

as your legs sporadically shook, you’re letting off sweet hurried gasps once you felt his cock expanding through your guts yet again.

you’re feeling butterflies scatter inside you everywhere, and not once did that familiar pool of heat sensation subside.

instead, it grows stronger and hotter, and you’re mentally fanning yourself as his engorged tip surprises your cervix for the umpteenth time.

it's constant - it happens more than once and it always always always feels like the first fuckin’ time.

his cock’s still leaking from his recent non-stop releases, and blood’s starting to rush to satoru’s head.

raucous, fast-paced breaths wafted against both opened mouths as satoru’s cock attentively drills into your inviting cunt at a more weakened speed.

he’s literally drowning in your pussy, your slick wetness his ultimate weakness.

as weak arms wrap around his neck, you brush a thumb down his undercut — earning a soft whiny, “h.. hey,” snatch from his lips.

satoru’s body was damn near smushed over yours nearly crushed you with his soft squishing weight.

still, though, he’s making sure to hover to where he wasn’t crushing you fully - having his rounded tummy grinding back ‘n forth against your body. as his body rubs its way onto yours after each stroke, you felt satoru’s noticeable happy trail tickle against the outer entrance of your cunt.

“ugh-” satoru sucks in a delayed breath, pressing his forehead against yours.

weakly, his knees began to fatally buckle as his nearly-drained cock’s still pushing its way through your squeezing pussy.

the build up of it all was just utterly blissful.

satoru’s shallow breath gets taken away from him like that, and he could feel himself going limp the microsecond his dick’s starting to spray inside you. “oh fuck, oh f- fuuuck.”

he grumbles, delicately sinking his teeth into your neck. he’s swallowing hard, losing all sorts of composure as his limbs start to quit functioning as if it was some sort of machine.

your finish shortly comes after too, but you end up gushing this time - and not just between your legs.

satoru hears your sweet surprised yelps before looking down, noticing your perked nipples were a bit more hardened than usual. they looked swollen - more plump than usual, and shiny.

you’re squirting down his cock, hearing the lewd squelches confirm that very fact as you even leak a bit from the centres of your nipples.

“holy shit-,” satoru blinks, and embarrassment interrupts your high almost right away.

your first instinct was to cover your face, and satoru leans in between the valley of your chest. your orgasm was so powerful that you ended up getting milked out yourself - literally.

cautiously, he slides his tongue around one of your nipples that’s dribbling with treacly dewdrops of white sweetness. it’s not even a lot, but it’s just enough because he purrs against your skin once the creamy taste hits the buds of his tongue.

“mmng-” and as he’s still pumping probably the fifth load into you, your cunt ends up clenching around him - wringing him so damn dry.

satoru’s taking turns sucking both of your plump tits, savoring the taste before his half-open eyes land on you.

he’s sloppy - encircling the tip of his sticky tongue over the ring of each tit before ‘popping’ one nipple after another from his lips.

satoru’s sweating, and he’s panting even more after your cute ‘lil outburst.

a gooey ring of cum bubbles around the thick base of his cock as he’s still stuffed inside you deep, but he wasn’t even thinking about that anymore.

sighing, he rubs the back pad of his thumb against one of your nipples that was still slightly leaking before he laps it right up, staring at you intently the entire time. his cum’s still spilling out, splattering on your tummy with his tip a fiery red.

“mmh, that’s hah- new. didn’t know you were still ah- leaking, princess. i have that much of an effect on you?”

“s.. shut up-” you moaned, your body still trying to get over its recent climax.

between the arc of your chest — you’re covered with sweat too. satoru hums to himself, tending to each breast before gently grabbing your chin.

“ ‘m guessing that’s a sign that you’re havin’ your seasonal baby fever again, yeah?” satoru smugly grins, feeling your body faintly twitching underneath him. “uh oh.”

his tongue against your tender nipples felt so good that it took you a while to generate a response in your brain that was just short-circuited completely.

deadpanning, you let off a grumbling, “obviously, satoru.”

“sorry, sorrrrry!” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your lips. you whimpered against his lips as his thumbs still tickled against each spurting nipple while his tongue curled around the inside of your mouth.

his touch was always soft, leaving you breathless every time.

your cunt’s overflowed with cum though - and even as his lips glued against yours, you could feel the slippery milky masses stream down from your slick, foaming against both pairs of stilled skin.

everything feels so hot - but satoru’s breath colliding against your tongue felt even hotter.

he’s just so enamored by you, and he can’t help but softly reach for your wrist.

“mng- satoru..” you whined against smacking pairs of lips, strings of loose saliva threatening to tear apart slickly.

“shh,” he whispers, breaking away from your lips to grab onto your hand.

he turns it around, bringing it toward his lips before pressing a single wet kiss against the back of your index finger.

there - your wedding ring beamed bright, brighter than any gem as his lips stamped against the tiny individual diamonds that made up the pricey rock.

you felt your heart flutter, watching silently as he starts to kiss your wedding ring again, again, and again, and again. .

“hah- that’s how many more babies we’re gonna make.”

one … two … three … f-

as you were trying to count in your head, satoru cheekily hummed before cocking his head. “heh, better get started.” and you moaned for a final time, hearing his cock wetly slide its way from your cum-filled cunt.

filthily, such creamed amounts ooze out of you and he hears the pretty sloshes commence not even seconds later. satoru then presses his silver wedding ring against your bare stomach before giving you one final kiss.

glancing up at you teasingly, satoru smacks the swollen crown head of his cock against your folds.

“now.. c’mon, mama gojo. upsie hah- daisy,” satoru throatily grunts, pushing your knees right back up to their initial position.

he just wanted to kiss the cute pout off your lips.

your thighs still shook—and satoru huffs heavily, bringing one hand to squeeze your breast, another easing his fat crowned tip inside of your sobbing pussy.

“let those legs stretch for me one more time. attaaaa girl. tha’s my girl-”

and as gojo leans in to press a soft kiss against your tummy, he hums.

“heh- we’ve got a loooot of mini gojos to make, mommy.”

[raddestrose]

I was going to write something about fathers day, but like in anime and stuff they’re all like absent fathers or orphans. So happy fathers day to the like two present fathers I guess.

[tonycries]

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! - G.S.

Synopsis. When your sugar daddy just isn’t paying attention to you, can you really be blamed for fúcking his son? Especially when his son is absolutely obsessed with you.

Pairing. Rich boy! Gojo Satoru x Sugar baby! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, jealous Satoru, créampie, dirty talk, manhandling, marking, Satoru’s dad is not really present, oral (female receiving), overstim, másturbation (male), thigh riding, cúmplay, Satoru is really really down bad and filthy for you, CEO’s son! Gojo,  pet names, swearing.

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Will proofread later, lowkey scared to post this, but I just wanted it out of my mind. And in my mind, Satoru’s dad is FINE asl so-

The first time you meet Gojo Satoru is when you’re all dolled up for his father. 

Designer dress just a bit too tight, running on a few too many shots of tequila, wanting to be anywhere but at this stuffy gala. Everything was too bright - too polished.

And it really didn’t help that no matter how many scathing looks or whispers that followed you, you just had to be here - it was in your contract, after all. Because luckily for you, you just so happened to be the infamous little plaything hanging off the arm of the head of Gojo Corporations.

Well, usually. Right now your sugar daddy was too busy entertaining his business partners, leaving you off to the side, praying for something - anything - to save you from this-

“Damn if I’d come to these shitty galas a lot more often if it meant I’d get to see a beauty like you.”

You jolt out of your bored little reverie, eyes immediately snapping up to meet the tall man suddenly in front of you. When did he even get so close? 

You can’t help but drink him in from head to toe, from the overpriced, slightly-disheveled suit to the tiny dimple at the end of his mischievous grin. Strangely familiar white locks fell effortlessly to curtain his eyes. Eyes that were a startling blue - the kind of blue that had your cheeks flaring and knowing exactly who this was. 

Oh.

At your silence, he tilts his head with the air of someone that owns this entire venue and everything in it because, well, he did. Twinkling gaze searing into your skin as it roams appreciatively all over your body, plowing on, “Though, you look like you’re on the verge of an aneurysm around these old coots.”

You sigh, pinching your nose at the curious glances around you. Not even able to find it in yourself to put on that plastic smile anymore, “Oh y’know, just soaking up my popularity with the masses after being stranded here.”

“Oh? Here with anyone?”

“Yeah.” you blurt out, “Your father.”

You watch in amusement as Satoru’s mouth falls into a delicate oh! eyes flickering over his shades between you and the handsome man on the other end of the venue, oblivious and fully enjoying himself in the company of his secretary. A bit too much without you. 

“Y’know…” he starts, shaky and sounding only half the insufferable heir he was before, “I would say that’s a hilarious version of a ‘your mom’ joke but you’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

“Mhm. Though it would make a good punchline, huh?” You huff out a laugh at the way he was suddenly less of a smooth-talking playboy and more of a lost puppy. The gears turning in his head as he processes that oh shit you were the sweet lil’ thing his dad’s been suddenly rushing off to meet straight after work. And the reason why all those old fossils here were clutching their pearls in scandal.

He just didn’t expect you to be this…gorgeous. And for the first time in forever, he’s suddenly so intrigued.

Because ah, you should’ve known better than to think that this little hiccup would deter the infamous Gojo Satoru. No, in fact that million-dollar smirk only makes its way back onto his unfairly pretty face, like he’s about to spill the juiciest gossip of the century.  

“So you’re the latest armcandy my ol’ man has picked up, huh? I hafta say, dear old dad has good taste.” he muses, stepping in close enough that his expensive cologne makes your head spin. “Why don’t you and I ah-” You follow Satoru’s gaze to where he was staring at the way his father was now making a beeline through the crowd. Straight for the two of you. 

“Gotta run before I get my share of the company revoked.” he flashes you a quick smile, fulling intent on saving his father’s delicate ego. But not before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “But jus’ saying,” voice a pretty little purr, “I wouldn’t ever leave you standing here so alone and gorgeous, princess.”

You can only stand there, reeling from the sheer audacity as he darts into the crowd with a wink, not caring if he stepped on a few too many overpriced coattails than necessary. Wondering whether this was some bizarre dream induced by too much tequila and not enough common sense.

“Hi, sweetheart. Investors held me up, you know how it is. Having fun, huh?” A toned arm wraps around your waist as your sugar daddy finally arrives by your side. And as he went on about his latest business branch, only two thoughts ring through your mind - 1. You were seriously reconsidering this arrangement. And 2. This was going to be interesting. 

And oh was it interesting. 

Because Satoru always managed to find you, wherever you were. No matter if it was another droning function or a chance meeting at the sprawling Gojo Estate, Satoru always swooped in whenever his father was too busy for you. Which, fortunately for Satoru, happened to be a lot.  

Hell, he seemed to find you even when you least wanted him to. Like that time he had to drag you away mid-argument with a particularly rude one of his snobby aunts. That was not a fun family reunion. 

All unabashed confidence and pretty smiles where his father was cold, cold calculation. Ready with a smart mouth to bicker with you and bright eyes that seemed to linger on you a bit too long. But you didn’t mind - why would you? Because all things considered, Satoru was a very attractive man. Sure, his father was extremely handsome, too - in a clean-cut, DILF-y way, in fact. But his son was dangerously attractive.

So much so that sometimes when he swept you away from insufferable galas to talk, some strange little part of you wished it was him that you came here with instead. Just for a second. 

“So, what do you see in my father anyway? His company?” Satoru asked you one day. Draping himself over his cool office desk, so comically out of place in the stiff corporate room. Legs kicking in the air as he waits for your response.

You tear your eyes away from the way his biceps were straining so deliciously against his snug button-up to deadpan, “I mean, I am his sugar baby after all, Satoru.”

“But think about it,” he whines, batting those long lashes at you. Fully intent on driving you as dangerously close to a stroke as possible before his father finishes up an important business meeting. One that he missed - whoops. “There’s close to nothing redeemable about the man. His idea of a family bonding activity is a PowerPoint presentation on quarterly earnings.”

“Satoru.”   

“And either way- I’m getting the company in a few years, would ya be my sugar baby then, princess?”

Ah, there it was. 

It’s been a few weeks of knowing Satoru, and those little comments still made your head spin. Second-guessing the nature of this strange little…friendship? You didn’t even know anymore. Because yeah there might’ve been a few, stupid little lingering touches - like a trace on your hips, or your hand firmly in his as he led your (temporary) escape from another lonely gala. But those meant nothing, right?

“Nah, I’d poison you and take over the company instead.”

“Hey!”

Well, whatever, he was just your sugar daddy’s son. His sharp-mouthed, dangerously handsome son that just couldn’t seem to leave you alone. Not that you were complaining, really. Your relationship with his father was not exactly exclusive - you already knew that secretary of his was a bit suspiciously close - but that’s all he’ll ever be. Right?

Or, well, that’s what you stupidly thought. 

It wasn’t until one night late in the Gojo Estate, cursing those ridiculously long hallways, that you get an inkling of exactly how wrong you were. 

“Ugh, fucking rich people.” you mutter under your breath, wandering around trying to find whether the fuck the bathroom was. Because it doesn’t matter how many companies and businesses Gojo senior ran, the man still sucked at directions. You hiss, rubbing the tiny bruise on your neck - and aftercare too, clearly, even though that was in that damn contract. Something about an urgent business call with his secretary. Ugh. 

After three wrong doors, a trip around the in-home planetarium (seriously, who even needed that?), and chugging a full water bottle from the third kitchen in exhaustion, you finally find yourself walking towards what hopefully looked like the bathroom.

Hand reaching for the doorknob to swing it open. Ah, this better be the one or so help you-

Now, Satoru thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. And you - hair mussed, and dazed, standing there in nothing but a large button-up, falling just below your panties - looked like a sinfully beautiful lil’ demon here to lure him into hell. And oh how gladly he’d go if it means he got to see this ethereal view more often. 

“Ah! Wha- Sato-” 

You don’t even know if you want to scream or not - torn between taking in the sculpted chest smushed against your face and not wanting to alert security downstairs. Reeling backward you drink in the sight before you and God how you wish you didn’t - it wasn’t too good for your heart. 

Satoru’s hair was tousled, droplets of water glistening on his hair like diamonds. Skin soft and damp and smelling so delicious. Bathroom light bouncing off his rippling muscles, pecs flexing, as his strong arms reach out to steady you as you reel backwards. 

Traitorously, your eyes snake across his sculpted body. Dipping below once. Twice. Cheeks flaring as a pang of disappointment hits you at the damp towel wrapped around that slutty torso. Wondering what’s underneath-

“Y’should take a picture, it lasts longer.” Satoru grins, like the shameless bastard he is. Though he wasn’t in any better state - eyes flickering between you and any sliver of exposed skin his eyes could reach. 

“I should be saying the same to you.” you mutter, caught red-handed, shuffling your feet in embarrassment. 

Satoru lets out a low chuckle as he pulls you closer minutely, presence practically enveloping you. “Oh, me?” he says, voice dropping to a husky murmur. Thumb tracing that little spot on your neck, “S’hard not to when y’look so appetizing.”

And you don’t even try to pull away because fuck this is Satoru and he looks so good - so warm under your fingertips, even when you jolt at the realization of what exactly he was talking about. Your hand coming up to cover that tiny mark left on your skin from not-too-long ago. A shameful little reminder that this was his son. 

You grapple for some - any - sense of normalcy. Warning, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Satoru.”

He leans down impossibly, quirking an eyebrow. Both amusement and something unreadable flashing across his face. “Oh, but it’s got my father somewhere?”

“Why? Jealous?”

“Yes.”

You startle, taken aback by the blunt confession. So direct and something so Satoru. The word hands in the hair’s breadth between you two now, sending your mind reeling. And you can’t help but repeat, “Jealous?”

“Fucking yes.” There it was again. 

But this time, Satoru plows on, voice barely above a whisper but ringing in the thick air. “Jealous he gets to have you all to himself but still doesn’t kiss you like you should be.”

“What do you-”

“Your lipstick.” he interrupts, swiping a thumb over your bottom lip, “Why’s it as perfect as since you came in?” And, indeed, you realize with a jolt that no you really haven’t been kissed the way you wanted - not enough to leave your make-up so sinfully ruined. 

Minty breath fanning your face so dangerously now, and you barely even realize that you’re leaning into it, “If it were up to me, princess, I’d ruin that pretty lil’ lipstick of yours every chance I got.”

A delicious little shiver runs down your spine, head spinning at Satoru and his words and Satoru- And it’s all you can do to get out a shaky, “So why don’t you?”

And then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him - like neither of you had the strength nor the will to stop. 

Satoru tasted just like candy, such an intoxicating sweetness that had you gasping as his soft tongue licked at the seam of your lips. Intertwining with yours as he breathes you in desperately. So sloppy. Such a sinful little mix of saliva and teeth and pure need.

His chest is soft under your greedy hands, lips searing against yours, and you could feel his hands wandering across every inch of skin they could find. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again because fuck he knows that he might just not. 

Long fingers dance delicately underneath that shirt to feel- oh fuck, you weren’t even wearing panties. Such a pretty lil’ slut and by God was he a goner. 

Groaning into the kiss, he lets you loop your arms around his neck, hardened nipples rubbing against his abs as you tug on his damp hair. Honestly, fuck that thin shirt, Satoru thinks he might just pass out right here right now.

“S-Satoru.” you whisper against his lips, legs hiking up to grind your bare cunt against the throbbing erection straining against his towel. Already so wet from water or precum, you had absolutely no idea. You couldn’t give less of a fuck in fact, needing to see if Satoru’s cock was as pretty as the rest of him right now. Hands urgently dipping below the hem, starting to tug and-

“Hey, sweetheart. Did you find the bathroom?”

Shit. Fuck. Wonderful - perfect, in fact.

You would’ve thought Satoru burned you with how quickly you pushed him away. Cheeks burning, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Almost slipping on the tile as you try to compose yourself at a safe distance - one that wouldn’t end up with you jumping his bones again. 

But all rational thoughts of that and your sugar daddy - Satoru’s father - almost go out the window once you take in the heavenly sight before you. 

Satoru’s lips swollen, hair disheveled, towel hanging slightly too low off his hips. Giving you such a pretty peak of those tufts of snowy white hair at the bottom. 

“W-we shouldn’t…” you trail off, as the footsteps get louder and louder. Something prickly and uncomfortable pooling in your stomach with each beat. 

Luckily for you, Satoru probably catches on to how you looked like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole right now. Voice low and control as he agrees, “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t.” No care in the world for his steadily approaching father as he lazily adjusts his towel, a gesture so nonchalant yet distracting. 

You swallow hard as he moves to walk past you, thinking that if this just so happened to be a dream then by God was it a good one. But of course - when has Satoru ever let you have it easy?

Because he stops abruptly in his tracks, fingers only ghosting the doorknob. Immediately turning back to walk to you with two, big steps, eyes gleaming, dimple flashing. And before you even know what’s happening, his lips are on yours. Featherlight and fleeting. But so so addictive. Nipping at your bottom lip, savoring you on his tongue.

It’s over before you know it, and a pathetic little disappointed whine leaves you as he pulls away. A smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he mutters lowly into yours, “Y’look prettier like this.”

Ah, you weren’t happy to see him leave but how you loved watching him go. Bathroom light so pretty against all the dips and curves of his figure as he walked away. White hair reflecting the warm hue, muscles flexing, hips slightly swaying with such a slutty little confidence that only Satoru could have. 

As you watch him disappear around the door, you almost forget the unwelcome visitor hot on your heels any second now and - wait - what was it that he’d said? “Prettier like this”?

Turning to the mirror and- 

Oh. Shit. 

You better have brought your make-up remover.

God, Satoru’s never ran to his room as fast as this since that time he was caught using his father’s elite golf clubs to play pool with Suguru.

Because as soon as that goddamn door is shut, he’s ripping his towel off. Letting it drop to the floor in a damp pile God-knows-where as he immediately fists his swollen cock.

With a groan, he leans against the shut door.  Eyes scrunching in such sinful ecstasy as he squeezes the base, pulsing and so achingly hard for you. A warning and a reprimand. Shit, how the fuck did he get this hard just from kissing your pretty lil’ lips?

Ah, whatever, right now he doesn’t have the patience nor the sanity to think too hard about it. Smearing the precum beading at his weeping tip, wetting his palm so sloppily. 

Neat little crescents searing into his skin where you’d grabbed him before, only thing on his mind - how would you do it?

Would you ease him into it? Or would you start up a hasty, desperate little pace like he was doing right now? Shallow, quick tugs on his thick cock like you wanted to milk him deliciously. 

Satoru’s hand was cold on his angry, hot cock. And with how many times he’s slipped his into yours, he knew yours would feel better around him. Both hands wrapped around his cock but still not covering all of it. So soft and warm, your nails scraping gently across his throbbing veins. 

“Shit. Hngh-” he breathes out, voice almost-pathetic, “J-jus’ like that, princess.” 

And what would you say? Tell him to shut up and just take it? Would you whisper into his ear as you let him fuck himself into your pretty fists? “So hard n’ big all f’me?” Satoru’s knees buckle at the thought, hand speeding up. “Y’look so pretty like this, y’know.”

Slam! Palm slamming against the poor drawer beside him hard enough to make its legs tremble, desperately trying to keep himself from collapsing. 

But oh his fist doesn’t stop. No, he doubts he ever will - not that strong of a man to keep himself from getting off so filthily to the image of you standing at the doorway of the bathroom. You looked so ethereal - Satoru couldn’t help but imagine how even more sinful you’d look if he was the one done with you. Shit, you wouldn’t even be able to stand if he had his way. 

“F-fuck, princess. M’gonna ruin you, gonna fuck you till you don’t know anything but m’name.”

He grips tighter on the base, thumbing under his slit in a way he knows your devious little hands would do. Fucked-out little grunts leaving his swollen lips each time his fingers meet his flushed tip.

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he mutters hoarsely, letting out a low, broken little call of your name. “More. Need more, princess.” He wanted you so badly that it hurt.

What the fuck did that sleazy old man have that he didn’t? And that little bite? That would be nothing compared to what Satoru would do if he got his hands on you. Yeah, he thinks, body shuddering violently, he’d mark you up till everyone knows you’re his. Leave bites that peak out from your collar, all the way down to your pretty thighs.

“Y’belong with me pretty, could fuck you so much better.” Sweat drips from his brow, splashing onto his erratic fist. Thighs quivering, heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

Satoru would almost be embarrassed by how desperate he was acting if he was in any better state of mind. Head only filled with you, and your hand and you-

And fuck for the sake of his sanity he can’t even begin to imagine how it would feel inside your pretty lil’ cunt. All he can think of is the way you’d keen so prettily, mewling out a little, “Oh s’too big.” 

Would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you milk his cock? Or would he have to ram his dick into you, because shit as much as he loves that  bitchy mouth, it would look so much better gasping and stuttering as he fucks you dumb. 

“Oh yeah.” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Such a good lil’ slut f’me. Taking m’so well.” 

God his hand was so sloppy on his dick that he didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. Just wanting to fuck you and have you do this f’him. 

Ah, your plushy walls would suck him in so nicely. One hand speeds up on his cock, while the other reaches down to cradle his balls. Tugging and pulling at the same jerky rhythm they would smack your ass while he stuffs you full. 

So much better than any other sugar daddy ever could. Oh how Satoru would love to mess up your pretty pussy and your lipstick. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on if he could.

And you’d be able to do nothing but gasp and whimper into his lips, cockdrunk and dazed, “Shit shit shit- Toru m’gonna - Hah- Wanna cum. Please wan’ cum-” Oh how he’d burn down this entire fucking world to hear you call him that. 

“Fuck,” he curses, bucking into his fist, tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, princess.”

“Cum f’me, Toru. Fill me up with y’cum- wanna take all of it.”

And then he’s cumming. 

A ragged, raw moan of your name leaving his lips. Thick, hot ropes of cum that should be painting your pussy white - but, alas, he’s spilling into his fist so shamefully. And amongst the stars behind his eyes he’s sees you - you you you-

You, fucking your cunt deeper onto his cock to take every drop of his cum. You, whispering sweet little praises as his seed gushes down your thigh, telling him that oh he’s doing so well, and he’s the best boyfriend ever and you already want more-

You, at the arm of his father.

Shit, he needs to shower. Again. 

---

Ever since that little incident that night, everything changed. 

At this point, you didn’t even feel that usual little bitterness whenever your sugar daddy canceled for some urgent business. And, well, it made you blush to admit but you found yourself heading over to the Gojo Estate more and more frequently, often just to catch a glimpse of Gojo - or a quick kiss in the stuffy broom closet. Whichever left you more time to run away from looming security and his father. 

But that was exactly the problem. 

Because no matter how thick the tension lingering in the air between you two was, nothing had gone past heated kisses and touches. Either you were brought back to reality with the possibility of being arrested for indecent exposure at those galas, or someone just had to interrupt. Seriously, with how many times Satoru has had to pay off his poor personal assistant, you’ve been wondering whether he actively seeks you two out. 

And it really didn’t help that Satoru always tasted so goddamn delicious. Fingers searing on your skin, cologne heavy in the heady air, it was hard to keep your hands to yourself. 

But, hey, desperate times bring devious measures.

Which is why you were here right now - sinking into the plushiest bed at the Gojo Estate, clad in your delicate light blue lingerie. One that was custom-made in this specific shade of blue. Because while your sugar daddy preferred you in red, you’re sure he wouldn’t mind you using his credit card for other ulterior motives, right? 

You just hoped that Satoru would just so happen to get a peak when you sneak out to use the bathroom later. What would he say? Would he like it? Would his eyes roam over your body, fingers twiddling with the flimsy lace?

But more importantly - would it be enough to make him break? Even if just a little bit?

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You’re startled out of your little whirlwind thoughts by knocking on the door. Steady, and matching your racing heart. Ah, Satoru’s father, you hastily get up to fix your hair.

“Yo, princess, are you naked or can I come in? Or can I come in when you’re naked?”

That wasn’t your sugar daddy. 

Not even thinking of your current outfit anymore, you rush to throw the heavy wooden doors open to see that, yes, it really was Satoru standing at the door. All bright grins and flushed cheeks as he drinks you in. Brows raising as his eyes move down from your face once. Twice. Thrice. 

Success. 

“What’re you doing here, Satoru?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. Trying to hold back the smirk threatening to curl your lips at the way he gulps.

“Uh- My father’s off to some urgent b-business.” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. “Told me to tell you he’s sorry and wishes you the breas- best.”

Oh. 

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Satoru’s father has canceled on you. But it would be the first time that he’s canceled on you so conveniently enough to leave you alone with his unfairly hot son. Now, you couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste, right?

You lean slightly against the door, body ghosting Satoru’s, teasing him, “Well, when is my dear sugar daddy coming back from his business? Tell him I miss him.”

It’s a joke - and both of you probably know it. But that doesn’t stop Satoru’s brows furrowing ever-so-slightly, suddenly a different man from the flustered one he was just a few seconds ago as he mutters, “I don’t think he’ll be back tonight.”

“Aww, must be some important business.” 

He clenches his jaw aggressively at that, gritting out a clipped little, “You do know that ‘business’ of his is his secretary right?”

“I know. What a shame, right? Guess I’ll just have to go home n’ wait for him then?” you mockingly sigh - God, someone give you an Oscar. Moving to close the door in Satoru’s face, only to be stopped by a large hard smacking into the doorframe - as you knew it would. 

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna let you come out looking like that and let you go home without tearing it to shreds.”

And that’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.

The door is slamming shut before you know it, and you’re shoved against it. Satoru’s lips such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit. Hands just everywhere - cradling your cheek, teasing your nipples through your bra, running down to squeeze and grope your ass. He just couldn’t get enough of you. 

Fuck twiddling with the lace, Satoru seemed well and fully intent to rip it off of you. And you’d let him. Just like he was letting you shove his overpriced button-up down his toned shoulders. Soft little rips sounding in the heady air at the urgency but neither of you could give less of a fuck. 

All you could think of is the way Satoru was so pretty and muscled. Drinking in all the dips and curves of pale skin underneath your fingertips. 

“Fuck, princess. Chose this color on purpose, huh?” his fingers dive under the hem of your bra, “Wanted to drive me crazy, mm?”

“Y-yes, Satoru.” you gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. “Wanted you to look at it. Got it custom-made all f’you.” words muffled as he sucks on your tongue. Satoru was always such a messy kisser, licking at the seam of your lips and intertwining his tongue with yours with no shame or shyness. A delicate trail of drool already starting at the corner of your mouth. 

Ah, it was too much for him. Satoru almost thinks he could cum in his pants right now at your sinful little admission. 

Which is why he pulls away to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, letting out a broken little hum of appreciation into your skin. “Thought so.”

And then your bra’s hitting the floor, tits spilling out into the cold bedroom air. But only for a split-second because Satoru’s immediately groping each and every inch of skin he can find. 

“Look so fucking beautiful like this.” Rolling your swollen nipples between two fingers as he mutters - more to himself than you, “Was gonna let him see you in this slutty lil’ thing, too?” leaning down to tongue lazily little circles on one nipple. Words muffled as he wraps his lips so prettily around your tit - tugging, just grazing with his teeth, “Matching my eyes, huh? Fuckin’ gonna be the death of me shit-”

Satoru was insatiable. Wanting all of you all at the same time. And you follow his line of sight to see him locked on your dripping cunt - soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. Clenching around nothing as his pretty pink lips fall into a soft oh! at the sight. 

Like a madman, he immediately drops to his knees. But you don’t think he even feels the pain as he bites down on the hem of your wet panties. Looking up at you with dazed eyes - miles away. 

Breath ghosting your quivering cunt, tugging lightly with his teeth, “Next time, I’m gonna be the one buying you these.”

Then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds. Grinning so devilishly around it as he gets his first sight of your pretty pussy.  Oh you were so perfect for him. So mouthwateringly wet. 

“Shit, princess. Can’t believe you were fucking holdin’ out on me.”  he muses in wonder, eyes wide at the way your sloppy pussy was glistening in the dim lighting. 

“You were the one that-”

And usually, Satoru loves hearing you run your mouth, but this time he’s shutting you up by diving face-first into your dripping cunt. Cute little mewls leaving you as he presses so shamefully deep that his nose was against your throbbing clit, rubbing languidly as he licks a thick stripe up your swollen folds. 

And then it was like something snapped. 

Because one taste of you and Satoru’s going wild. Throwing a leg over his shoulder to lick more desperately all all over your cunt, lapping up all the juices that gush out of you. Already so addicted because shit you were so much sweeter than in his dreams. 

“Ah! Hngh- please.” you mewl, as he wraps his glossy lips around your swollen clit. All you get is a feral little grunt, his jaw parted, eyes looking like he’s on cloud nine as starts to suck harshly. Filthy little squelches filling the air as Satoru rolls his tongue across your clit. “Feels, s’good, Satoru.”

But your cute little whines turn into one of disappointment as Satoru pulls away ever-so-slightly. “Call m’Toru.” he slurs.

And he doesn’t waste any more time, tongue swishing in his mouth to spit on you once. Twice. Missing ever so slightly, and splattering on your thigh. You flinch, gasping out a breathless little, “Toru!”

“Oh shit, princess. Yeah- say m’name jus’ like that” he groans, ragged and raw. The last thing out of his mouth before he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your snug cunt. Dipping into your sloppy hole in and out in and out in and-

“He ever made you feel this good?” he moans into your cunt, the vibrations making you fuck yourself deeper into his unrelenting tongue. 

“W-what?”

“He ever made you feel this good? Cum so hard you see stars?”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “N-no. Want to- Wan’ you to make me cum, Toru. Make me cum around your tongue.”

And, well, what his girl wants - then she’s going to get. Because Satoru’s lapping at your cunt even more greedily than before. 

Stretching you out, breathing you in, looking up at your cute expression through his long lashes. Already so fucked-out for him. 

Nose rubbing purposefully in small circles on your clit. Fucking you with his tongue the way he wants to with his cock and he didn’t give a fuck if he suffocated in-between your thighs - he fucking loved it. 

“Hngh- shit shit shit yes!” your nails are digging into Satoru’s scalp at this point. The only thing steadying yourself to prevent you from collapsing onto the ground. And you really can’t help but angle his head just right so that his tongue curls against that one spot inside your plushy walls. 

Thankfully, he gets the memo. Because Satoru’s letting out a strangled little grunt at being so used by you as you drag your cunt across his pretty mouth. Body jerking into his as he hits that spot over and over-

“T-Toru- hah!” thighs quivering, Satoru’s grip bruising as he holds you up. “M’m gonna-” Your plushy walls sucking him up, thighs squeezing around his face. 

“Mhm?”

“Cum! M’gonna cum- ah- fuck fuck fuck-”

He groans huskily into your cunt. Throwing his head back ever-so-slightly to let your slick slide down his throat - greedily waiting for more that was to come. “Then show me how you cum, m’girl. Cum all over my tongue.”

And then you are - all over Satoru’s pretty face. And fuck he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked prettier. Holding his head in place as you rock your hips into his waiting mouth, letting him drink you in so greedily. Clamping down on his tongue like you were trying to milk him. 

And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d notice the delirious little heart eyes that Satoru was giving you, your cunt firm on his face and swollen lips letting out such pretty whines of his name. Toru Toru Toru - like a prayer as you fucking use him for your high. 

Ah, he could stay like this forever, he thinks. But no, an empty house and you all wet n’ pretty for him means there’s too much more to do. 

Which is why he’s pulling away, your slick decorating his lips so prettily. Smeared across the bottom half of his face and dripping onto the hardwood floor in a maddening little drip! drip! drip! 

And Satoru knows, with the way you watch him so intensely, mouth parted, eyes glossy. Which is why he runs a thumb along his mouth, pooling your juices on his fingers and popping them into his mouth. One by one. 

Your jaw drops a little in disbelief as Satoru licks his fingers clean, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste. Oh he was ruining you without even touching you. 

“Not enough, princess.” he chuckles. “C’mon, gimme a kiss.”

And, really, how could you ever say no to that face? Because you’re pulling him to you as soon as Satoru stands to his full height. Capturing his lips in such a sloppy, filthy kiss - forcing you to taste yourself and you half-lucidly wonder whether Satoru loved the taste almost as much as you because it was so him.

Bodies so close that your dripping cunt was seeping into his unfairly tight shirt. Forming a lewd little dark patch when Satoru lifts you effortlessly to guide you to the bed. Tongue still entwining obscenely with yours as he splays you out on the soft mattress for him. Drinking in that adorable lil’ shock on your face as you bounce on the bed, so drunk off of him that you didn’t even realize he was taking you to the bed. 

“Shit, y’look the prettiest like this, princess. S’a wonder m’not fucking passing out right now.” he hisses into your lips.

“Toru-” you whine, and shit the way his cock jumps at the mere sound of your voice makes you think that this will be a little trick you’re using more often. “Wan’ your cock s’bad. Wanna-”

You don’t even have the patience to finish the sentence before you’re fumbling with his belt. Something hefty and overpriced but you can’t possibly think about that right now because fuck you get the first sliver of milky skin. 

Satoru’s thighs were so sculpted and thick. It made your mouth absolutely water to wonder what it would feel like to ride them to insanity.

“Y’wanna ride my thighs? Fuck princess, you really are driving me crazy.” 

Shit had you said that out loud? 

Ah, well, it doesn’t matter because Satoru’s pulling his boxers down - so tight with his swollen cock, a dark patch right where his weeping head was. And you almost pout at losing the opportunity to take them off but oh how you’re distracted by the sinful sight before you. 

Satoru was massive - so long and flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink. Shit, you were going to have to get a lingerie set in this color one of these days. He was achingly hard and throbbing, springing up to smear precum all over his abs. 

And before you can even react, Satoru’s pulling you to him. Manhandling your pretty self so easily to straddle one, large thigh. 

“Oh- hngh, Toru.” you look up at him all doe-eyed and teary as he doesn’t even wait for you to register what’s all happening. Grip bruising on your hips as he rocks your hips so sluttily on his leg. “F-feels s’good. Ah-”

“Yeah? Y’like it? Like getting yourself off like a lil’ slut on my thigh?” he groans into your ear, low and husky with need. 

You nod wildly, sloppy pussy dripping all over his thigh, seeping into his skin as you grind your hips to meet his movements. “Like it s’much- ah-”

“Mhm? Better than anything he could ever do?”

“Yes yes yes, Toru-” you sob, cheeks burning as you realize that you’re humping him like a bitch in heat - but oh judging by the carnal little glint in his eyes, he liked it. Loved it, even. Because Satoru could feel the way your swollen folds spread to grind against him, clit pulsing so maddeningly against his skin. So filthy and messy as you used him to get yourself off. “S’much better- the best-”

He just didn’t expect to feel a soft hand wrapping around his cock. Eyes flying open to see you - all glassy-eyed, and fucking yourself on his thigh - wrap a hand around his cock. Starting to move in shallow, unsteady little motions up and down his throbbing cock to get him off at the same time as you.

“Wan’ you to cum, too, Toru.”

“Oh fuck.” he grunts, letting his hips fuck up into your fist in mindless little motions. “Y’don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

And with that his fingers were digging into the skin of your hips, forcing you to hold on for dear life as he drags your dripping cunt faster and faster across his thick. Movements erratic and frenzied now. 

Of course, you were not one to be out-done. 

Satoru’s precum spilling down your hand, your wrist now aching and wet, becoming so, so sloppy trying to get both yourselves off. But you still tighten your fist around his pulsing cock, desperately flying up and down his length. Pulling in quick, jerky motions to milk him for all he’s worth again and again and-

“You’re so oh- good f’me, princess.” he hums. “Your hngh- hands are so p-pretty wrapped around my cock. So perfect for me.” Bucking his hips wildly to meet your hand now, fucking your fist with no shame. Pulling you harsher on his thigh. “S’such a shame you had to hah fuck- meet my father first. I’d have been so much better.”

“Toru!” you squeal as one hand moves deftly from your hips to draw quick, hasty little circles on your throbbing clit. The friction from his thigh and fingers too much to handle. 

“I’d make you happier.” Your body is shaking now, hands messy and trembling around his swollen cock. “I’d make you laugh more and give you all m’time.” You can’t even look at him at this point, eyes scrunched close in ecstasy as Satoru whispers these maddening little phrases into your open mouth. 

“I’d make you cum harder.”

Oh and then you are - tears in your eyes, body convulsing into his as you cum. And of course he’s smirking smugly as he watches you ride your high out on his thigh, brows furrowed and bottom lip bitten in concentration as he holds off cumming. Not now. Not yet. 

“So, better than him or not?”

But shit was it hard. 

Especially when you raise your pretty, barely-lucid eyes to meet his, whimpering out a soft little, “I don’ know yet, Toru. Gonna hafta stuff me full of your cock if you wanna know.”

And perhaps for the first time since you walked in on him after the shower that night, the great Gojo Satoru is taken aback. Eyes widening in surprise, kiss-bitten lips falling into a soft oh! of disbelief. But not for long - never for long - because a devilish little grin breaks out across his face immediately afterwards. 

“Shit, y’really are perfect f’me, princess.”

With a low growl, Satoru is easily pulling your body - limp and boneless in his hands - to straddle his toned hips. 

You let out a yelp at the feeling of his fat tip just kissing your swollen folds, dragging teasingly along them, collecting the slick beading out of your sloppy cunt. Back and forth-

“Who’s got you feeling this way?”

“You, Toru.”

And then he’s pushing in, swollen cock bullying into your snug pussy. Thumbs drawing steady little circles on your hips - yes to reassure you but also to fight off that feral little part of himself that just wants to stuff your pretty lil’ pussy full until his heavy balls smack your ass. Not even waiting for you to adjust. 

But no. No, it was so much better when you were the one desperately trying to suck up his cock. Gasping and moaning out strangled little whimpers of his name as you sink yourself down on his throbbing dick. Inch by fucking inch. 

“S’too big- Hngh! I-is it even halfway in?” you whimper out, and Satoru could almost laugh humorlessly as he tilts his head to glance downwards and shit- he was barely a quarter in. 

“No.” 

“F-fuck” cute little tears streaking down your face now, thighs trembling, “Toru, I-I don’t think I can-”

“You can. And you will.” Fucking up into you in short, rapid little jabs to squeeze himself deeper into your tight pussy. Shit, it was such a squeeze, you were milking the ever-loving soul out of him. And it only made him impossibly harder inside you, making you whine and grind down - torn between chasing the feeling of being so deliciously full and the sheer pressure. “Shit, love when your pussy’s sucking me up so good.” 

One hand is on your hip, sliding you farther and farther down his cock, the other drawing urgent, quick patterns on your clit. Not even circles anymore because shit Satoru doesn’t have the patience nor the sanity for that. Throbbing veins rubbing so sinfully against that one spot in your dripping cunt, splitting you apart to the same rhythm as the pulsing. 

And as soon as your ass meets his heavy balls - already so wet with precum and slick - Satoru doesn’t even know if he’s on planet Earth anymore. Mind spinning, he doesn’t waste any time at all. 

“Fuck yes.” Satoru hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” He pulls his hips back, far enough that his angry, red tip is just kissing your sloppy entrance, surging forward, forward, forward- “Y’don’t know how fucking long I’ve wanted this, princess. Needed this s’bad, so so bad you don’t understand. Shit.”

And, hey, his girl deserved to be fucked dumb, right?

“Needed this ever since I saw you at that goddamn gala.” he whispers into your lips, ragged and so fucked-out. Each word punctuated by a harsh, heavy thrust. Ones that have you keening and grasping Satoru’s broad back for support. Nails raking down his shoulders as his pace gets faster. More purposeful.

And you can do nothing but take it, barely even able to form any coherent sentences. So prettily sat on Satoru’s lap as he fucks into you, babbling sweet little nonsenses made for your ears only. “Ever since I saw that murderous little glare you threw at those snobby guests.”

His balls smacking against your ass over and over. A quick, steady little tempo that you were losing your mind to. “Ever since you let me take your hand and drag you away to that secret bar to take shots instead of champagne.”

You don’t know whether you’re even crying at this point - all you know is that your cheeks are wet and your voice is broken as your let out a little, “F-fuck, Satoru- but your fa-”

“Fuck that.” he whines, and you could almost laugh at the adorable pout that makes its way onto his face. And at that you can feel him jolt so deliciously, head snapping up to meet yours. “I’m the better one.”

And as if he’s trying to prove it to your cunt, he’s drilling into you faster. Harder. Hips burning now as he fucks you like some animal. Hitting that sweet spot over and over. “I’m the one with the personality and the looks.” Long fingers almost a blur on your clit as he matches his place. Cock hot, and throbbing inside you. 

“I’m the heir, I get the company, too, if that’s what you like.” He’s bouncing you on his cock animalistically now. Hungry gaze taking in the way you’re sucking him up so well. “And I’m funnier one, I’m the one that should be by your side.”

You see stars behind your eyes at both the pleasure and sheer overstimulation as Satoru starts fucking your cunt as best he could without fucking breaking you  - but, honestly, he didn’t give a shit if you cried. He just wanted to stuff you full and have you cum harder than you ever have in your life. 

“Fuck- fuck yes m’gonna cum Toru- hngh.” You pull him closer to you, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “M-make ah! Make me cum, fill me up please, Toru.”

You feel him shudder inside you, balls squeezing so painfully. Hips sloppy and absolutely soaked with precum and slick. “Sh-shit, you’re not too good for m’heart. Ngh, f-fuck- I should be the one to make you cum. Over and over until you don’t know what it feels like to not.”

“Toru!” your eyes fly open, “Yes yes yes- it’s you. Only you-”

Oh, like something snapped then Satoru’s surging forward to bite down on the crook of your neck. Hard. You’d almost think he was out to draw blood. And then with a low groan, and one, harsh little thrust, Satoru’s cumming and cumming inside your pretty pussy. And you are too - back arching as you milk his cock through his high. 

Fingers digging into your skin as he holds your hips to his, letting your cunt be filled up so sloppily. Pumping thick, hot ropes of seed that dribbled out of you each time he pumped his hips into yours. Fucking it deeper and deeper inside you. 

And then you’re both collapsing, the exhaustion suddenly hitting the both of you as Satoru moves you both to lay on the mattress. Fuck, Satoru watches in wonder as his cum gushes out of you and forms a wet little pool on the expensive sheets as he starts to pull out. One round might just not be enough. 

Yet not yet - he can feel his eyes drooping, muscles aching as he pulls your sticky body closer to his. And Satoru knows he should get up and wipe you both down. But right now, he’s too drunk off the heat of your body and that angry little bite on your neck. Distracted by the cute lil’ expression on your face, so tired and thoroughly fucked out. Fingers playing with his hair, looking at him with an expression so fond - just like in his dreams. 

Nothing more is said. And all is quiet in your strange little heaven. 

That is, until - “So, princess. Wouldn’t ya wanna be an heiress instead of a sugar baby?”

A/N. How we feeling???

Plagiarism not authorized.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and look for revenge, and you get it by fucking his dad! NSFW

contents: fem!reader. age gap, blowjob, praise, degradation, use of slut, slight dumbification, dirty talk, and possibly more. 2.6K words.

you should've known that dating a rich boy came with more than just the money—it came with a shitty boyfriend too. 

as you walk to his house, rain falling in your eyes, you curse every time he had you do his homework, his bills, even his fucking laundry. that's what you get for dating the spoiled heir to the massive gojo fortune.

you step onto the gojo estate's porch, wondering what possessed you to come all the way here in the middle of the night without an umbrella. thank god you still had the key your ex had given you, since he was too stupid to remember to take it back after he dumped you.

hands shaking from the cold, you slip the key into the lock and turn, a small smile dancing across your lips when it opens as easily as your ex's legs. he was probably out fucking another girl right now, if the pictures on his instagram story were any hint of his whereabouts.

you push the door open with your shoulder and dry your feet on the doormat. his parents are never home, and it's late enough for the staff to have all gone back to their quarters. besides, even if one or two were still here, they probably didn't know you weren't their spoiled brat's girlfriend anymore.

humming the post-breakup revenge song you'd been listening to for the past hour, you tie up your hair and look around. the only reason you walked all the way here in the middle of a dark, stormy night was for revenge, and you weren't leaving without it.

on the way to your ex's room, you stop in one of the bathrooms to dry off. rainwater slides off your body as you wring out your hair in the sink, water dripping down your wrist as you do so.

you walk the familiar path to your ex's room, rolling your eyes when you see a bra on the floor that definitely isn't yours. funnily enough, you aren't surprised. there's no hurt, no sadness, just disgust. your suspicions were right—he was fucking other girls while the two of you dated. 

a sigh slips through your lips as you look around his room. it's messy, even with the help from the gojo estate's numerous staff. they say bigger rooms naturally look cleaner, and yet your ex's room still manages to mirror his mind—filthy.

you're so immersed in the thousand ideas you have to ruin your ex's life that when a deep, sleep-ridden voice asks you what the fuck you're doing in his house, you nearly jump out of your skin.

you spin around, words caught in your throat when you come face-to-face with satoru gojo, your ex-boyfriend's dad and the infamous head of the gojo family.

it's more than shameful that the first thought you have is that shit, he's hot. you've met before, but it was only in passing. satoru's never around, and the extent of your relationship was a brief nod as he passed you in one of the many passageways in the gojo estate. in fact, you aren't entirely sure if he even knows who you are.

satoru gojo's well-known in japan—not only is he the reason the gojo family has its reputation, but he's made quite a name for himself by being the most affluent and handsome of them all. 

you've heard stories about him back in his prime. most sound too far-fetched to be true, but the photos of him in his twenties that resurface from time-to-time make good material for your late-night fantasies. 

and satoru's even more intimidating in person. he's easily over six feet tall with well-defined muscles, and he's the definition of a dilf. he's probably twice your age, but the glint in his eyes and casual arrogance in his stance makes him all the more attractive.

it's a shame his son is such a dickhead.

"are you one of my son's whores?" satoru asks dryly, eying the bra on the floor. you scowl and kick it away, a soft huff slipping through your lips.

"no, i'm— wait, he never told you?" you cut yourself off with the question, a hint of incredulous disbelief in your tone. 

satoru shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. his shirt slides up just enough to expose his abs, which are really fucking hot by any standards. "if you're asking about my son, he thankfully leaves me out of his sex life," he says amusedly. "so, who are you? and what the hell are you doing in my house this late?"

"i—" well, you couldn't just say you were here to ruin his son's life. "uh, i'm his... girlfriend."

satoru barks out a laugh, looking down at you through his long, white eyelashes. "really? you sure you're dating my son?"

you narrow your eyes and nod. satoru shakes his head, slipping one of his hands in his pocket and gesturing to the bra on the floor with the other. "either you aren't his girlfriend or you just found out he's cheating. which is it?"

well, you tried. "both." satoru raises his eyebrows at that and takes a seat on the chair across from his son's bed, exhaling as he does so. 

"so, sweetheart, what's the story?" he asks, a bored expression on his face. he leans back and spreads his legs enough for you to wonder what it'd be like to be in between them. 

not sensing that you really have a choice, you sit on the corner of his son's bed and start explaining. at first, you sugarcoat his son's actions, not wanting to sound like a whiny brat, but at one point he interjects with a sigh.

"i know my son," he says dryly, brushing his floppy white hair out of his eyes. "and i also know a liar when i see one."

"s' that so?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring the way satoru's eyes narrow at your side comment. from then on, you list every detail of just how shitty your ex was to you. you tell satoru how his son made you fold his clothes, how he dragged you to parties even when you swore you had homework, how he'd make you fu—

you stop there, not wanting to divulge every detail of your sex life. sure, your ex forced you to fuck him every night in every way he knew existed from watching porn, but that wasn't for his dad to know.

satoru, who's been listening intently for the last five minutes, studies your irritated expression thoughtfully. rather than comment on the way you suddenly stopped ranting, he asks, "so you're here for revenge?"

you nod, crossing your legs. satoru eyes you for another second before placing his hands on his knees and standing up with a soft grunt. "do whatever you want, but i want you out of my house in fifteen minutes. and whatever you do stays in this room. no fire."

satoru looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "is that clear?"

it would be easier to agree if satoru wasn't looking down at you with an expression like that on his face. it's somewhere between mild irritation and disgust—whether it's directed at you or his son, you're not sure, but he probably has better things to do than listen to some girl's breakup story. so you nod, and satoru starts to leave.

just before he steps out the door, you think of a really fucking insane idea—one that would absolutely shatter your ex. and for some reason, you say it out loud.

"you should fuck me."

oh my god.

satoru turns around slowly, hand clenched around his phone. "the fuck?"

you swallow, eyes wide and a stupid grin plastered on your face. "shit, i—" you were ready to apologize for just about every word you've ever said, but satoru holds up his hand before you can start, cutting you off.

he scoffs, blue eyes glimmering with either amusement or annoyance. "you really are a piece of work, aren't ya?" satoru narrows his eyes, surveying you critically. his gaze settles on the way your shaky hands, and you hide them behind your back self consciously.

"you want me to fuck you on my son's bed?" he says dryly, stifling a laugh. when you force yourself to nod, he grins. "not bad, sweetheart. not bad at all."

"i-is that a yes?" you hate yourself for stuttering, but it makes satoru laugh.

"sure, why not?" he says, walking over to where you're still sitting on his son's bed and resting a hand on your shoulder. satoru rubs the side of your neck with his thumb, cerulean eyes fixed on your lips. "might be about time to teach my son a lesson anyways."

satoru's agreement surprises you enough to make your mouth fall open, and soon enough, his dick replaces the empty space between your lips.

"shit, you're takin' me so good, baby," satoru groans, hand tangled in your hair as he pushes his dick deeper into your throat. "yeah, that's it, jus' like tha— fuck," he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh as you nearly choke.

he's big, way bigger than your ex, and you wonder how his dad's big dick gene skipped him. and even better, satoru's skilled too. he knows how to fuck you good, and you can tell that it's from experience, not from watching porn—unlike his lame excuse of a son.

"tell me, sweetheart," satoru drawls, looking down at you with a cheeky smile. "was my son half as good as i am in bed?"

when you shake your head no, satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "shit, now y're gonna expect every guy you fuck with to be as good as me. well, sorry 'bout that, because they aren't."

at least you know where his son gets his arrogance from. 

it's getting a little hard to breathe, especially since you have ten inches of dick shoved down your throat. despite all satoru's talk, you can tell that he's getting close to cumming down your throat—his eyes are twitching and his breaths are starting to become more and more shaky as you suck him off. soon enough, the coil in his stomach snaps and he cums, cursing and praising you as he does. satoru's grip on your hair tightens, and it's borderline painful as he tugs you deeper by the hair.

"shit, that was the best head i've had in a while," he groans after his breathing starts to go back to normal. satoru grins at you, shaking his head and pinning you on your back on the bed.

"you've already been fucked by a gojo here, haven't you?" satoru cooes, tracing your jawline with one of his fingers. "tch, i'll fuck you better than my shithead son ever could. show ya the reason we gojos have a reputation for our dicks."

and fuck, he does. after quickly making you cum on his fingers with the excuse of loosening you up, he roughly shoves his dick in your already-throbbing pussy with a grin. he's so fucking big that you've convinced he's gonna rip you in half.

"g-gojo, i can't—"

"sure y'can," he cuts you off, jaw tightening as you tighten around him. "fuckin' hell, you're just tight as a virgin. my son must be shit in bed, yeah?"

"mhm," you hum, tilting back your head and gasping for air as you feel your body heat up. "shit— right there—"

satoru grins, dipping his head and meeting your tear-lidded eyes. he's far from gentle—it's barely been a couple minutes and your back is already in the highest arch of your life, and it's hard to form coherent thoughts as satoru continues bullying his cock into your pussy.

you lose track of time easily—fuck, you forget there's even a world outside of whatever this is. at some point your tongue falls out of your mouth, lolling to the side as your eyes roll back—just a dumb slut for satoru; or at least that's what he calls you.

as you approach what must be the hundredth orgasm of the night, satoru asks you to say his name. it's almost embarrassing how much effort it is to say—he's fucked you dumb enough to the point where you're a babbling mess.

"shit, you can't even talk," satoru says with a grin, flicking your forehead playfully. "cute." he rests his elbow by your head and shoves his hand over your mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you talk too much anyways, princess. take a break."

you whine against his hand and satoru shakes his head, a faux pout on his face. "c'mon, it's not like you can talk anyways," he tsks. his next thrust is particularly rough, and you can't seem to remember who the name of the dickhead who got you in this situation—what was your ex's name again? does it matter?

"yeah i can" you mumble, voice muffled by satoru's hand. when his pout deepens, you can't help but giggle, a sound that soon turns to a squeal when he pushes the side of your face into the mattress.

"what's so funny?" satoru grumbles, dipping his head and pressing his lips against the hand seperating your mouth from his. satoru's glimmering eyes are fixed on yours as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. "fine then."

he pulls out, cursing under his breath as he presses his back to the headboard. satoru ignores the hm? that slips out of your lips and removes his hand from your mouth, resting it on his dick instead and stroking it with a smirk. "what is it, princess?"

"wha— why'd you stop?"

satoru lifts his other wrist, studying the watch on it and turning his hand so you can see too. your vision is still so fucked up that the numbers look like swimming otters, but you can vaguely make out the time.

"it's been fifteen minutes, kid. time to go."

your mouth falls open and you sit up, still breathing heavily. one second you're having the best sex of your life, and the next your ex's dad is calling you kid and telling you it's time to go?

"not fair," you mumble, pulling your legs into your chest and resting your head on your knees. "that was a stupid time limit," you huff, chest heaving. "i couldn't have done anything to him in fifteen minutes anyways."

satoru snorts, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. "i'd say we did something in those fifteen minutes," he says dryly, white hair falling into his eyes. 

"hmph."

satoru raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip as he continues stroking himself. you notice the way his abs flex and tense the closer he gets; something that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

"can't believe my dumbass son fucked up so badly with a girl like you," he groans after a minute, back resting against the headboard as he continues stroking his dick. "won't be seein' you around here again, huh?"

you blink, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as satoru eyes you intently. "what d'you mean?"

before satoru can answer, the two of you hear footsteps, and before either of you can do anything, standing in the doorway to his own room is your ex, a giggling girl on his arm. the faint scent of alcohol floods through your nose as they stumble in, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from laughing when your ex sees that his bed is already occupied.

"why the hell is my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend?!"

[tender-rosiey]

“OUR LOVE SHALL LIVE, AND LATER LIFE RENEW”

— domestic family moments with gojo, geto, nanami, toji and sukuna (f!reader)

a/n: i was on vacation my babes; my apologies </3 hope you yall enjoy this

GOJO SATORU:

it is no secret that your husband thrives off physical affection, so it surprises no one when he is latched onto you like a koala to a tree, especially at home.

the past couple of days were filled with more missions than gojo would’ve preferred, so to make up for lost time, he spent the entirety of last night cuddling you.

that cuddling session continued to the morning, and satoru couldn’t have been happier.

you, fast asleep and looking oh so pretty, and him, happily burying his face in your chest: the perfect combo.

your husband, however, failed to remember that there is somebody else who would fight day and night for your affection.

that someone comes in the shape of his grumpy little son who is currently standing at the door with a stance that is supposed to be intimidating.

the little boy pouts and is about to yell when satoru—reluctantly—detaches himself from you and stares at him.

“what do you want, s/n?”

your son makes his way to the bed and climbs it up with much struggle, but it doesn’t matter to him since he is satisfied he is finally face to face with his dad.

he crosses his arms and huffs, “I want to cuddle with mom.”

satoru quirks an eyebrow, and his fingers slowly card through your hair. your husband replies with a smirk, “well, I want to cuddle with her too. I miss her!”

“dad, don’t be mean!” your son argues, “you had her yesterday!”

satoru shrugs and lies back down, and you cuddle into his side.

he can’t help himself as he presses a kiss to your head first then looks at s/n, pleadingly, “but I was working a lot this past week; can’t you let me have her just a bit more?”

your son ponders a bit, before settling on a solution that should satisfy both ends. satoru has been away for quite the while lately.

so, s/n simply throws himself on satoru’s chest, making the older man groan. the boy buries his face into his dad’s chest and guides his hand into his hair.

satoru smiles, hand immediately getting to work, patting his son’s head. he sighs blissfully, “you really are my son.”

s/n nods slowly, and he starts drifting off to sleep. satoru is thankful that he closed the curtains yesterday and that he is granted another chance to sleep in with you and his son.

s/n murmurs a soft, “love you, dada.”

it makes satoru’s heart nearly burst as he looks at his son. he immediately replies softly, “I love you too, buddy.”

s/n slowly replies, “you better,” before falling asleep. your husband gently pulls you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

satoru whispers a soft, “thank you.”

he starts rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and leaning his head more towards your own. it is a few moments that pass before he asks, “also babe, are you seriously still asleep?”

“no, I am awake, you silly buffon; you two have never heard of inside voices.”

GETO SUGURU:

the slow creak of the door signals to everybody in the house the arrival of suguru, long before his voice does. little hurried steps rush down the stairs as your husband takes off his shoes.

he looks up with a smile and chirps, “I am home!”

“daddy!” your two girls squeal as they tackle their dad in a big hug. he quickly hugs them back and picks them both up.

they each press a kiss to his cheek, and he returns them tenfold causing them to squeal yet again.

he finally relents before asking them, as he gently twirls around, “how are my pretty girls doing?”

the little girls look at each other then smirk. they both yank out the papers they kept hidden in their pockets before saying simultaneously, “we made drawings!”

suguru face noticeably lights up, and he coos, “these are so pretty! are those supposed to be us?”

the girls nod excitedly, and they each start explaining the details of their own respective drawings.

he listens to both of them intently then asks, “you made sure to make mommy extra pretty, so it can actually look like her, right?”

“yes yes!”

“mommy is the prettiest!”

“I gave her flowers!”

“daddy, daddy, I gave her flowers and a dress!”

your husband laughs lightly, “well, that’s good; both of your drawings are amazing,” he looks around.

with a confused tilt of his head, he looks down at his girls, “speaking of which, where is your mama?”

the girls yell out, “follow us!” then sprint towards where they last saw you, the living room. he quickly makes his way towards you, and he feels his heart soar when he finally sees you.

you see him in the corner of your eye, and as you turn to greet him, your girls throw themselves at you and squeal, “we missed you!”

“you girls just saw me 5 minutes ago!” you chuckle but, nonetheless, hug them back and pepper their faces with kisses.

you hear your husband huff before he picks up the girls by their shirts making them scream and thrash about.

“daddy, put us down!”

“mama, help!”

he throws them both on the fluffy beanbag and pulls you into a hug, “how’s my favorite girl?”

you giggle as he presses soft kisses across your face. his arms wrap around your waist and he squeezes you a little.

you hug him back and gently pat his back, “are you playing favorites, suguru?”

“very much so.”

you hear gasps from your dramatic girls, and you see each one of them arming herself.

your husband purposely ignores them and buries his face into the crook of your neck. you mumble to him, “you are going to get jumped.”

“I know.”

your eyes flit to the girls then to your husband again, “they seem really angry.”

“I know, but at least I am hugging you.”

you quirk an eyebrow, “you okay dying as long as I am hugging you?”

“that’s like the best way to die, love.”

your girls let out a battle cry.

“daddy, you meanie!”

“suffer!”

NANAMI KENTO:

your husband groans, and his hand rises to see what the weight on his chest is. his hand finds a head and a bed of hair that he is all too familiar with.

he slowly opens his eyes and sees your dear daughter laying soundly asleep on him.

a small smile appears on his face, and he lets out a small sigh of both content and relief. he turns his head slightly towards the nightstand and reaches for the alarm.

it reads eleven in the morning, which kento deems the proper time to finally wake up.

so, he looks back at d/n then at you. he remembers how hard you’ve been working the past few days and decides that leaving you to rest a bit more today.

he also decides to prepare breakfast for you but not without his little helper. he pats her head gently and tries to wake her up, “d/n.”

she doesn’t respond, so he calls out again, “d/n.”

she groans and buries her face deeper into his chest. he lets out a small chuckle then rubs her back and says, “come on; we have to make breakfast for mom.”

“but I am tired,” she argues, voice muffled.

“well, mama is tired too, so we need to be nice and make her breakfast. don’t you think so?”

she groans, “yes, but…”

“d/n?” he urges.

the little girl huffs and pushes herself up and looks her dad directly in the eyes—albeit her eyes are squinty and barely open.

it makes him think that she is going to huff then get up to wash her face, but she simply pushes herself off him so she can land in your embrace.

your arms wrap instinctively around her, and she immediately nuzzles into your chest. he stares at the two of you for a bit, rather dumb-founded. then his expression turns into one of fondness.

he turns his entire body towards you.

he is finally face to face with you, and he puts his arm around you to pull you closer. he hears his daughter’s whines and complains about how he is crushing her, but he only smiles.

he looks down at her and hums, “there is plenty of space on the other side of the bed, if you don’t like laying between us.”

she quickly backtracks, “no, no, no; I will stay.”

he nods before looking at you again. he presses a kiss to your forehead and feels his body relax. he murmurs, “just five more minutes, and nothing more.”

your daughter pouts, “not even ten?”

“not even ten,” he says, kissing her cheek, “but I will make it up to you by making pancakes; what do you think?”

she nods happily and mumbles, “we will make the best breakfast.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, joining you in your slumber.

you end up waking up before him but can’t escape your husband’s solid grip. you even look down to see your little angel—maybe—giggling and squealing, happy that you’re finally awake.

of course, it wakes up your husband. but oh well.

TOJI FUSHIGURO:

“stop being a brat and get me the flour.”

“stop being rude first then I will get it for you.”

“what part of what I said was rude, you—”

that’s how it has been for the past hour. toji and megumi had decided to put their differences aside to surprise you with something: breakfast in bed.

it’s quite simple.

they were supposed to make some sausages, eggs, pancakes, and everything they could find really. they wanted to make it a five-star breakfast.

despite their constant bickering, they managed to finish everything, save for the pancakes. it was finally getting closer to the—usual—time of you waking up, so toji was on edge.

he wanted to at least do this correctly.

he thinks of it as a little something to start repaying you for everything you gave him—which he thinks is impossible to actually repay but oh well.

he moves around the kitchen rather clumsily, partially because of his size and partially because of his absence in the kitchen, for good reason, though, megumi would argue.

“dad, the sausages are burnt.”

“shut up.”

“mom likes her eggs a little bit runny.”

“I know.”

with furrowed eyebrows, toji finally gets to mixing the batter. he hears megumi call out, “dad.”

he is a little irked, to be honest, but he responds anyway, “what do you want now?”

“is…”

toji immediately notes the shift in his son’s tone, causing him to give megumi his full attention.

the little boy fidgets with his shirt a little before speaking up, “is there a chance that mom would disappear?”

your husband looks down at the still batter in the bowl. he sighs. it’s a question that he thinks about, at least every week. this haven that he managed to be a part of, is it really permanent?

he has been unlucky all his life, and things are going way too well nowadays. is that the universe’s way of preparing him for the biggest scar of his life?

taking you away?

he closes his eyes for a brief moment, and he finds his hand resting on the top of his son’s head. the little boy’s eyes widen, and he looks up at his dad.

toji frowns slightly and looks away, gently ruffling megumi’s hair and finally saying, “no…I will make sure of that.”

toji locks eyes with megumi, and the two can tell that it’s a silent promise. the boy blushes a little red, embarrassed at the unusual display of affection by his father.

his father grumbles and goes back to making the pancakes.

“my oh my, never thought I would be lucky enough to see you in a kitchen apron,” you tease from the doorway.

megumi instantly runs to the door at the sound of your voice. your son hugs you tightly, mumbling a small, “good morning.”

“you ruined the surprise,” your husband complains as you walk towards him.

you press a kiss to his cheek, which he immediately reciprocates, “I am already plenty surprised.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

a giggle leaves your lips as your daughter carefully climbs her father and perches herself on his shoulders. it is amazing how much sukuna lets you and your daughter get away with.

some would argue that your husband has, overall, mellowed down, but then they would get sliced down instantly.

he is still the big, feared king of curses, and people cower in his presence now more than ever, but those—uraume and the servants—who see him with you two can see the difference, even if it is slight.

that can be evident right now considering your husband who is deliberately ignoring your little girl’s antics.

your girl takes it as the okay to what she is doing, so she continues her quiet laughter as she gently starts placing flowers from the basket on his hair.

feeling the movement, your husband groans then looks at you, “what is that brat doing?”

she spreads the flowers out a bit, so they can fill his hair, meanwhile your husband’s annoyance rises.

the assortment of flowers that she placed actually matches well with his hair, and you feel the need to commend her, “you’re doing amazing, d/n!”

she grins as you sit in front of your husband. you look at your little artist doing her thing then smile, “she is making you pretty.”

he scrunches his nose, “by putting flowers on me? I ought to teach her a lesson.”

one of his hands reach for her, and he grabs her by the back of her shirt. she starts squealing and kicking, “daddy, I was almost done!”

he dangles her in front of his face and frowns, “who gave you permission to put that stuff on my hair? who do you think you’re dealing with?”

her face softens, and she mumbles softly, “you’re my dad…”

you coo at her but are quickly silenced when sukuna pulls you to him and nestles you in his lap. he keeps glaring at your daughter—who is trying her best not to cry because he said that it’s for the weak—then he sighs.

he lets go of her, and she screams, flailing her arms around. however, she safely falls in your arms. she whimpers slightly and buries her face in your shoulder.

your husband looks down at her small form in your arms and slowly raises his hand and puts it on her head.

“good on you for not crying,” he lightly ruffles her hair, and your daughter slowly looks up at him, wide-eyed.

he grumbles and looks away, “don’t look at me like that.”

“you love me!” she squeals, and he simply grunts in return.

she quickly gets off your lap and goes to run around the garden. your little girl starts screaming about how her dad praised her, and you feel a grin slowly rise on your face.

but, you suddenly feel your husband’s head lower down and his lips brush against your ears slightly.

you can even hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “looks like you want another one.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will make my cousins jump you

[tteokdoroki]

˗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.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 7 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse » 【note, this chapter contains heavy triggers of domestic abuse and explicit sexual content (dry humping, grinding)】

ꨄ words: 21k (i'm so... so tired guys...)

ꨄ a/n. happy thanksgiving! sorry this took so long—this chapter has a lot in it. i'm laying down a lot of ground work for what's to come so... this is kind of a unique chapter, and it didn't feel right breaking it up. anyways, here ya go! also, happy birthday @gojoslefttoenail ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 7 // the road ahead

Stepping out of the suite’s bedroom, raindrops cling to the large windows—a warm glow radiating over the common area as each shimmering bead catches delicate streams of morning sunlight, but the only thing that draws your attention is Satoru.

Sitting casually on the plush couch, one of his arms is draped lazily along the backrest, his long legs stretched out as though the world couldn’t faze him. He looks utterly at ease, but as soon as his eyes meet yours, everything shifts. His expression brightens instantly, his features softening into a boyish grin, and those brilliant blue eyes of his twinkle with a warmth that feels like it’s meant for you alone.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead. Ready to get going?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze.

He never fails to make your heart skip a beat—every single time. But now, your heart flutters differently. There’s a gentle intimacy in the way he looks at you—something that is much more than casual affection.

Nodding, your fingers absentmindedly tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you begin to cross the room, closing the distance between him.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for your purse on the coffee table, then sliding it around your shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

Stepping out of the suite together, it’s almost like the quiet click of the door feels like the closing of a chapter, and the beginning of something new.

You both begin to make your way down the hallway towards the elevator, and without a word, Satoru reaches for your hand, his fingers threading between yours in a way that feels so natural, so right, like they were always meant to fit together this way.

Looking up at him, he flashes you another one of those disarming smiles while offering your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Your stomach flips—but why? This isn’t the first time you’ve held hands—far from it. You do it all the time in public, in front of others. So why does it feel different now?

Ah…because this is real.

There are no cameras. And there is something different in the way he holds your hand—it’s more deliberate, more certain, as if the invisible wall that once stood between you has finally crumbled.

That realization alone sends a warmth flooding through you, spreading up your chest and into your cheeks, leaving you flushed with a delicate shade of pink. But it’s not just the hand-holding—it’s everything. The look in his eyes, the warmth of his touch, the way his presence makes you feel cherished in a way you’ve never felt before.

For the first time, you know for certain that you’re not just pretending.

And despite being able to walk beside him in comfortable silence, you can’t help but feel a little nervous around him now. Everything is different…and that’s exciting, but also terrifying in its own way.

Familiar, but new.

A subtle tension begins to coil in your chest, and then, your stomach betrays you with a low, unmistakable growl. Its soft rumble breaks the quiet moment—catching Satoru’s attention.

“Hungry?” he teases.

“Yeah… I could really use something to eat…” you mutter, almost to yourself, a faint blush creeping into your cheeks.

Satoru’s eyes glint with amusement, and he hums thoughtfully, his thumb tracing idle patterns on the back of your hand.

“Y’know… I should’ve ordered us breakfast in bed. One call, and we could’ve had pancakes, coffee… the works.” Tilting his head, he lets out a playful sigh. “Just think—pancakes and cuddles.”

The thought sends a shiver of warmth through you. His eyes flicker to yours—meeting you with a smirk, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. Nudging him gently with your elbow, you let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Mmm, that does sound tempting…” you pause, letting the image linger, but then your smile fades slightly—tempered by a tug in your heart.

Haru—is she okay? The wind had howled so fiercely through the night, and you weren’t there to comfort her.

“But… we should get home to Haru…” your voice softens as the concern creeps in, despite your best efforts to hide it.

The teasing gleam in Satoru’s eyes soften into something warmer, more tender.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmurs, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Can’t keep the little princess waiting.”

Once you approach the elevator, Satoru reaches out to press the button. But as you stand there for a brief moment of silence, he glances at you from the corner of his eye—catching sight of your furrowed brow, your lips pressed together in a thin line. Thoughts of Haru cloud your mind—weighing you down. You’re anxious to get home to her.

He leans back against the wall beside the elevator, and then with a subtle movement, you blink as he gently pulls you into his chest.

As his warmth envelops you like a soft blanket, he intertwines both of your hands, holding them between your bodies.

“So…” he sighs, looking down at you affectionately, “pancakes or waffles when we get back?”

The question, so simple yet so thoughtful, pulls you out of your reverie.

“I could definitely go for pancakes,” he adds with a slight grin, leaning in closer, “but I think Haru’s more of a waffle girl, right?”

His thumbs brush gently over your knuckles—a wordless reassurance—and the tension within you slowly begins to fade as you relax into his warmth. Your heart swells that he has caught onto such a small detail regarding Haru.

“Yeah… definitely waffles,” a slow smile spreads up your lips. “She thinks pancakes are too mushy.”

Satoru’s face immediately falls into an exaggerated frown, his lower lip jutting out in a dramatic pout.

“Seriously? Too mushy? Aww man… what kind of taste does she have?”

You can’t help but giggle at his expression, but before you can respond, he doubles down on the silliness—his voice dropping into an absurdly serious tone.

“Tch… waffles are just pancakes with abs.”

The deadpan delivery of his words catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, a burst of laughter escapes your lips and Satoru’s grin widens, clearly pleased with himself—soaking in the joy he’s managed to spark.

“See?” he teases, soft but triumphant as he unclasps your hands, only to wrap his arms around you. “Can’t be stressed when you’re thinking about pancakes with abs.”

“How do you even come up with these things?” you shake your head, still smiling.

“What? You know it’s true,” he declares.

His fingers absentmindedly rub against your lower back as he leans down to place a tender kiss upon your temple.

“But I’ll win her over one day. Pancakes will prevail.”

As his words settle, you feel a warm realization blooming in your chest.

Was… he trying to cheer you up?

Leaning into his embrace, you feel the last traces of tension melt away, replaced by a quiet gratitude that fills every corner of your chest. For once, you don’t feel the need to hold everything together alone. With him, it’s safe to let go, to simply be.

Suddenly, the soft ding of the elevator breaks your thoughts, pulling you back to the present—and as the door slides open with a quiet swoosh, you both step in together, welcomed by its faint hum.

After pressing the button to descend, Satoru’s arm slips around your waist, drawing you back against the warmth of his chest. Your heart skips a beat as his hands move slowly across you—gliding up your hips until they settle on your stomach—his fingers splayed gently over the fabric of your dress.

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck, and ripples of pleasure course through your body as he exhales deeply—basking in your presence. 

“Satoru…” you whisper, but his name falters on your lips as he dips his head lower, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder and trailing soft, lingering kisses up your neck.

“Mmm?” he hums against your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

A quiet, airy laugh escapes you, and you tilt your head slightly, granting him better access.

“What… what are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Just… enjoying this moment,” he murmurs through kisses—inhaling deeply. “Is that okay?”

Oh… this is new. He’s so… affectionate.

“Um… yeah…” you whisper, “it’s… more than okay.”

A deep, contented groan rumbles from his chest, and you feel his hands slide to your sides, his thumbs brushing slowly over your hips in a rhythm that’s both soothing and exhilarating.

“Good…” he exhales, a hint of tension in his voice. “’Cause… I can’t seem to keep my hands off you today…”

A pleasant shiver runs through you as his warmth surrounds you—the solid press of his body so close that it’s all you can feel, all you can breathe in.

Heat floods your cheeks, and just as you’re about to say something, he lets out a shaky sigh—his forehead coming to rest gently against your shoulder—his arms easing into a softer, more measured hold.

“Fuck… sorry,” he breathes. “See what you do to me?” his words come out in a quiet, almost desperate groan. “You drive me insane…”

Your heart races at his admission, and a light, breathless laugh slips from your lips.

“Do I?” you glance back at him.

The moment you catch that look in his eyes, dark and intense, a slow, deliberate smile curves up his lips—something wild simmering beneath the surface.

“More than you know,” he murmurs.

Tilting your head, you hold his gaze—a spark of mischief lighting your own as you manage a small, daring smile.

“Well… maybe I like driving you a little crazy…”

A low groan rumbles in his chest as his grip on your hips tightens with a restraint that feels as delicate as a thread.

“Oh, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, “I’m trying to be respectful here, but you’re really not making it easy.”

A thrill courses through you at his words—your heart racing in your chest. For a brief, dizzying moment, you wonder what it would be like to let him lose that last bit of control.

But…

“We’re… we’re in an elevator Satoru,” you exhale with a growing smile. “And… there are cameras, you know?”

Drawing in a slow breath, his eyes drift shut for a moment—as if gathering himself. Then, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, soft yet intense—leaving a warmth in its wake.

“I know, I know,” he mutters reluctantly, “I’ll behave...”

You arch a brow, the faintest smirk touching your lips.

“Really?” you tease, tilting your head. “Because you don’t exactly feel like you’re behaving.”

A deep, rich chuckle escapes him, reverberating against your skin as he leans in.

“Believe me,” his tone dips to a hushed promise, “if I wasn’t behaving… you’d know.”

“…is that so?” you challenge, just above a whisper.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he whispers, lips brushing against your ear. “I’d pin you against this wall and kiss you senseless if we weren’t in public…” his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on your hips. “But for now, I’ll settle for this…”

A flush of warmth spreads up your cheeks—his words unraveling you on the inside. You manage a small, steadying breath, clinging to your composure as best as you can.

“Good to know you have some self-control,” you sigh breathlessly. “Although… I didn’t ask you to hold back… entirely.”

A spark of mischief lights his eyes, and in one smooth motion, he loosens his grip on your hips—pulling back just enough to shift the energy. His hands slide down to capture yours, and he spins you around to face him with a gentle tug—interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Don’t tempt me,” an exasperated laugh slips through his lips. “C’mon now… that’s really not fair. I’m seriously hanging by a thread as it is.”

His laugh is contagious, and it pulls one from you, breaking the tension just enough to leave you both grinning.

“Since when did you become such a risk-taker, Mr. Perfect?”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly, almost as if he’s surprised himself.

“Since you started driving me out of my mind,” with a soft sigh, his voice lowers as he brings his forehead to rest gently against yours. “You’ve got me breaking all my rules.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest, his quiet admission stirring something deeper within you.

“I guess… I’m breaking my own rules too…” you admit quietly.

ꨄ

As the limo door closes and the car pulls away from the hotel, you let out a deep, satisfied sigh, sinking back into the plush seat. Stretching your legs out, you slip off your heels with a soft groan of relief, wiggling your sore toes and savoring the freedom.

“Finally,” you murmur, leaning your head back against the seat. “I’m so ready to go home.”

Beside you, Satoru watches—a lazy, amused smile tugging at his lips as he crosses his arms and leans back.

“Mmm... I suppose it was a long night, huh?”

You respond with a dramatic groan—tilting your head back against the seat and letting your eyes flutter shut. The exhaustion from the previous night still lingers—a subtle ache in your muscles.

Will these events ever get any easier? You seriously doubt it.

“That’s an understatement,” you sigh. “No more charity galas for a while, please. I need a serious break.”

A low chuckle escapes him, and you feel the warmth of his hand as he reaches over, his fingers finding yours in a gentle squeeze.

“Oh?” his thumb brushes softly against your knuckles. “Well, well… and here I thought you were starting to enjoy the glamorous life, Mrs. Gojo.”

You open your eyes, turning to give him a look of pure disbelief.

“Enjoy?” you scoff, letting out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Satoru, my feet are still killing me from last night, and my face actually hurts from all that forced smiling. I’m serious. Please, no more galas for a bit. I’m begging you.”

Pressing your hands together in a dramatic plea, your exaggerated gesture pulls a small smirk to the corner of his lips.

“So… you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy the endless small talk, the flashing cameras, the unsolicited life advice?” his tone drips with feigned innocence.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you. With a tired sigh, you murmur,

“If I have to hear one more person ask when we’re expanding our family, I might actually lose it.”

His smirk deepens, a mischievous gleam flickering in his gaze as he leans in a fraction closer.

“Well…” his voice drops to a low, intimate murmur. “I’m more than happy to help with the ‘expanding’ part.”

A flush of warmth rushes to your cheeks—your eyes widening as his words sink in. You lift your head to meet his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes only makes your blush deepen.

“S-Satoru!” you stammer.

He laughs, rich and unrestrained—clearly delighted by your reaction. His eyes glint with mischief as he leans back—stretching his arm along the back of the seat in a languid, confident gesture.

“What?” a wicked grin tugs at his lips. “Just trying to be a supportive husband.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, still feeling the warmth on your cheeks as you nudge him with your elbow—a reluctant smile creeping onto your face.

After a moment, you clear your throat, shifting the conversation.

“Speaking of which… Mr. ‘Supportive Husband’… you really threw me off during the interview last night, you know that? Changing the script at the last second?”

He crosses his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Oh, come on. You handled it perfectly. I was impressed.”

Raising an eyebrow, you give him a pointed look.

“Impressed or not, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t panicking. I had everything planned out, rehearsed a dozen times, and then you just… decided to go off-script.” Shaking your head, you sigh in exasperation. “I mean… you know how much I practiced those responses.”

His expression softens, the playful edge fading as he meets your gaze.

“I couldn’t help it. I just… wanted to be honest.”

The words come out quietly, and for a moment, the sincerity in his voice makes your breath catch. You swallow, your mind flashing back to last night.

“Well…” you manage—voice softening as you feel the blush return to your cheeks. “A little warning would’ve been nice. I was just standing there, trying to keep it together while you… well…”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in closer.

“Oh? Did I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, though your heart flutters at his infuriating charm.

“Just… try to give me a heads-up next time you decide to profess your feelings in front of an audience.”

He chuckles again, and this time, his hand finds yours—intertwining your fingers in a gentle, reassuring hold.

“Fair enough,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb softly over your knuckles.

But as his fingers linger, his gaze shifts to the window, his expression tightening ever so slightly. You follow his line of sight, noticing the way his eyes narrow, his jaw setting in subtle concentration.

“Satoru?” a touch of concern creeps into your voice. “Is… everything okay?”

Before he can answer, the driver’s voice crackles through the intercom—calm but cautious.

“Mr. Gojo… I believe we have a vehicle following us. They’ve been on our tail since we left the hotel.”

Satoru’s jaw clenches slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he narrows his eyes—focused on the dark car trailing a few lengths behind.

“I’m already aware,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes land on the vehicle in question—a sleek, shadowy figure weaving through traffic, keeping pace with the limo’s every turn. A prickle of unease begins to settle in your stomach.

“Who are they?”

“Probably just paparazzi. It’s nothing new, trust me. Annoying, but they usually give up after a while.”

But as he says this, his expression betrays a hint of tension—a subtle tightness around his mouth and eyes that doesn’t quite match his nonchalance.

You shift in your seat, feeling a mixture of curiosity and unease as the car continues to follow behind, relentless in its pursuit—clinging to your trail like a shadow.

“And… if they don’t give up?”

A flicker of amusement dances across Satoru’s face, though there’s a guarded glint in his eyes. He lets out a low chuckle and his smirk returns—something unreadable lurking beneath the surface.

“Then Ichiji gives them a little… tour of the city.”

As if on cue, Satoru leans forward, pressing a button on the console to speak to the driver.

“Ichiji,” he calls, “think you can lose our friend back there?”

“Understood, sir.”

The limo surges forward, weaving through the road as it picks up speed—the cityscape flashing by in streaks of light and shadow—side streets you didn’t even know existed.

Satoru’s hand tightens on yours as you feel the controlled chaos of the limo dipping and swaying with each sharp maneuver—slipping through intersections just before traffic lights change.

Ichiji’s skill is apparent as he navigates the city’s maze. Yet, each time you risk a glance over your shoulder; the dark vehicle remains close, mirroring every twist and turn with an unsettling persistence.

Satoru catches your glance, and despite the tension etched into his features, he offers you a small, reassuring smile, though a flicker of irritation sharpens his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Ichiji’s handled far worse. It’s just a nuisance—probably some rookie who thinks they’ve found their big break.”

You nod, taking solace in his confidence, but the tension in the car is thick, wrapping around you like a shroud.

After slipping down another narrow street, there’s a fleeting moment where hope blooms—you think you’ve finally lost them, that the shadow has fallen away.

But just as you start to relax, a chill races down your spine. Glancing over your shoulder again, there it is—the dark car, reappearing like a phantom.

Beside you, Satoru’s demeanor shifts, his usual light-hearted smirk fading into something colder, more resolute. He’s not just irritated anymore; he’s assessing, calculating.

“Sir,” the intercom crackles to life—Ichiji’s voice breaking through with a note of frustration. “They’re persistent. I’ve tried several routes, but they’re still on us.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, though his voice remains calm, almost casual—a stark contrast to the intensity in his gaze.

“Keep going, Ichiji. Let’s see if they’re just stubborn… or genuinely serious.”

The limo surges forward—Ichiji pushing the car into tighter turns.

As the narrow roads and sharp angles blur past, your body sways, and you find yourself slipping into Satoru’s side—his arm instinctively wrapping around you to steady you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of winding detours and narrow escapes, Ichiji makes a bold maneuver—a sudden, sharp left down an alley barely wide enough for the limo, followed by a swift merge onto a bustling main road.

With the limo straightening, he picks up speed as it merges seamlessly with the traffic—the dark vehicle disappearing into the distance—swallowed by the sea of cars.

Relief washes over you as you look back, and the tension in your body slowly unravels as you sink further into your seat, exhaling a shaky breath.

Satoru lets out his own small sigh, his shoulders loosening as the hard edge in his expression softens slightly.

“Persistent, but not persistent enough,” he mutters, casting a final glance out the rear window before finally turning his full attention back to you.

A relieved laugh slips past your lips—a blend of amusement and exasperation. You quirk a brow and give him a wry smile.

“So… is this, like, the VIP experience of being married to you? Complimentary car chases and all?”

Satoru snorts—a smirk breaking through his calm facade as he chuckles.

“Only the deluxe date package, sweetheart. I aim to impress.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes with a grin. “What’s next? Parachuting out of the jet?”

“Not today,” he lets out a dramatic sigh. “But if you ask nicely, I might arrange it for our next outing,” he adds with a wink.

A soft laugh escapes you, but as the humor fades, a comfortable silence settles between you. The adrenaline from the chase lingers, slowly dissipating into a shared quiet that feels strangely intimate.

Settling back into his seat, Satoru’s gaze drifts to the window—watching the city blur past with a distant, almost contemplative expression—absently tracing gentle patterns on the back of your hand.

You take the opportunity to study him, observing the subtle lines that have eased from his face—for although his hand, still entwined with yours, feels relaxed, there’s something lingering in his eyes.

A guarded look, a shadow of vigilance—as though he’s still braced for the next challenge, the next threat lurking around the corner.

You can’t help but feel a pang of empathy, a longing to understand, to somehow lighten the burdens he doesn’t speak of. And as you sit there, your hand in his, the question rises to the surface, soft but insistent.

“Does it ever get… easier?”

He blinks, pulling his gaze from the window to look at you, a faint surprise flickering in his eyes as he considers your question.

“Easier?” his voice lowers, softened by a hint of weariness. “I guess… you learn to live with it,” his gaze drifts again. “The constant attention, the expectations… it just becomes a part of you, like background noise.”

With a subtle pause, a quiet sigh slips from his lips, barely audible.

“Perhaps it only gets easier to pretend it doesn’t bother me.”

As his confession hangs between you, your heart aches for him—for the weight he’s constantly been forced to carry in silence.

Gently, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, and feeling a surge of tenderness, you shift closer—resting your head against his shoulder in a gesture of quiet support.

“That must have been… hard to grow up with, Satoru.”

A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze dropping to where your hands are entwined.

“Well… when you grow up in a family like mine, you learn early on that everything comes with a price. Privacy, peace, even… happiness.”

He pauses, the faintest shadow crossing his face. You feel his hand tense slightly in yours.

“My father… he was very clear about what he expected, what he considered acceptable.”

A flicker of vulnerability passes through his gaze, and for a brief moment, he seems to struggle, as if wrestling with the decision to reveal more or to keep his past guarded.

His jaw tightens, as he reluctantly mutters, “…and if something threatened that image?”

Tilting your head slightly, your heart aches as you sense the struggle behind his words.

There’s a part of you that dreads the answer, that fears what he might say, but another part—the part that trusts him, that wants to understand—urges you forward.

“What would he do… if something threatened it?”

The silence feels heavy, and Satoru’s gaze grows distant—his eyes unfocused, as if he’s looking at something far beyond the present.

“He’d… handle it,” he pauses, hesitating. “He had a way of making problems… disappear. It didn’t matter what—or who—got in the way.”

A chill runs down your spine, his words settling over you like a shadow. And then, like a whisper carried in the wind, another voice intrudes, one you’d rather forget—Naoya.

‘The Gojo family isn’t as squeaky clean as they’d like everyone to believe’

Swallowing, the knot in your stomach tightens—uncertainty and unease churning within you.

‘Corporate malpractice. Insider trading. Swept under the rug.’

Your mind races with questions, possibilities—fragments of a puzzle that feel just out of reach.

But as you look at Satoru, his profile softened by the passing streetlights, his expression seemingly relaxed yet shadowed by an inner turmoil—you feel an undeniable urge to understand, to know the truth—not from anyone else’s lips but his.

What’s his side of the story?

You chew on the thought, and the question sits heavy on your tongue—tangled with hesitation and a nagging curiosity that prickles under your skin.

Part of you fears what he may reveal; wonders what will come to light if you dare pull back the curtain. But you’ve already made your choice—you have placed your trust in him, and now, it’s time to act on it.

“Hey… Satoru?”

At the sound of your voice, his expression softens, his gaze shifting from the window to meet yours, a faint smile touching his lips

“Hmm?”

Hesitating for a heartbeat, you gather your courage—finding your words.

“There’s… something Naoya said that’s been bothering me.”

Satoru’s brow knits, his relaxed posture shifting as a flicker of apprehension crosses his face. He leans in, subtly closing the distance between you.

“…what did he say?”

You swallow, steadying yourself.

“He mentioned… a court case. Said it was ‘swept under the rug’ by your family.”

At this, a faint tension settles over him, and he glances away—his gaze clouding as though he’s sifting through memories he’d rather not confront.

“Well… Naoya’s not entirely wrong,” he hesitates, a flicker of something heavy in his eyes. “There was a case… years ago, before my father passed. I… wouldn’t say it was ‘swept under the rug’ though.”

Sensing the reluctance in his words, you shift closer, letting your hand rest lightly on his arm—a quiet reassurance that he doesn’t have to face this alone.

“What happened?” you ask gently.

There is a beat of silence—his eyes flickering to yours as he lets out a deep sigh.

“Look… my father was a powerful man,” he begins, low and guarded. “He would do whatever he thought was necessary to protect our family’s legacy. But… at some point, having power like that attracts attention from people who want to exploit it.”

With a subtle pause, he holds your gaze, gauging your reaction—almost as though he’s afraid of what you might think. You offer an encouraging nod—silently urging him to continue.

“They were… dangerous people,” he continues. “At first, they saw my father’s influence as something they could control—a tool to serve their agenda. But when he refused to play along…” his voice trails off, and his lips press into a hard line. “Well, let’s just say they didn’t take it well. The retaliation started subtly—small threats, quiet warnings—but it didn’t take long before things began to escalate.”

A prickling unease creeps up your spine, the revelation unfolding an image of his family’s past that you’d never envisioned.

The Gojos? Entangled in the underworld?

It seems impossible—absurd even. Yet, as you watch the subtle tension drawing across Satoru’s face, the disbelief gives way to a somber realization. His family’s legacy, so polished and prestigious, carries a dark weight that’s been carefully hidden.

A thousand questions rush through your mind, but one stands out, pressing at the forefront.

“These people…” your fingers brush over his arm in a silent promise of support, “who were they?”

His hesitation stretches, the tension deepening in his face as his eyes darken. Swallowing, his gaze drops for a moment before he finally murmurs,

“The yakuza.”

A soft, involuntary gasp escapes you—your breath catching as the gravity of his words sink in.

“The yakuza?”

You stare at him, searching his face, trying to fully comprehend the magnitude of what he’s revealing—though all he offers is a nod, his expression grim.

“I… I had no idea it was that serious,” you stammer. “I… I thought… maybe it was just business rivals or… or people with grudges. But… the yakuza?”

“Yeah… they approached my father, tried to pull him into their world. He resisted… but with people like them, ‘no’ isn’t an option. So, they went after what he valued most—his reputation. That’s why they took him to court.”

As his words sink in, your heart races, a new fear unfurling in your chest, cold and insistent.

If they were willing to tear Satoru’s father down so publicly, to ruin him in order to make a statement, what would stop them from going after what Satoru values most now? The thought sends a ripple of dread through you, heavy and unsettling.

The memory of the car that had tailed you earlier rises unbidden in your mind. Was it really just… paparazzi? Or could it have been something more sinister? The possibility claws at you, leaving a hollow ache of unease that tightens around your chest, raw and suffocating.

And then, almost as if summoned by that fear, Haru’s innocent face flashes across your mind—her bright eyes, her soft laughter. The mere thought of her being anywhere near this kind of danger wraps around you like a vice, filling you with a terror that threatens to spill over.

“Satoru…” your voice trembles, the panic creeping in as you whisper, “If they were willing to go to those lengths… what does this mean for us? For Haru?”

Noticing the anxiety bubbling within you, Satoru’s expression softens as his hand finds yours—warm and steady, a reassuring grip.

“Hey… you don’t have to worry about that. Not anymore,” his thumb brushes over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “My father… he dealt with them. He put their kanbu—Toji Zenin—in jail. Since then, they’ve kept quiet.”

Toji Zenin…

As the name rolls off his tongue it lingers in your mind, echoing, triggering something faintly familiar.

“Zenin?” you repeat, eyes widening as the realization dawns. “Did you say… Toji Zenin?”

He blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as a faint crease forms between his brows. Nodding slowly, his gaze is steady but laced with quiet concern.

“Yeah… Toji Zenin. Why?”

The pieces fall together in a chilling clarity—a cold, uncomfortable realization settling over you like a shadow. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your mouth goes dry.

“Satoru…” you inhale sharply. “Naoya’s last name… it’s Zenin.”

A heavy silence fills the car, pressing in from all sides, suffocating in its intensity. Satoru’s eyes widen, a crack in his usual composure—a flicker of shock as he absorbs the implications of your words.

“Naoya… is a Zenin?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

Leaning back, he releases a sharp exhale as though the weight of this new knowledge has landed squarely on his shoulders. His gaze shifts, unfocused, as he absorbs the impact.

“Well,” he mutters, almost to himself, “that explains a lot...”

But his reaction only sharpens the tendrils of fear coiling around your heart, constricting until it’s hard to breathe.

Your thoughts spiral, slipping beyond your control—images of Haru’s innocent face, of your family thrown into turmoil, of everything you and Satoru are trying to build, crumbling under the threat that looms over you.

“Satoru… this… this isn’t just some family feud, is it?” you struggle to keep your composure. “If Naoya’s related to Toji, he won’t just… let this go. Oh god… what are we going to do?”

Satoru’s expression softens at the panic rising in your tone, and without a word, he shifts closer, reaching out to anchor you. One hand finds yours, wrapping around it in a steadying grip, while his other rises to cradle your face, grounding you in his touch.

“Hey… shhh, look at me,” his thumb traces a gentle line down your cheek. “I will handle this. I won’t let anything happen to you or to Haru. I promise.”

Searching his face, you are drawn to the quiet intensity of his eyes—the fierce protectiveness simmering beneath his calm demeanor. Despite the fear gnawing at you, there’s a flicker of reassurance, a warmth spreading from his touch—one that eases the tension in your chest.

“I know this feels overwhelming…” he soothes, “but I guarantee you, whatever Naoya or his family think they can do, they won’t succeed. Not while I’m here. I don’t care who Naoya is or what he thinks he’s capable of. He won’t touch you. He won’t come close to Haru. Not now, not ever.”

The calm certainty in his voice wraps around you, dispelling the worst of the shadows lurking in your mind. Drawing a shaky breath, you nod—clinging to his steady presence as his words sink in.

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re safe with me,” his gentle breath fans your face as he caresses your cheek. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together. I’ll protect you… protect our family. I need you to trust me on this sweetheart.”

You squeeze his hand, finding strength in his resolve, in the steady rhythm of his breathing—and for a moment, enveloped in his warmth and the comfort of his words, you allow yourself to believe—if only for a little while—that you’re safe.

ꨄ

As the door of the Gojo estate clicks shut behind you, the hurried patter of small feet echoes down the hall. Haru rounds the corner, her small frame skidding slightly as she sees you—eyes wide with relief but a little red-rimmed.

“Mama!”

Her bottom lip quivers as she reaches for you, and her little arms are stretched out as far as they can go—desperate and open.

Dropping to your knees just in time, she crashes into you—her small hands clinging desperately to your shoulders as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh, sweet girl,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her head. “I missed you too, baby. It’s okay. Mama’s here.”

It’s all you can do to hold her close, stroking her back in soothing circles as her quiet whimpers are muffled against you. Then, lifting your gaze, you catch the nanny’s gentle, sympathetic smile from where she stands nearby—watching the reunion with soft eyes.

“How was she?” you ask quietly.

The nanny gives a small, reassuring nod.

“She was very brave,” she says kindly. “The storm shook her up a bit, but she’s been a trooper.”

Stepping beside you, Satoru’s comforting hand rests on your shoulder as he listens—his gaze softening as he looks down at Haru nestled against you. He turns to the nanny, and offers a grateful smile.

“Thank you for staying with her through the night. We really appreciate it.”

The nanny smiles, her gaze flickering to Haru, who is now sniffling quietly in your arms.

“Of course, Mr. Gojo. She’s a sweetheart.” Leaning down, she pats Haru’s head gently and whispers, “Bye Haru. Take care, little one.”

With that, she gathers her things and quietly slips out, leaving the three of you in the quiet of the entryway.

But as the door clicks shut, Haru’s small hands cling even tighter to you, showing no signs of letting up. Her hold is firm, as though she’s afraid you’ll slip away the moment she loosens her grip.

Kneeling down beside you, Satoru reaches out a tentative hand, brushing his fingers gently over her hair.

“Hey, Haru,” he clears his throat softly. “I’m… glad you’re safe. You had me and your Mama worried, you know.”

Haru shifts a little but keeps her face buried against your shoulder, her grip on you unwavering, causing Satoru’s hopeful smile to falter just a touch. He glances up at you, searching for reassurance.

Your heart swells at his expression. This is uncharted territory for him, and though his effort is sincere, there’s an unmistakable hint of awkwardness, a subtle vulnerability as he tries to connect.

But you’re grateful he’s trying, grateful for the patience he’s showing even when Haru’s response isn’t what he hoped for.

Offering an encouraging smile, you squeeze his hand briefly before looking down at Haru.

“Haru,” you say softly, rocking her slightly, “Satoru’s here too. And you know what? I think he missed you a lot.”

Haru’s little arms only tighten around you in response, her small face nestled firmly against your neck. There’s a hint of a pout in her expression as she stubbornly clings to you, seemingly unimpressed by Satoru’s efforts to engage.

With a soft sigh, Satoru’s shoulders slump slightly as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Guess I’ll have to work harder to get on her good side today…” he murmurs, trying to mask the slight discouragement in his voice.

“She’s just a little shaken up,” you reassure him, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “She’ll come around.”

Determined not to give up, Satoru’s expression shifts, a glint of playful determination lighting up his gaze.

Leaning in a little closer, his voice softens, adopting a gentle, almost sing-song tone as he tries again—this time with a different approach.

“Haruuu~” he coaxes, drawing out her name with a gentle smile. “What if we make waffles for breakfast? Would you like that?”

At the mention of waffles, Haru’s grip loosens ever so slightly. Slowly, she peeks out from the safety of your shoulder, her wide eyes darting toward Satoru with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Her little brows knit together as she seems to weigh her options, the slightest glimmer of interest flickering in her gaze.

Satoru notices, his eyes lighting up with a renewed sense of hope. Seizing the moment, he leans in a little closer.

“We can make them together. Extra syrup, extra whipped cream… just how you like it!”

Haru considers this for a moment, still clutching you but her gaze locked on Satoru—deciding whether his offer is worth leaving her safe place. Then, her small voice, barely above a whisper, asks tentatively,

“…with strawberries?”

Satoru’s face brightens, a wide smile breaking across his features as he nods enthusiastically.

“With as many strawberries as you want,” he promises. “We’ll pile them up nice and high. Just for you, princess.”

ꨄ

In the cozy warmth of the kitchen, the scent of waffles and melted butter fills the air. Satoru—who hasn’t spent much time at the stove since his first impromptu cooking session with you—fumbles slightly with the waffle iron, his fingers awkward as he glances over at you for guidance every few seconds.

“Careful,” you murmur, stepping forward just in time to guide his hand as he nearly overfills the iron. “Remember, less is more.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

“Right. I was just… testing the limits.”

Rolling your eyes, you nudge him gently with a grin.

“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”

“I wanna put the toppings on!” Haru chimes in excitedly, bouncing slightly on her toes as she stands beside him on a step stool—a can of whipped cream clutched in one hand and a bowl of sliced strawberries in the other.

“Hold on, little chef,” Satoru grins, gently steadying her, a hand on her back. “We gotta make sure the waffle’s just right first. Can’t rush perfection.”

Puffing her cheeks, Haru lets out an exaggerated huff as the waffle iron starts to hiss and steam.

“It’s taking forever,” she complains. “Mama doesn’t take this long.”

Satoru arches a brow in amusement, and you chuckle softly from the counter where you’ve discreetly started mixing a separate batch of pancake batter.

“That’s because Mama knows what she’s doing,” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at Satoru with a smirk.

Clutching his chest, Satoru gasps in mock offense.

“Wow. Betrayed by my own wife. Right in front of our sous-chef.”

Haru giggles at his exaggerated reaction.

“Mama’s the boss,” she declares confidently—holding up her can of whipped cream like a trophy.

“You know what?” Satoru sighs, his grin softening. “You’re absolutely right. Without her, I’d probably burn this whole kitchen down.”

You chuckle, stepping closer and leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You’re sweet,” you say softly. “But I trust you to handle this. I’m gonna prep something else over there.”

He blinks—a surprised but pleased smile tugging at his lips—eyes glimmering with amusement.

“Wait, you’re leaving me in charge? Bold move, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Very bold,” you reply with a smirk, backing away toward the counter. “But I have faith in you. Just keep an eye on the steam. You’re in charge of waffles and keeping Haru entertained. And don’t let her eat all the toppings before the waffles are done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with playful seriousness, saluting you with the ladle.

As the waffles cook, you finish mixing the pancake batter and quietly heat the pan—keeping an ear on their conversation. Satoru is showing Haru how to hold the whipped cream can steady, but Haru protests the second he sneaks a strawberry slice from her pile.

“Hey! Those are mine!” she pouts, reaching out to swat his hand away as she clutches the bowl protectively against her chest.

“Quality control,” he argues, popping the strawberry into his mouth. “Someone’s gotta make sure they’re not poisoned.”

“No stealing!” she declares, shoving her own strawberry into her mouth with an exaggerated defiance.

Shaking your head, a quiet laugh escapes you as you pour pancake batter onto the hot pan. The soft sizzle of batter meeting the heat blends seamlessly with the chatter and laughter filling the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Satoru triumphantly announces, “Waffle’s done!” as he carefully lifts the golden creation from the iron and places it on a plate.

Haru squeals with delight—already reaching for the whipped cream as he sets the plate in front of her.

“Careful, careful,” Satoru warns, steadying the plate with one hand while Haru applies a generous swirl of whipped cream, her tongue sticking out in concentration.

“There we go—masterpiece in the making.”

While they’re distracted, you quietly finish stacking a plate of pancakes, adding a pat of butter and just the right drizzle of syrup—exactly how you know Satoru likes. The warm aroma wafts upward as you carefully carry the plate to the table, setting it down without a word.

Haru, oblivious, is busy adding strawberries to her waffle with a proud grin, but Satoru’s sharp eyes catch the movement—he pauses mid-motion, his attention snapping to the pancakes. As his eyes widen slightly, his expression shifts to one of boyish delight.

“You made those?” he asks, stepping closer to the table.

You smile, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Well, someone mentioned earlier that they were more in the mood for pancakes.”

A slow grin spreads across his face as he steps toward you, his hands settling on your waist as he pulls you into a gentle hug from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his voice softens.

“You spoil me, you know that?” he murmurs.

Tilting your head slightly, a soft laugh escapes you as you glance at him.

 “Mmm… well, someone has to keep you in line.”

Haru, catching the exchange, glances up from her waffle with a small pout.

“Hey! What about me?” she asks, holding up her masterpiece. “Look at my waffle!”

Satoru straightens up, feigning shock.

“Oh, wow, Haru! That’s the most beautiful waffle I’ve ever seen. Way better than mine, for sure.”

Her pout shifts to a triumphant grin.

“I know,” she says, plopping a strawberry into her mouth.

ꨄ

The sound of the doorbell echoes through the estate just as you’re finishing your last few bites of breakfast. Haru, seated on her highchair, barely glances up from her waffle masterpiece—her tiny hands busy scooping up a dollop of whipped cream.

You glance at Satoru, curious.

“Are we expecting someone?”

He straightens in his chair, casually wiping his mouth before tossing his napkin onto the table with an ease that feels practiced.

“Yeah, I called him first thing this morning.”

Your eyes narrow on him as he rises from his seat.

“Called who?”

But before he can answer, Ichiji steps into the kitchen doorway, his posture as poised as always.

“Mr. Gojo—Mr. Geto is here to see you.”

“Suguru?” you tilt your head, and your fork clinks softly against the plate as you set it down—muttering softly, “I didn’t know he was coming today.”

“Figures,” a familiar, exasperated voice chimes in. “That’s because someone didn’t give you a heads-up.”

Turning towards the kitchen entrance, you spot Suguru Geto stepping into view. He’s every bit as composed as you remember—dressed sharply in a tailored black suit that perfectly complements his tall, lean frame—though his polished appearance doesn’t disguise the easygoing air he carries.

His leather briefcase dangles casually from one hand, and his eyes flicker to you—a polite smile tugging at his lips.

“y/n, nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” you reply, matching his smile with your own.

Then, Suguru’s attention shifts seamlessly to Satoru, his expression sliding into something closer to feigned annoyance.

“Well,” he exhales dramatically, running a hand through his loosely tied-back hair, “I see you’re wasting no time dragging me into your messes, huh?”

“Our messes,” Satoru corrects smoothly, leaning back against the counter with a grin that radiates shamelessness. He gestures toward the table, a silent invitation for Suguru to join you. “I thought we agreed—you’re part of this circus now.”

Arching a brow, Suguru shakes his head in amused resignation as he steps further into the room.

“Oh, is that what we agreed? Must’ve missed the memo.”

As he approaches the table, his gaze slides back to you, softening slightly.

“And how are you holding up, y/n? Still surviving the whirlwind that is Gojo Satoru?”

A chuckle escapes you as you wipe Haru’s syrup-sticky hands with a wet napkin.

“Barely, but I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully, nodding with approval.

“Good,” he says with a wry smile. “You’ll need to keep up that resilience.”

Setting his sleek briefcase down on the counter with a soft thud, his tone shifts ever so slightly, as he steadily says,

“I’ll be representing you in court.”

The weight of his words settles over the room, a sobering reminder of the battle ahead. Yet, as Haru swirls her fork eagerly through her syrup and giggles softly, her blissful innocence seems to lighten the tension just enough.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly, your gaze meeting his. “I… really appreciate it.”

Suguru offers a confident smile, his presence radiating assurance.

“Don’t mention it,” he takes a seat next to you. “We’ll go over everything. There’s a lot to cover, but we’ll take it one step at a time. I’m here to make sure you’re prepared.”

From his spot against the counter, Satoru chimes in, his grin practically glowing.

“See? I told you he’s the best.”

Rolling his eyes, Suguru’s fingers deftly adjust the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Flattery won’t make this any easier, you know,” he quips dryly, though the hint of a grin betrays his amusement. “But I hope you realize you owe me for this. This isn’t exactly light work. Maybe start with some coffee.”

Satoru laughs, stepping over to clap a hand on Suguru’s shoulder with playful force.

“Anything for my favorite lawyer.”

“Favorite?” Suguru deadpans, arching a skeptical brow. “I’m fairly certain I’m your only lawyer.”

“Details,” Satoru quips, his grin widening. “Besides, no one else could handle me.”

Suguru sighs, shaking his head in mock defeat as a small smirk pulls at his lips.

“On that, we agree,” he mutters dryly.

ꨄ

The Gojo study hums with a quiet tension, but the rustle of paper punctuates the stillness as Suguru methodically spreads neatly labeled folders across the polished desk.

In the distance, Haru’s delighted laughter echoes faintly through the halls, a gentle reminder of her presence as Ichiji keeps her entertained—a task assigned by Satoru to ensure your conversation remains undisturbed.

Leaning against the desk, stands Satoru—arms crossed over his chest. But the absence of his trademark smirk is striking, replaced by a rare focus.

His crystalline blue eyes are sharp, intent, as they flit to you, then to Suguru.

“I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” he begins, low and unusually steady. “Look… there’s a lot we need to get ahead of…”

Suguru waves off the gratitude with a flick of his wrist, flipping open a folder.

“No problem. I’m used to you dragging me into your messes, remember?” His lips tug into a faint smirk. “Besides, this one’s actually important.”

Sitting across from Suguru, you shift in your seat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The weight of uncertainty presses against your chest as your eyes drift to Satoru, who stands as if bracing himself to deliver a blow.

“Suguru,” he begins, tone sharpening, “we found out something big. About Naoya.”

Suguru’s brow arches in mild curiosity, but he continues thumbing through the documents, waiting for Satoru to continue.

“He’s a Zenin.”

The folder in Suguru’s grasp stills—freezing mid turn. His dark eyes flick up, recognition flaring in his gaze, followed swiftly by something colder, heavier.

“A Zenin?”

“Yup,” pushing off the desk, Satoru leans forward to plant both palms on its polished surface. “He’s got more resources than we thought. We’re not just dealing with some rich, bitter ex—we’re going up against the yakuza.”

Suguru exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair as his fingers rub at his chin. The lines of his face sharpen, his usual easygoing demeanor slipping into something far more calculating.

“Zenin… Naoya Zenin…” he mutters, almost to himself, then, a wry smile ghosts across his lips, void of any warmth. “Of course, it’s him. I knew the name sounded familiar.”

You lean forward slightly, soft but urgent.

“You know him?”

As Suguru’s gaze flickers to you, his expression darkens—he nods.

“We went to the same law school. Different years, but our paths crossed a few times.” Shaking his head, he lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “He’s… not exactly the type you forget.”

Your breath hitches as you glance at Satoru, who straightens slightly—a glimmer of curiosity breaking through the severity in his expression.

“You’re kidding…” his head tilts as he studies Suguru. “What was he like?”

Suguru snorts softly, but the sound carries no humor.

“Arrogant. Ruthless. He’d throw anyone under the bus if it meant getting ahead—professors, classmates, even so-called friends. And he did it with a smile, like it was a game. He was top of his class, but not because he was the smartest. No, Naoya Zenin was the most cutthroat. Every victory he claimed was calculated, every move designed to humiliate someone else.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens at the description, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the edge of the desk.

“Sounds about right,” he mutters under his breath.

But as Suguru’s dark eyes sharpen, a flicker of protectiveness flash within them as he turns to you.

“If he’s tied to the yakuza, we need to be strategic. This isn’t just a custody battle anymore—it’s a power play. He’s going to use every trick in the book to undermine you, y/n.”

The knot in your stomach tightens, your hands clasping harder in your lap as you force yourself to speak.

“…what do we do?”

Leaning forward, Suguru rests his elbows on the desk as he fixes you with a steady gaze.

“We build your case airtight. Document everything—your role in Haru’s life, your finances, your relationship with Satoru. We highlight what’s best for her, and we get ahead of whatever dirt he’s going to try to throw your way.”

Satoru plops down in the seat beside you—a casualness that doesn’t quite match his intensity. As he kicks up his feet, his lips twist into a determined scowl.

“And if he steps out of line,” he grits, “we make sure he regrets it.”

Suguru raises a brow at Satoru’s bluntness but doesn’t refute him. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his expression softening slightly.

“If Naoya’s involved, he’ll stop at nothing to win. But that also makes him predictable—at least to someone who knows how he operates. And fortunately for you, I do. His yakuza connections might make him dangerous, but they also make him vulnerable if we play this right.”

Nodding slowly, the steady conviction in Suguru’s voice grounds you, even as the gravity of the situation sinks in. But then, as your gaze shifts to Satoru, you catch sight of him, leaning back further—his hands clasped behind his head as a faint smirk tugs at his lips.

“Well,” he exhales with a playful glint, “if anyone can turn this into an advantage, it’s you, Suguru.”

Arching a brow, Suguru’s lips curve into a wry smile.

“More flattery, huh? You must really want me to win this.”

Satoru’s grin widens, his signature charm slipping back into place as he shrugs.

“Hey, I’m just giving credit where credit’s due. Besides, I’m kind of depending on you here.”

Rolling his eyes, the faintest trace of a smirk lingers on Suguru as he settles back in his chair.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures. “By the time I’m done, Naoya won’t know what hit him.”

The moment feels lighter, more hopeful, but it’s short-lived as Suguru turns his attention back to you. The weight of his gaze is discerning, his tone shifting into something sharper, more direct.

“All right, y/n,” he begins, flipping open a folder and grabbing a pen. “Let’s get into it. I need to know everything about your history with Haru—how long you’ve cared for her, the kind of stability you’ve provided. What does your day-to-day with her look like?”

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in tone, but you clear your throat and nod.

“Right… um, well, I’ve been her primary caregiver since she was born. I—”

Suguru lifts a hand, halting you mid-sentence.

“Actually, let’s start from the very beginning. What were the circumstances that led to Haru? Your relationship with Naoya? The more details, the better.”

As the question lingers in the air, you hesitate—your gaze dropping to your hands while your fingers twist anxiously in your lap.

Talking about Haru is easy—she’s your light, your joy. But the road that brought you to her… that’s where the cracks lie.

With a deep breath, you’re unable to meet Suguru’s steady gaze, so instead, you glance toward Satoru.

He’s leaning forward now—elbows resting on his thighs, watching you intently. There is an unwavering reassurance in his soft expression, urging you to continue.

Holding onto that look for a moment, you let it push you forward.

“Haru wasn’t planned,” you admit quietly, voice trembling slightly. “At first, it was… okay. Naoya was never exactly hands-on, but he wasn’t hostile either. I think… back then, maybe he thought Haru might be useful to him someday.”

Suguru’s pen doesn’t pause as he scribbles notes, his eyes briefly flicking up to meet yours.

“Useful? In what way?”

You shift uncomfortably—your hands continuing to twist in your lap.

“To him, it was always about control,” the words come slower now, as if you’re piecing them together. “Having a child—especially one he thought he could… shape—meant he could use her somehow, like leverage. But when he realized Haru was… more work than he expected, he just… started pulling away.”

Satoru’s jaw sets tightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. Leaning back slightly, his fingers drum sharply against the armrest of the chair as Suguru presses gently.

“Pulling away how?”

You hesitate, your voice quieter now.

“He started coming home less… and when he was home, it was like walking on eggshells. Nothing was ever good enough—how I held her, how I fed her, how I…” Drawing in a shaky breath, your voice wavers slightly. “How I was raising her. He had an opinion about everything. I couldn’t do anything right.”

Suguru’s pen stills, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he listens intently. Across from you, Satoru’s posture stiffens further, and you can see his knuckles whitening where they grip the armrest.

“I was young and scared,” your voice wavers, tinged with a quiet shame. “And I thought… I thought I could change him. That maybe things would get better.”

Your gaze drops to your lap again, your fingers twisting together so tightly it feels like your knuckles might split.

“But… they didn’t. If anything, they got worse. He would question every choice I made as a mother. And when I tried to stand up for myself…”

Trailing off, the memories send a familiar shiver down your spine—your body trembling slightly as you attempt to take in a deep, shaky breath.

“y/n,” Suguru’s voice pulls you back gently, and his gaze is steady, though there’s a slight edge of concern to it. “This is important. Was there ever any… abuse? Emotional or otherwise?”

Unable to look up, you can feel both men’s eyes on you—Suguru’s sharp and calculating, Satoru’s burning with barely restrained anger. Cautiously, you take in another shaky breath.

“It… depends on what you define as abuse. He never hit me, if that’s what you mean. But he didn’t have to,” pausing, your hands twist tighter in your lap. “There were times… when he’d get angry, really angry, and he’d slam things—doors, tables. It was enough to make me… worry about pushing him too far.”

The room is suffocatingly silent as your words hang in the air.

As the pressure builds in your chest, the shame coils tighter with each second that passes. Speaking the truth aloud feels like ripping open an old wound—exposing the raw, aching parts of yourself that you’ve worked so hard to keep hidden.

For a moment, you wish you could take it all back, swallow the words and let them die in your throat. But then you think of Haru—her tiny hands reaching for yours, her laughter echoing faintly through the estate.

This isn’t just about you anymore. It never was.

But as the trembling in your fingers begins to spread to your shoulders, you force yourself to breathe, to focus—though the weight of their stares only crush you further.

Is this what it feels like to be seen? To have someone actually listen?

“Is… is that enough?” you whisper, the question trembling as it leaves your lips.

“Oh, it’s enough,” Satoru’s voice cuts through suddenly, snapping your eyes up to meet his. The restrained rage is radiating off him like heat. But then his gaze softens—just slightly—and when it meets yours, you see something else beneath the anger.

Something quieter, deeper. A promise.

“More than enough…” he murmurs.

Swallowing hard, you’re unsure if the tears welling in your eyes are from relief or the overwhelming vulnerability coursing through you.

You’ve handed them a piece of yourself you’ll never get back, and yet, for the first time, you don’t feel entirely alone in carrying it.

“y/n,” Suguru begins, leaning forward slightly, “what you’re describing… controlling behavior, intimidation, emotional manipulation—that is abuse.”

There’s a quiet emphasis in his words, as if he’s trying to make sure you truly hear him.

“Even if he didn’t put his hands on you, using fear and control to keep you in line is just another way to break someone without leaving a mark.”

His acknowledgement is both freeing and suffocating—and as the truth of his words sink in slowly, for a moment, all you can do is nod—your throat too tight to form a proper response.

“I think we’ve covered enough for today,” Satoru says suddenly, leaving no room for argument. He rises from his seat. “We can pick this back up tomorrow.”

Opening his mouth to protest, the words are poised on the tip of Suguru’s tongue, but Satoru silences him with a single sharp glance and a slight shake of his head—not aggressive, but firm.

“She’s been through enough for one day,” his gaze flickers to you, and the edge of his earlier anger melts away into something gentler as he murmurs, “let her breathe.���

Suguru hesitates, studying Satoru for a moment, before letting out a sigh. He leans back in his chair, snapping his folder shut with a quiet click.

“Alright…” he concedes, “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

The tension in the room eases slightly as Suguru begins to gather his papers, but your body remains taut—like a string pulled too tightly.

Managing a small nod, gratitude blooms in your chest, though you’re not sure how to voice it. Your lips part to say something to Satoru—anything—but the words refuse to come.

Stepping closer, Satoru reaches your side, and he crouches slightly, bringing himself closer to your eye level. As he lifts his hand, his fingers graze your cheek, softly tucking back a loose strand of your hair.

“Come on,” he whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

And for the first time since the conversation began, you feel like you can finally exhale.

ꨄ

After Suguru leaves, Satoru doesn’t say much about your conversation in the study. There are no heavy discussions, no probing questions. Instead, his actions do the talking—offering a steadying presence that words could never match.

He eases you into a rhythm that feels unhurried and safe, and at the center of it all is Haru—her bright energy pulling you both into her orbit like a tiny sun—melting away all lingering shadows of worry.

It’s just the three of you—embracing the gentle cadence of togetherness—the hours blurring into a soft haze of tender moments, strung together like beads on a necklace.

Though what surprises you most, is Satoru.

He’s not the detached observer you’ve come to expect but something entirely different—present, engaged, and effortlessly intertwined in the fabric of the day.

Perhaps it’s the shift in your relationship—the silent understanding that this isn’t a charade anymore. Or maybe it’s his resolve to carve out a meaningful connection with Haru, to find his own place in her world.

Whatever the reason, he is there, fully and completely.

When Haru launches into a vivid narration of her stuffed animals’ daring adventures, Satoru listens with rapt attention, as if each word holds the weight of an epic tale.

Later, when she declares it’s time for an impromptu tea party, he folds his tall frame onto the floor without hesitation,

The sight is almost absurd—this man, so completely out of place yet so effortlessly part of it all. And as the day fades into evening, his presence remains constant, even as the tempo slows.

With bedtime arriving, he follows you and Haru to her room, lingering in the warm glow of her nightly routine. It’s the first time he’s joined you, yet there’s something achingly natural about it—him sitting cross-legged on the floor as you read her favorite story—the three of you together in that small, cozy space.

It’s almost as if this is how it’s always been, or perhaps how it was always meant to be—because now that the facade has fallen away, there’s a quiet sincerity in the way Satoru moves through this new dynamic, as though he’s made the deliberate choice to truly belong to it.

But when Haru’s eyelids grow heavier, her small body relaxes in your arms, and Satoru suddenly rises to his feet.

Glancing up at him, a question flickers in your gaze, but he only steps closer, slow and unhurried.

“I have to take care of something,” he whispers quietly, leaning down to brush a featherlight kiss upon your temple. “Finish up here. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Arching a brow, you study how his lips curve into the faintest smirk—but not wanting to disturb Haru’s peaceful state, you simply offer him a subtle nod as he quietly steps out of the room.

The door closes with a soft click, leaving you alone with Haru—and the room feels a touch emptier without him.

Focusing your attention back to her, you hum a quiet lullaby, feeling her breathing grow deeper, steadier, until at last, she’s fully surrendered to sleep.

Slowly, as not to wake her, you rise from your seat and carefully lower her into her bed—smoothing the blanket over her small frame and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her peaceful expression tugs at your heart, and you whisper a soft goodnight before tiptoeing to the door.

Closing the door gently behind you, the soft click of the latch settles into the stillness of the hallway, and for a moment, you linger there, exhaling deeply as you close your eyes briefly—letting the day’s weight slip from your shoulders.

It’s been quite a day… and this is only the beginning…

But once you turn to head down the hallway, something catches your eye—something unexpected.

Just outside Haru’s door, lies a delicate trail of flower petals—soft pinks and whites, scattered purposefully across the floor, stretching out before you like a whispered invitation.

You blink, your brows furrowing in curiosity as you step closer. The petals wind down the hallway, forming a path that seems to beckon you forward.

A small, amused smile tugs at your lips as a thought flickers in your mind.

What on earth is Satoru up to now?

Following the petals, your bare feet pad lightly against the polished wood, and eventually, they lead you to the top of the staircase—cascading down the steps in a soft, scattered rhythm.

You move forward—descending the stairs, pursuing the trail that spills into the expansive space of the Gojo estate. The petals seem to playfully weave through the living area, pulling you deeper into the quiet elegance of the house.

But as the trail leads you through the kitchen, where the petals curve gently around the island in a playful arc, your gaze follows the path to the French doors, slightly ajar at the far end of the kitchen.

The sheer curtains ripple softly, brushing against the doorframe as the night breeze slips through, and with it, the breeze carries a faint crackle of fire—tugging at your curiosity.

Your heart quickens in anticipation as you step closer, nudging the doors open. The cool air greets you first, but as you step out onto the deck, the sight before you takes your breath away.

The space is utterly transformed.

A canopy of fairy lights stretches overhead—draped elegantly between tall, polished beams that frame the space in a way that feels both intimate and magical—as if the stars themselves have been drawn closer just for this moment.

And at the heart of the deck, a sleek fire pit burns steadily—its flames dancing in a quiet symphony of amber and gold. The flickering light spills across the rich wood of the deck, and the plush outdoor seats—casting shadows that sway with the rhythm of the fire.

To your left, the gentle bubbling of a hot tub catches your attention.

Steam rises from its surface, curling into the night air in lazy spirals, before dissolving into the cool breeze. It’s nestled into a private nook, bordered by sculpted planters. Small lanterns are tucked among the foliage, creating halos of warmth—a secluded sanctuary.

To your right, the deck stretches out toward an infinity pool that gleams like liquid glass under the fairy lights.

The water ripples faintly, mirroring the twinkling canopy above the deep indigo sky. And as the pool’s edge vanishes into the darkness, it blends seamlessly with the garden’s manicured hedges and flowerbeds.

But your gaze is inevitably drawn back to the center of the deck—to him.

Satoru.

Illuminated by the flickering firelight, you catch sight of him leaning casually against one of the polished beams—a picture of effortless elegance.

His white hair shimmers under the canopy lights, and beside him, sits a low coffee table. A bottle of champagne rests on the surface, nestled in an ice bucket, and a tray of chocolate truffles lies alongside it, arranged with deliberate care.

With one hand tucked in his pocket, his posture is relaxed—exuding that effortless air of confidence. His other hand cradles a champagne flute, dangling it delicately between his fingers.

Then, as you meet his gaze, his lips tug up into that faint lopsided smile—the one that always seems to hold a thousand meanings—none of which he’ll ever fully explain.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Took ya long enough.”

The hand in his pocket moves toward the champagne—his fingers brushing the neck of the bottle with an idle, almost careless grace. Tilting his head slightly, his eyes catch the light while his smile deepens.

“Was starting to think you got lost.”

The familiar humor in his tone pulls a soft laugh from your lips, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes your breath hitch—soft, unguarded, and entirely yours.

As you step forward, your feet brush against the soft petals, scattered across the deck.

“What’s all this, Satoru?”

His eyes soften, though the playful curve of his grin doesn’t waver. With a smooth motion, he uncorks the champagne—the quiet pop breaking the stillness.

“Mmm… just something you deserve.”

Pouring the champagne into both glasses, his eyes flick up to meet yours, a playful glint sparking in their depths.

“Lately, you’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders. Tonight… let me take a little of that weight.”

You blink, his words settling heavily in your chest as he steps closer, holding the glass out to you. As you take the glass from him, your fingers brush his briefly, and the simple touch sends a shiver skimming across your skin.

“You… didn’t have to do all this.”

His expression softens further, and his free hand reaches for yours—a touch warm and steady as your fingers gently intertwine.

“I know… but I wanted to. You’ve had a hell of a day, sweetheart. You deserve something special.”

Your lips part as if to respond, but the words catch in your throat—stolen by the sincerity in his voice and the way his thumbs brush softly over your knuckles. His gaze makes it impossible to think, let alone speak.

Tilting his head slightly, his grin widens, and that spark of playfulness returns to his expression.

“C’mon now,” he murmurs, a soft drawl, “are you gonna let me spoil you? Or are you planning to argue with me all night?”

A quiet laugh escapes you—breaking through the lump in your throat as you shake your head lightly, bringing the champagne glass to your lips.

“Oh, I don’t know… arguing with you is kind of my favorite pastime…”

His brows lift, amusement flickering across his face as he leans just slightly closer.

“Oh, is that so? Well, sweetheart, I hate to break it to ya, but you’re not winning this one.”

“Fine,” you sigh, smiling. “But… only because you’re impossible to argue with when you look at me like that.”

His grin deepens, a flicker of triumph lighting his expression as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Smart choice,” he winks, tilting his head toward the seating area. “Now, c’mon. Let’s sit.”

Leading you towards the fire pit, the moment you both reach the couch, he releases your hand—gesturing with a playful flourish.

“After you, princess.”

Rolling your eyes, you sink into the cushions. The heat from the firepit warms your skin as he settles beside you, close enough that your knees subtly brush.

For a moment, the world feels smaller—just the two of you, the crackle of the fire, and the faint hum of the night. Sipping your champagne, the bubbles fiz gently on your tongue as you glance sideways at him.

He leans back, draping one arm along the back of the couch, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused solely on you.

“So…” he starts, voice softer now, “I think Haru was warming up to me today. Did you see the way she handed me her Pikachu like it was a peace offering?”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you nod, relaxing further into the cushions as the warmth of the fire wraps around you.

“I did. Pikachu is her most prized possession, you know… she doesn’t hand him over lightly.”

Satoru raises a brow, his grin widening with unmistakable pride as he leans forward to grab a truffle from the platter.

“Ahhh, so I’ve officially been accepted into her inner circle?” He pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly before pointing a playful finger at you. “That’s a big deal, right?”

“Oh, it’s huge,” you tease lightly, swirling your glass as you watch him. “Haru doesn’t trust just anyone with Pikachu. You should consider yourself lucky.”

He chuckles, turning to fully face you now as he shifts his weight, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and propping his chin in his hand.

“I do. But now I’m wondering…” he pauses, his eyes widening dramatically with mock seriousness, “Oh god… have I peaked? What comes after Pikachu? Do I get a spot on her bedtime story roster?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you lean forward to grab your own truffle, popping it into your mouth with an exaggerated chew.

Swallowing, you mirror his position, your elbow resting against the back of the couch as your fingers absentmindedly toy with the edge of your glass.

“Nonsense, you’re already on it. Didn’t you notice the way she was sneaking glances at you during her book tonight? She was practically daring you to jump in.”

His brow arches in surprise, and his grin softens as he watches you, lingering as though memorizing the curve of your smile.

“Really?” he murmurs, sighing softly, “Damn… missed my chance. I guess next time, I’m doing all the voices for her.”

You share a quiet laugh, and the sound seems to stretch between you, filling the space with a lightness that feels almost fragile. The firelight dances across his face, painting shadows that soften the sharp angles of his features and highlight the lopsided curve of his smile.

As he shifts closer, the fabric of the couch creaks softly, and his knee brushes against yours again, the subtle contact sending a quiet jolt through you. He settles directly next to you now, close enough that the warmth of his presence mingles with the heat of the fire.

For a beat, he just looks at you, his expression unguarded, the teasing edge in his smile replaced by something deeper. The crackle of the fire fills the quiet space between you, and his voice dips lower, softer.

“You know… I think the real challenge isn’t winning over Haru though. It’s keeping up with you.”

You raise an eyebrow, but the weight of his gaze makes your chest tighten, a warmth spreading through you. A shy smile tugs at your lips, and you lower your eyes briefly before meeting his again.

“Oh, stop it…” you murmur, edged with a breathy laugh. “You’re keeping up just fine.”

Tilting his head slightly, he studies you, the firelight casting golden highlights across his face. As his grin softens, the shift in his expression draws you in, your pulse thrumming faintly in your ears.

“I don’t know about that…” he murmurs. “You set the bar pretty high. You’re… really amazing with her, you know that?”

The sincerity in his tone disarms you, stealing the words from your tongue. Glancing down at your glass, your fingers trace the delicate stem in a deliberate motion now.

But the quiet heat of his gaze pulls you back. It always does.

“You make it look so easy,” he continues, quieter now. “The way you handle everything—it’s like… second nature to you.”

You shrug lightly, though the weight of his words stirs something deep within you, curling around the parts of you that often feel worn and stretched too thin.

Exhaling slowly, a faint smile flickers across your lips.

“It’s just… what you do when you’re a parent. You just… figure it out as you go, I guess.”

He watches you for a moment longer, and then his lips curve into a small, lopsided smile.

Lifting his champagne to his lips, he takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours as he leans back slightly.

“Well…” he says, his eyebrows raising as he sets the glass down on the table. “I’m figuring out that bribery works. Waffles for the win, huh? Glad she let me in today. Even if I had to work for it.”

Your laugh comes easily, shaking your head as you set your own glass aside.

“Come on now. It wasn’t just the waffles,” you counter, meeting his gaze fully now. “You’re good with her, Satoru. She sees that. And so do I.”

His grin falters slightly, softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. The playful edge that feels so naturally him gives way to an expression so raw and genuine it almost takes your breath away.

Shifting again, he leans just a little closer, tilting his head as his eyes search yours.

“You… really think so?” he whispers, a quiet thread of uncertainty lacing his tone.

Your chest tightens at the openness in his expression, the way he’s looking at you as though your answer means everything.

Slowly, you reach out, your fingers brushing lightly against his hand as you offer him a small, reassuring smile.

“I know so.”

Your fingers move slowly, languidly against the back of his hand, both deliberate and tender, and he responds with his own subtle movement, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“She doesn’t warm up to people easily, but with you…” you pause, searching his gaze as the firelight casts golden reflections in the depths of his eyes, “I think… she feels safe.”

He exhales softly, his gaze dropping briefly to your joined hands, his thumb brushing against your skin in a slow, thoughtful motion. The quiet crackle of the fire fills the space between you before he finally speaks.

“That’s all I want,” he murmurs, and as he looks back up at you, his expression is raw with sincerity. “For her to feel safe… for both of you to feel safe.”

His words settle over you like a weight, soft but heavy, pulling your thoughts to a place you’ve tried to avoid. The sharp edges of Naoya’s threats resurface—the dangers of the yakuza.

Satoru’s gaze sharpens instantly, as if he can sense the shift, the way your fingers falter against his. His grip tightens slightly, grounding you before the spiral can take hold.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his tone low and steady, pulling your focus back to him. “She’s going to be okay, you know. Haru. She’s got you.” He pauses, his eyes softening as a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “And… she’s got me too.”

The sincerity in his voice pulls at the tight knot in your chest, loosening it just enough to let a quiet breath escape. His hand squeezes yours, gentle but firm, and the steadiness of his presence wraps around you like the fire’s warmth.

“C’mon,” he adds, his tone lightening, playful now, “no worrying tonight, alright? Just… let me take care of you for once. Relax. Let me spoil you.”

The corners of your mouth lift despite yourself, and your gaze shifts toward the bubbling water of the jacuzzi in the corner of the deck, steam curling into the night air like an invitation.

“Well…” your voice lilts teasingly as your eyes flick back to his, “I was eyeing that jacuzzi…”

His grin widens instantly, the familiar spark of mischief returning to his expression.

“Oh, were you now?” he drawls, already standing and tugging you gently to your feet. “Guess I better make good on my promise to spoil you, then.”

Leading you to the edge of the jacuzzi, the bubbling water shimmers under the soft glow of the fairy lights, and the quiet hum of the jets fill the space between you.

But as soon as he releases your hand, his attention shifts to the buttons of his shirt. With deliberate, unhurried movements, he pops the first one open, instantly drawing your gaze like a magnet.

You blink, your breath hitching as his shirt falls open—the fabric slipping off his shoulders, pooling at his feet to reveal the smooth, toned planes of his chest. The firelight catches the lean lines of his frame and the faint gleam of his skin.

Tossing his shirt casually onto a nearby lounge chair, his grin turns devilish as his eyes meet yours.

“What?” he teases, entirely too smug. “Figured I’d lead by example.”

For a moment, he stands there, utterly composed, as though he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. Which, of course, he does. The subtle curve of his lips, the relaxed angle of his stance—everything about him radiates confidence.

You huff softly, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrays you, and as your gaze flickers to the water, you shuffle slightly—nerves fluttering in your stomach.

Bathing suits hadn’t even crossed your mind tonight, let alone his, and now… now you’re standing there, knowing what comes next but feeling completely unprepared for it.

The thought of stripping down in front of him? Oh god… it makes your stomach flutter with anticipation.

“I-I…” you stammer, biting your lip as your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Um… I wasn’t exactly prepared for this…”

His grin softens, though his playful tone remains.

“What, nervous? It’s just me.” He gestures toward the jacuzzi with a slight tilt of his head. “C’mon, your turn. Unless you’re planning on soaking fully clothed?”

Your lips part to protest, but the words catch in your throat. The warmth creeping down your neck has your pulse thrumming, and you quickly avert your gaze.

“Turn around…” you mutter finally, barely meeting his eyes.

He chuckles, low and warm

“Really? After everything?”

But as you give him a pointed look, his amusement softens into something gentler.

“Alright, alright...” he turns with a mock sigh, hands raised in exaggerated surrender. “I’ll behave.”

True to his word, he faces the firepit, though you catch the playful tilt of his head as he calls over his shoulder, “Just don’t take too long. I’ll be claiming the best spot for myself if you do.”

Rolling your eyes, the faintest laugh escapes your lips despite your nerves. But as soon as you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle, your heart leaps, and you quickly turn your focus to your own clothes.

Your shirt comes off first, followed by the rest, peeling them off piece by piece. But for a moment, your fingers linger at the clasp of your bra, and your gaze flickers to his back, broad and steady in the firelight.

Oh god… should you?

Before sitting on the thought for too long, on a whim, you unhook it—slipping it off and setting it down with the rest of your clothes. The cool air kisses your bare skin, and you cross your arms instinctively over your chest, feeling exposed yet exhilarated.

Left only in your panties, you step toward the edge of the jacuzzi, the steam curling against your skin like a whispered invitation.

As you dip a tentative foot in the water, behind you, Satoru shifts slightly. He’s stripped down to his boxers—an easy confidence radiating even as he waits.

“You okay back there?” he calls, light and teasing. “Not chickening out on me, are you?”

“I-I’m fine,” you reply quickly, the quiver in your voice betraying you. “Just… wait.”

Slowly, you sink into the bubbling water, the warmth melting away your nerves as the jets hum softly against your skin. The water laps at your shoulders as you settle into a corner, your gaze flickering to him nervously.

“Okay… you can look now.”

Satoru turns, his gaze sweeping over you briefly, a triumphant grin curling upon his lips before he steps into the jacuzzi. His broad frame settles into the water with a quiet sigh, and the firelight dances along the droplets clinging to his skin.

Sliding into the spot beside you, he stretches his long arms along the edges of the tub while he sinks back, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he stares at you, one that instantly puts you on guard.

“What…?” you glance at him sideways, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, nothing,” he drawls, his smirk widening into a full grin. “Just wondering how I got so lucky to share a jacuzzi with such esteemed company.”

Rolling your eyes, you exhale with amusement.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“Mm, so I’ve been told,” he quips.

As he leans his head back against the edge of the jacuzzi, the firelight casts golden highlights across the sharp angles of his face. Tilting his head slightly, he lets out a theatrical sigh.

“Well, well… look at you, finally relaxing. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

Your smile softens as you close your eyes briefly, letting the warmth of the water and his teasing words melt away all the lingering tension in your chest.

“Well, the hot tub helps,” you admit, glancing at him again. “Gotta say, this was a good idea.”

The water ripples softly between you as he shifts, leaning closer—his arm sliding along the edge behind you. The proximity makes your pulse stir faintly, though you try not to let it show.

“I’ll take partial credit for that,” his grin widens, triumphant and full of mischief. “After all, this was my idea.”

“Your idea to spoil me, you mean,” you counter, raising an eyebrow. “My idea for the hot tub.”

Satoru hums thoughtfully, tilting his head toward you, feigning consideration.

“Technically,” he begins, holding up a finger, “Who was it that brought you out here, hmm? The petals? The champagne? The fire? You wouldn’t even be in this hot tub if it weren’t for my setup. So, really, it’s all connected to me.”

You scoff, though the laughter bubbling up in your throat betrays you.

“Oh, is that how it works now? You’re just taking full credit for everything?”

“Not taking full credit,” he corrects. “Just… connecting the dots. It’s a chain of events, sweetheart. Genius-level planning, if I do say so myself.”

Shaking your head, you laugh as the water ripples softly around you.

“Careful, Satoru. Your ego’s showing.”

“My ego? Sweetheart, this isn’t ego—it’s confidence.”

“Oh, my god,” you laugh, sending a playful splash of water his way. “You’re absolutely impossible.”

He gasps dramatically, clutching his chest in mock outrage.

“Did you just assault me? In my own jacuzzi? The audacity.”

“Your jacuzzi?” you tease, arching a brow. “Pretty sure it’s our jacuzzi now, buddy.”

“Oho, is that right?” he murmurs, grin widening into something sly. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one trespassing.”

Before you can retort, his hand dips into the water, sending a small wave your way in retaliation. The warm splash catches you off guard, and you let out a startled laugh, lifting your arms defensively to shield yourself, but careful not to expose your chest.

“Satoru!” you protest, but he’s already closing the distance between you, the playful challenge in his eyes unmistakable.

“You started it,” he teases.

Moving closer with a daring glint, his knee brushes against yours beneath the water. The contact is subtle, but it sends a ripple of warmth through you.

“Satoru…” you warn again, lacking any real bite.

Pressing closer, his arm comes to rest along the edge of the tub behind you, caging you in with a mix of ease and intention. The bubbling water hums softly against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from him now.

Your pulse quickens and you press your back slightly against the edge. His proximity suddenly becomes overwhelming as he brings his face mere inches from your own.

“Hmm?” his head tilts slightly and the damp strands of his hair fall just over his brow.

Your lips part as his gaze drops briefly—tracing the soft flush in your cheeks and lingering on the delicate curve of your lips—before returning to your eyes.

Suddenly, you feel his hand move beneath the water, brushing lightly against your thigh in a way that feels far too casual to be accidental.

“Something wrong princess?” he murmurs, low, velvety smooth.

Your breath hitches, your throat tightening under the weight of his gaze. The bubbling water ripples softly as you shift, your cheeks burning.

“N-no… nothing’s wrong…”

For a beat, he doesn’t move—his face close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of his breath mingling with the rising steam. His smirk softens slightly, and his eyes darken with something deeper—the tension in the air almost tangible.

Then, as his gaze dips once more, for a moment, you swear he’s about to close the distance entirely—to capture your lips in a kiss that would leave you utterly breathless. But just as quickly, he seems to catch himself.

Pulling back ever so slightly, his jaw clenches faintly and his eyes flicker with restraint.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he sighs, the teasing lilt returning to his tone as he settles into his seat beside you. “I was just enjoying the view.”

Swallowing hard, the tension still hums through your veins as you glance away briefly, focusing on the way the steam curls into the cool night air.

Breaking the silence, his voice is softer this time as he murmurs,

“Speaking of amazing views… look at that.”

Tilting his chin up at the sky, you follow his gaze, your eyes drawn to the endless expanse of stars glittering against the inky blackness. Lifting his hand, water drips from his fingers as he gestures upward.

“See that there?” he murmurs. “That’s Orion. You can tell by the three stars in the middle—Orion’s Belt.”

Your eyes flicker to him, and a boyish smile spreads across his lips as he continues.

“Orion was this great hunter in Greek mythology. A giant, actually. Depending on the version you hear, he was either killed by a jealous goddess or a scorpion—hence why Scorpius, the constellation, is always opposite him in the sky.”

Leaning forward slightly, you trace the constellation with your gaze.

“I… never knew that,” you admit softly.

Shifting again, he leans closer to you. His hand lifts up again—this time pointing to a different part of the sky.

“And there… that’s Cassiopeia. It’s shaped like a ‘W.’ She was a queen, but apparently, she bragged a little too much about how beautiful she and her daughter were. The gods didn’t like that, so they stuck her up there—forced to sit upside-down half the time as punishment.”

You can’t help but laugh quietly at the irony.

“A queen with a bit of an ego, huh? Sounds like someone I know.”

His eyes flick back to yours, his grin widening.

“Hey, if the gods want to immortalize me for my confidence, I wouldn’t say no. But I’d at least negotiate for better seating arrangements.”

Shaking your head, you smile.

“Of course, you would.”

A low chuckle slips through his lips, and as his gaze lingers up again, you catch sight of the shimmer of stars reflecting in his eyes.

“But… you’ve got to admit, she’s got a better view than most.”

His expression softens as he looks back at you—fingers brushing absently along the edge of the hot tub.

“It’s kind of funny, though. These stories… they’ve been passed down for centuries, and they’re still here. Still lighting up the sky.”

The wistfulness in his voice catches your attention as you hold his gaze—a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You really know a lot about this. I didn’t know you were into constellations.”

He smirks faintly, his voice taking on a playful air again.

“What, you think I’m just a pretty face?”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh softly, but the quiet vulnerability lingering in his expression doesn’t escape you.

“Well now… I didn’t say that.”

Leaning back slightly, the bubbling water hums softly against your skin as he looks up at the stars again—his expression becoming retrospective.

“Truth is…” he starts, voice dipping lower, “I used to sneak out on my balcony when I was a kid. We had this old telescope, probably the only thoughtful gift my dad ever gave me, and I’d spend hours just… staring at the stars. Learning their names, their stories.”

Tilting your head slightly, the quiet shift in his tone sparks your curiosity.

“Why the stars?” you ask softly.

He exhales a quiet laugh, though it’s laced with the weight of something long buried—devoid of any true humor.

“Because… they didn’t expect anything from me,” he admits, gaze fixed on the constellations above. “Looking at the stars…. made everything feel smaller. They didn’t care about who I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to accomplish. Up there… it was just space. Quiet. Endless.”

“So… the reminder of something bigger was an escape for you?”

Glancing at you, a small, almost sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

“Maybe. I guess I’ve always been drawn to the idea of infinity… something that can’t be controlled or contained.”

As his words linger, you can’t help but think of how beautifully they echo the person he is now—brilliant, unpredictable, and endlessly complex.

“Well… I never would’ve guessed,” you murmur, your gaze flickering upward to the stars he’d named for you. “But… it also makes sense. You’re always reaching for something bigger, aren’t you?”

His smile softens, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through as he admits,

“Yeah… guess I can’t help myself.”

Nodding quietly, the bubbling water hums between you as a comfortable silence stretches—charged with something unspoken. 

You glance at him, and his profile is softened by the fairy lights—the damp strands of his hair curling against his skin, wet droplets sliding along the line of his jaw.

“Do you still?” the question slips out before you can stop yourself. “Look at the stars, I mean.”

Scratching the back of his head, a wry smile tugs at his lips.

“Mmm… not as often as I used to. Life gets in the way, you know?”

Another quiet pause lingers between you, and your heart aches at the tenderness in his expression—the bittersweet look in his eyes.

For all his teasing confidence and easy smiles, there’s something almost fragile in the way he speaks about this, as if the memory of that boy stargazing on a balcony still lingers—a deeper part within him.

It’s almost unbearable, the way he seems both so close and so far away in this moment, and all you can think about is the need to close that distance. The desire to touch him, to draw him back into the present—it becomes impossible to ignore.

Slowly, your hand moves, almost on its own, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm beneath the water. He looks at you, a flicker of surprise at first, but it softens, quickly giving way to warmth.

“You should,” you whisper. “If it makes you feel that way… then you should make time for it.”

Your fingers trail absently against his arm, the gentle movement sending ripples through the water, and your gaze drops to the curve of his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah, well…” his voice drops as he shifts closer to you in the water, “now I’ve got something even better to escape to.”

Moving beneath the water, his hand brushes lightly against your thigh—a touch that pulls at something deep within you—soft, deliberate, yet somehow still electric.

“And… it’s not up there.”

As his hand shifts, trailing lightly up your hip, your heart races. His touch urges you to close the distance—pulling you steadily like gravity itself.

Without thinking, your fingers glide up his arm, lifting to his cheek. You brush away a stray droplet of water from his jaw, and his eyes flutter shut briefly at the touch—a soft exhale escaping his lips.

Your breath hitches, and as his eyes slowly open again, they’re filled with something raw and unguarded—a depth that steals your breath away.

Lifting his own hand, it comes up to cover yours, holding it there for a moment as he leans into your touch. And then, slowly, he turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to your palm—so gentle, so reverent, it leaves your chest aching, aching for more.

Your fingers slide further, lacing between the damp locks of his silky hair, and he shifts, leaning in just slightly until his lips ghost yours.

The warmth of his breath mingling with yours is enough to unravel you, and slowly, tentatively, you brush your lips against his—a featherlight touch that sends a spark of pleasure down your spine.

Instinctively, he leans in, deepening the kiss, and his hand slides to the small of your back—steadying you as the water begins to ripple softly around you.

But it’s the faint rasp of his breath that draws you in further. Your own hands move, sliding from his hair to his shoulders, your fingertips tracing the contours of his damp skin.

Suddenly, his lips part slightly—inviting you to explore more.

And the moment his tongue brushes softly against your bottom lip, it flares into something else—the kiss shifts, no longer soft and tentative, but filled with a hunger that neither of you can seem to deny.

Your hands find their way to his chest, and you feel his heartbeat against your palm, strong and steady as he hums in your mouth, breathy moans through each movement of his lips.

Without thinking, you shift in the water. The bubbling warmth ripples against your skin as you move closer—settling your legs on both sides of him, straddling his lap as you press your chest against his.

Everything stills.

His breath stutters, his lips faltering against yours for the briefest second. His eyes flicker open to meet yours, and you see the exact moment it clicks—the moment he feels your bare chest. Freezing slightly, his hands grip your waist with just enough pressure to ground himself.

“You’re not…” he starts, voice hoarse as his gaze dips, taking in the bare skin of your shoulders, the way the water laps teasingly against the curve of your chest.

His throat bobs, swallowing hard, and when his eyes snap back to yours, they’re darkened with desire—flickering with a restraint that’s fraying at the edges.

“Fucking hell…” he mutters under his breath, exhaling heavily as his head tilts back slightly. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

The rough, almost reverent sound of his admission sends a shiver racing through you, emboldening you, and leaning forward, your lips graze the exposed line of his neck.

Groaning softly at the contact, his hands tighten their grip on your hips as you trail tender, deliberate kisses along his skin. Your chest presses closer to him, molding against his as one of your hands slides up to cup his jaw, keeping his head tilted back for your exploration.

“S-shit,” he breathes unsteadily—a quiet, guttural moan escaping him as you brush the base of his throat.

A jolt of heat rushes through you as his hands shift lower, smoothing over the curve of your ass—kneading the flesh as if he can’t help himself.

Instinctively, you shift in his lap, but the moment you feel the firm, unmistakable hardness of his cock pressing against you, a moan slips past your lips—your kisses faltering against his skin.

Your thighs immediately tighten around him, and something snaps in him. A low, desperate groan tears from his throat, and his hands slide back up to your waist—guiding you against him with an increasing boldness.

“God, you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he rasps, thick with desire. “Do you even realize what you do to me? How badly I want you?”

Pulling back to meet his eyes, your breath hitches at the unfiltered need blazing in his gaze.

“Maybe…” your fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him closer until your lips hover just above his. “…but why don’t you tell me Satoru?”

His breath stutters, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Oh, sweetheart… you’re dangerous,” he mutters, low and wrecked, brushing against your lips with every breath. “Dangerous, and so fucking tempting…”

His mouth crashes against yours, urgent and consuming, his restraint dissolving as his tongue slides against yours with a fervent desperation. You whimper softly into his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair as your hips continue to shift instinctively against his cock.

Every movement is amplified by the bubbling water, ripping against your skin as his lips claim yours over and over again, but it’s his hands—wandering and deliberate—that make your cunt quiver.

They’re everywhere—sliding up your back, tracing your waist and gliding up to your chest. His palms cup the soft curve of your breast, and when his thumbs roll over the hardened peaks of your nipples, a soft, muffled cry spills from your lips.

Oh, your sound undoes him.

His hips buck up reflexively, grinding his rigid length against your core with a desperation that suddenly sends the water churning around you.

“Fuck… shit—I’m so fucking hard for you,” he groans against your lips, trembling with want. “Baby, I can’t—can’t fucking get enough of you.”

Biting your lip, your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, gasping against his lips while his cock rolls underneath you.

“Been wanting you for so fucking long…” he grunts, dropping his head to drag his lips down your neck.

“Satoru…” you breathe, trembling against him as his tongue flicks against your skin, sucking the sensitive hollow above your collarbone.

“You don’t even fucking know,” he mutters, gripping you with a bruising intensity. “I stood outside our bathroom door…” he rasps, punctuated with another thrust. “…listening to the water, imagining you in there, naked and soaked. Fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

His lips trail up, grazing your ear as his hands drop lower, gripping the curve of your ass and pressing you flush against his throbbing cock.

“Had to touch myself,” he groans, “my hand wrapped around my cock… thinking about pressing you against that tile. F-Fuck… about how fucking tight you’d feel around me.”

A strangled whimper slips from your lips, the filthy image his words paint setting your body on fire.

“God, baby…” he rasps, his lips ghosting along your jawline as his hands guide your hips in perfect rhythm against his. “I came so fucking hard just thinking about you, sweetheart. Fucking my own hand. Thinking about being inside you… stretching your perfect little pussy, making you mine.”

But then something shifts.

His breath stutters against your skin, and suddenly his hands still on your hips. His body is trembling, his head dropping to your shoulder as a low, guttural sound escapes him—half frustration, half restraint.

“Shit…” he mutters, his voice breaking as he shifts beneath you.

Before you can process, his hands grip your waist firmly, guiding you as he adjusts your position, spinning you gently until your back presses against the curved edge of the hot tub.

He cages you there, his arms braced on either side of you, his body hovering so close that the heat radiates between you. For a moment, his head drops, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhales shakily, the tension in his body almost unbearable.

“I can’t…” he starts, voice strained and wrecked. “I—fuck—I’m about to lose it, baby.”

He groans, low and rough, pulling back slightly as his hands slide to your waist—a grip firm but steadying.

“You said…” he mutters, voice softening, “…you said you wanted to take things slow. And it’s been one day, sweetheart. One fucking day, and I’m already losing my goddamn mind.”

His words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable, as his chest heaves with every labored breath. His eyes close briefly, as if trying to gather the strength to pull himself back from the edge.

“I want you so fucking bad,” he admits, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t even know. But… I don’t… I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Hey…” you whisper, cupping his cheeks, your thumbs brushing gently against the rough edge of his jawline. “We’re figuring this out together.”

Leaning into your touch, his eyes slowly open as his breath fans against your face—letting the tension ebb just slightly.

“You’ve got to help me out here,” he murmurs, voice soft but laced with a thread of desperation. “What does ‘taking it slow’ even mean? Because right now… all I can think about is you, and it’s killing me, sweetheart.”

You hesitate for a moment, his question hanging in the air, and the way his eyes search yours—pleading, vulnerable—makes your chest tighten.

“Taking it slow… doesn’t mean I don’t want you, Satoru. I do. So much that it scares me a little...”

His eyes blink open wider, his expression softening as he absorbs your words.

“Scared?” he echoes. “Sweetheart… I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you. And that terrifies me because honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

His words settle between you like a confession, raw and unguarded, and for a moment, you’re both quiet—the bubbling water lapping gently against your skin as you process the weight of his admission.

With a quiet breath, your fingers brush along his forearm, sliding up to rest lightly against his chest.

“I… don’t want to lose you either,” your voice trembles slightly as you peel back a layer of your own walls. “Satoru… you’re important to me. And maybe that’s why I want this to be different.”

His brows draw together slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he tilts his head in question.

“Different… how?”

Biting your lip, your gaze drops momentarily to the rippling water as you gather the courage—trying to find the words.

"Different because… it feels like, for once, I’m not rushing into something just to fill a void. I want to savor this… savor you. I’ve never had the chance to do that before."

His gaze softens further, and the vibrant blue of his eyes darkens under the pale glow of moonlight. You allow the steady warmth of his thumbs brushing absentminded circles against your waist, to keep you grounded—letting the words spill out, your own quiet confession.

"I guess… for once… I… want to enjoy every moment of falling for someone instead of wondering when it’s going to fall apart.”

Satoru pulls you closer, his eyes holding your gaze with a quiet tenderness. Then, after a beat, his lips quirk into a soft, lopsided grin, one that makes something flutter in your chest.

“Well shit,” he exhales, a playful edge creeping into his voice. “I think you like me.”

The unexpected shift in tone catches you off guard, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, light and genuine, shaking your head at his ridiculousness.

“Oh, you think?” you tease, rolling your eyes at him.

“I meeean…” he drawls, his teasing grin widening. “All this talk about savoring me? Falling for me? Sounds like you’re pretty smitten, sweetheart.”

Your laugh turns into a wry smile as you shake your head, nudging him lightly.

“Okay, fine. I like you. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he replies smoothly, his grin turning downright triumphant.

As his face softens slightly, he leans forward, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as he murmurs, “You know… I’ve never really had that either.”

“Yeah?” you ask gently, your fingers moving without thought, brushing against the damp strands of his hair.

He nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ve always moved fast, maybe because I didn’t want to feel… too much,” he admits, his tone quieter now.

Tilting your head, your fingers brush along the sharp line of his jaw, encouraging him to go on.

“What’s different now?” you ask softly, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“With you…” his hand comes up to cup your cheek, tracing a slow, deliberate line. “It’s like… I want to feel everything. Every single moment.”

Your breath hitches at his words, and he leans in closer, lips hovering just above yours. The heat radiating off him mingles with the steam curling around you.

“Hmmm,” you murmur, grinning as you playfully nudge your nose against his. “Well… I think you like me too, Satoru Gojo.”

His brows shoot up in mock indignation, and he huffs out a laugh, his hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?”

Before you can respond, his mouth crashes against yours, cutting off your laugh with a kiss so consuming it makes your head spin. Pulling you flush against him, his lips move in a fervent desperation—his teeth capturing your bottom lip, his tongue stroking against yours in a heated dance.

You gasp softly in his mouth as your hands wrap around him, the bubbling water lapping against you as his hands explore once again—sliding to your breasts, twirling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

A soft whimper escapes you, and he hums in your mouth—pleased and unrestrained—but just as you feel yourself melting completely into him, surrendering to the pull of his touch and the weight of his kiss, he pulls back.

His gaze is heavy-lidded and dark, his pupils blown wide with desire. Yet there’s something maddeningly smug about the way he’s looking at you, his lips curling into a slow, insufferably cocky grin.

“Hmm…” he hums thoughtfully, brushing his thumb against your swollen bottom lip, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I quite enjoy getting you worked up.”

Your cheeks burn as your eyes narrow, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to fire back. He takes full advantage, leaning in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers,

“If you want to take it slow, sweetheart, that’s fine. But I’m turning it into my own personal game.”

You blink, his words swirling in your mind as the heat of his lips shifts to the curve of your neck—pressing open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin. Tipping your head back involuntarily, his lips blaze a trail along your collarbone.

“A game?” you manage, breathlessly.

“Mhmm,” his lips ghost along the line of your jaw. “And I’ll have you begging for me by the end of it. Count on it.”

His voice is dark—rich with confidence and something wickedly seductive, and the heat of his promise sends a jolt of need shooting through you. When he finally pulls back, his insufferably cocky grin is enough to make you want to throttle him—and kiss him senseless all over again.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. It’s Satoru.

With an exaggerated sigh, he settles beside you in the hot tub, the bubbling water rippling against his toned chest as he leans against the curved edge. He’s infuriatingly casual, the image of smug satisfaction as he reaches for his champagne flute resting on the side of the tub.

Taking a slow, deliberate sip, he casts you a sideways glance, his grin widening when he catches the heat in your gaze still lingering.

“What?” he asks innocently. “You look like you’ve got something to say, sweetheart.”

With a pointed look, you roll your eyes—settling beside him.

“Oh, nothing,” you exhale with a smirk, mirroring his casual tone as you reach for your own glass. “I’m just thinking about how funny it’ll be when this little ‘game’ of yours backfires Mr. Gojo.”

His grin widens in amusement as he leans back further against the jets—an arm draping along the edge of the tub behind you.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, lifting a brow and clinking his glass against yours.

But then, his gaze shifts, flicking just past you toward the estate’s edge.

At first, his expression doesn’t change, his teasing grin frozen in place—but as his eyes narrow slightly, for a fleeting moment, his jaw tightens.

“Satoru?” you ask, tilting your head as you take another sip of champagne. “You okay?”

He blinks, his gaze snapping back to you, and his easy smile returns almost instantly.

“Hmm? Sorry, what was that?”

“You… zoned out,” your brow furrows slightly as you study him. “Something on your mind?”

“Oh… just strategizing my next move in our little game,” he says smoothly, his grin turning playful again, though his eyes flick briefly toward the edge of the estate once more. “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart.”

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you sense there’s something he isn’t saying, but before you can press further, he shifts closer, his arm brushing yours as he leans in conspiratorially.

“Speaking of toes,” he murmurs, low and teasing, “I think we’ve spent enough time in here. Don’t want you turning into a prune on me.”

For a moment, you pause—considering whether you should push him further. But instead, you let out a soft sigh.

“Aww, man…” you pout playfully. “I was really enjoying this hot tub, too.”

Satoru’s smile softens, but there's a flicker of something protective in his eyes. He shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours as he gently leans in.

“Well… we can come back again. It is our hot tub, after all. Remember?”

Raising an eyebrow, a half-smile tugs at your lips. Despite the shift in the air, you nod, choosing not to press him.

“Right...” you mutter lightly, “our hot tub.”

Satoru stands, offering his hand to help you out of the water. Pulling you up gently, the cool night air kisses your skin as you step out—the warmth of the hot tub already fading.

He’s quick to wrap a towel over you—his hands gliding across your skin as he subtly dries you off. But the way his gaze flickers towards the trees again, leaves you slightly unsettled. Though, a moment later his smile returns—almost like he’s trying to shake something off.

“Let’s get inside,” he murmurs, carrying an edge that wasn't there before. “It’s getting late.”

As you follow him, you glance back briefly toward the estate’s edge, where the shadows of the trees sway gently in the wind.

But… whatever had drawn Satoru’s attention earlier remains a mystery, tucked away in the dark beyond the gates.

A mystery that perhaps… you’d rather not know the answer to.

ꨄ

The heavy thud of binoculars clatters against the wooden table—Toji slamming them down with a careless flick of his wrist. Catching a dim light, the lenses slide to a stop, and Toji pulls out a chair—leaning back while plopping his feet up.

"Almost blew my cover," he mutters, exhaling in annoyance. "Satoru's more perceptive than I gave him credit for."

Naoya’s eyes flicker toward the binoculars before his gaze settles back on Toji. His fingers drum impatiently on the table—a rhythm quick and sharp.

“What do you mean? He didn’t see you, did he?"

Toji waves a hand dismissively—unfazed, but calculating.

“Nah… didn’t actually spot me. But he kept looking in my direction. I could tell. It’s like he felt me there. That gut feeling, you know?”

“Of course,” Mei-Mei chimes in, smooth and tinged with affection.

Leaning back in her chair, a slow, fond smile curls upon her lips. She twirls her drink languidly in her glass—crossing one leg over the other.

“That’s Satoru for you, isn’t it? Always a step ahead of everyone. It’s honestly incredible how sharp he is.”

Sighing dramatically, she sets her glass down on the table with a soft, deliberate clink. Then, leaning forward, she props her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand.

"He always did have that uncanny ability,” she drawls, dripping with admiration. “It’s just another reason why he’s so... impressive."

Naoya rolls his eyes, his frustration building. His fingers tap a rapid rhythm on the table, betraying his growing impatience.

"Jesus, not this again,” he mutters. “Focus, Mei-Mei. We're here to deal with this situation, not to fawn over Gojo."

Mei-Mei flicks a quick glance toward Naoya, her smile widening just slightly. She runs a finger lazily along the rim of her glass.

“Oh, I am focused, darling,” she purrs, smooth and teasing. “Perhaps this means it’s time to speed things up.”

Shifting to Toji, her voice becomes more calculated—a quiet edge of authority seeping in.

“We’ve played around long enough. Naoya’s plan needs to be put in motion soon. Before Satoru gets… too comfortable.”

Toji chuckles darkly, low and mocking—a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yeah… well… about that…” he pauses for a moment, glancing towards Naoya. "You sure your intel’s still solid ‘cuz?”

Naoya’s eyes narrow just slightly—his fingers stopping mid-tap on the table. There’s a shift in his posture, a subtle tightening around his jaw.

“What do you mean?”

Toji shrugs nonchalantly, the grin on his face widening.

“After what I saw tonight... I’m wondering if things are a bit more complicated than we thought."

Naoya’s brow furrows, confusion flickering for a moment, before irritation flares up again. He leans forward, his eyes locked onto Toji as his fingers tighten into a fist.

"What the hell are you talking about? What did you see?"

Toji’s smirk stretches—predatory and full of amusement.

“Saw the whole damn thing. They’re not just playing house. I watched them in the hot tub, and I’ll tell ya, that make-out session wasn’t for the cameras. Hell, they almost fucked right there, in front of me. I practically got a show.”

The room falls into an eerie silence. Mei Mei’s expression shifts, her interest piqued, though she masks it with a slight tilt of her head. Naoya’s face twists in frustration, his breathing shallow—the air around him thickening.

"No… no, that can’t be,” Naoya grits, the words slipping from clenched teeth. Leaning forward, his voice trembles with the weight of his disbelief. “She’s just a pawn—he’s using her. There’s no way he’d get attached to her."

Mei-Mei scoffs softly, laced with both frustration and longing. She sets her glass down delicately on the table—her eyes glinting an unsettling mixture of envy and disdain.

"Tch… I never understood why Satoru chose someone like her. He deserves someone who can match him, not... her."

Naoya’s anger erupts, boiling over into a loud, harsh growl. His eyes burn with fury as he slams his fist onto the table again, causing the wood to shudder under the force. His voice cracks with intensity, raw and full of rage.

“This wasn’t part of the plan!” he spits. “I’m not letting that bastard keep her!” His eyes flash with dark intent as he leans forward, hands clutching the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. “He won’t have control over her! I won’t let him.”

Mei-Mei raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling into a wider, almost cruel smirk as she watches Naoya’s outburst. The tension in her body relaxes, but only slightly, as she takes a slow, deliberate sip from her glass.

"Oh… you poor thing," she coos, dripping with sarcasm, "how cute. It looks like you really did lose your toy, didn’t you?”

Naoya’s glare sharpens, his face darkening with even more rage, but before he can snap back at her, Toji clears his throat—cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Alright, alright. Relax. Both of you.”

Leaning back in his chair, the smooth wood creaks beneath him as he stretches his legs out lazily, exhaling slowly through his nose. His expression shifts to one of cold calculation, his eyes locking onto Naoya with an almost imperceptible smirk.

“This just changes the plan, that’s all. No need to get all bent out of shape over it.”

Naoya’s eyes narrow further, the lines around his mouth deepening into a hard, angry frown.

“What do you mean, ‘changes the plan’?” he spits through clenched teeth.

Toji’s grin turns sharp—his tone dropping to something more dangerous

“Common now, ‘cuz… is your toy making you lose your edge?” he pauses, letting his taunt hang before continuing. “Think about it. To bring Satoru Gojo down, we’ve gotta go after what’s most important to him, right?”

The silence is thick—Naoya’s brow furrowing as the meaning of the statement slowly sinks in. His breath hitches slightly, his mind racing as the pieces fall into place.

“Before, we thought it was his precious reputation,” Toji continues, “—his image as the untouchable, perfect heir. But now…” he trails off, a malicious gleam in his eyes. “Now we’ve got a much bigger target.”

Naoya’s eyes narrow even further, a flicker of realization creeping into his expression as the truth starts to dawn on him. His hand moves to rub the back of his neck, the tension in his body building as he mutters under his breath,

“You’re saying… her?”

Toji’s smirk deepens, turning positively devilish as he leans forward.

“Bingo,” he mutters, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Satoru’s attached to her, whether he wants to admit it or not. That’s the leverage we’ve been missing. Forget the public image—if we take y/n out of the equation, he’ll break. His whole world will collapse."

A tense silence falls over the room, everyone holding their breath as Toji’s words sink in. Then, after a moment, Mei-Mei hums softly—sweet but carrying an edge of approval.

“Well, well… not bad, Toji. I suppose jail didn’t take the fight out of you after all.”

Toji’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, the smirk on his lips fades, replaced by a cold, hard edge in his eyes.

“Jail didn’t make me soft. It just made me more… determined,” he growls—dripping with resentment. “The Gojo family—they think they can lock me up and forget about me? Tch… I’ve got a score to settle, and this... this is just the beginning.”

Naoya’s eyes flash with a bitter, twisted smirk—his frustration mixing with simmering excitement as he shifts forward in his seat.

“Great. We go after her. If Satoru thinks he’s got control over her, he’s in for a rude awakening.” His voice drops to a low growl as he mutters, “If I can’t have her… then no one can.”

Mei-Mei smiles serenely—cool and calculating.

“And after we destroy everything he cares about,” she murmurs, “Satoru will have no choice but to fall into my hands."

Toji leans back in his chair, folding his arms with grim satisfaction. His eyes flick between the two, the corners of his mouth curling into a slight smirk—one that speaks of cold, calculated victory.

“That’s right. Once she’s gone, Satoru’s nothing. And when he’s broken, we’ll take him down, piece by piece.”

a/n. oh wowee, hi guys. i wanna thank you all so much for your support with this fic. every kind comment really puts a smile on my face :') i know you all waited a bit longer than usual with this chapter, but thanks for your patience! life is kicking my ass lately, but i'm almost done with this school semester 😭 there's a lot going on in this chapter. the yakuza coming into play—satoru trying to connect more deliberately with haru—suguru joining the battle—and satoru and y/n exploring their new relationship together! a few of my favorite things to write this chapter: satoru and suguru interacting together. i just love their friendship in the canon story, so i always have fun writing it (without suguru going genocide crazy, lol). another scene that was my fav, was in the hot tub, where satoru is talking about the constellations 💕 and when satoru realized y/n didn't have her bra on 🤭 hehe. the scene where y/n is sitting in the study with both satoru and suguru... that scene was really tough to write... very emotional 🥺 if anyone has ever been in a position like y/n, don't hesitate to seek help. emotional manipulation and physical intimation is indeed a form of domestic abuse. i also had a lot of fun writing the last scene, with toji, naoya and mei-mei. it was a nice change up! fyi, ya'll will be getting a satoru pov chapter in the future (soon-ish?) huge thank you as always to my friend @strychnynegirl for helping me immensely with this chapter 🥰 she is literally incredible. anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and i hope you have an amazing thanksgiving 🫶🏻 much love! -aly💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

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@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

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@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.4k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: eek series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

i mean, im not that surprised he’s sexy as hell

that’s actually crazy

imagine hiding your son for five years 😶😶 how can you be ashamed of that

doesn’t he literally have a girlfriend?? himari nakamura??

        ↳ yep for almost two years now

       ↳ wonder how she’s holding up i’d be pissed, unless she knew 

rich people are always shady as fuck

You don’t even know how many comments you’ve read. Staying up practically the entire night, busying yourself with the endless scrolling of people who have not a single clue of how your life actually is. Meddling in your business and acting like the shit they’re spouting on the internet is okay. 

They ranged from positive (sort of) to extremely personal and negative. 

i bet she just did it for the child support 

i wonder if he’s actually the dad, women like that lie and lie just cuz the dad is rich as fuck

i feel so bad for that boy

Bad? Why would they feel bad for him? You’ve given everything you can and then some to ensure Koji’s safety and innocence. You’ve never put him in harm’s way, difficult situations, hit him, nothing. Of course you’ve raised your voice, but every parent does. Why are these reasons suddenly acting like they know a fucking thing or two? This is insane. 

The only positive ones you see are praising your son for how cute he is, how much he looks like Satoru, and how he’ll probably get everything he wants. That’s not true, you’re not going to spoil your kid and you’re sure as hell not letting Satoru do it either; he’s humble, that’s how you want him to be. Still, you do feel uneasy at strangers on the internet for talking about your baby like this, in reference to a photo none of you knew was taken. 

And you still don’t know who took it. 

That’s what infuriates you the most. Because who in their right mind would do that? Who thinks they’re that fucking entitled to chime in on your personal business—your family. 

When you find them, you swear on everything you’re punching them. 

Your head hangs low, the hood of your sweatshirt pulled tight, shielding your face as you step into the café. You keep your gaze down, avoiding the eyes of the baristas and patrons scattered around. The familiar hum of the espresso machine feels deafening today.

Maybe no one will notice. Maybe no one cares.

But you know better.

That damn image, plastered across every TV screen and newsfeed yesterday, is still burned into your mind. Why do people even care this much? You’re beyond pissed off. Who in their right mind thinks they have the right to invade your personal life like that? To turn your family into fodder for the public?

Maybe no one will say anything. Who even watched the news anyway? 

More people than you think, actually. You keep moving, but Hana has other plans.

“Y/N!” Her voice cuts through the noise like a whip, and before you can react, she grabs your forearm, dragging you into the storage room in the back.

“Hey, what the—” you start to protest, wincing as her grip tightens, but she doesn’t care. She whirls around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

“What the hell is going on?!” she demands, gesturing wildly with her hands. “You were on the news yesterday!”

Your stomach churns at the reminder, and your jaw clenches tightly. You pull your hood down, resigning yourself to the conversation you were hoping to avoid. “I know that already,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest.

“Koji’s father is multi-billionaire Satoru Gojo?!” Her voice rises in pitch, and she looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Is that for real? You’ve been hiding this?!”

You take a deep breath, counting to three in your head. “Yes, Hana. It’s real. Koji’s father is Satoru Gojo. Can we not do this right now?”

But Hana doesn’t back down, her wide eyes searching your face for answers. “Are you kidding me? Of course we’re doing this right now! You’ve been sitting on this—” she throws her hands up, “—while the rest of us thought you were just, like, a regular single mom? What the hell, Y/N?”

“Because it’s none of anyone’s business!” you hiss, your voice rising then lowering, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “Do you think I wanted this to come out? Do you think I wanted his world to invade mine?”

Hana softens slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Okay, fair. But you should’ve told me, at least. I mean, I’m your friend.”

“I didn’t tell anyone for a reason and I don’t owe anyone anything,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “And now it’s everywhere. Do you know how terrifying that is? For me? For Koji?”

Hana sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, okay. I get it. This whole thing’s a mess. But what are you going to do now? I mean, the story’s out. People are gonna talk, Y/N. A lot. Especially if it involves a man like him.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling. “I just want to protect my son.”

Hana nods, her expression softening further. “We’ll figure it out. But you’re gonna need a plan. And.”

“Hana, I—“ you’re really trying not to snap at her, really. But she’s pushing every button you have right now and your patience is running extremely low. Don’t snap, she’s just worried.  “I know what to do, thank you. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t meddle in my business too. We’re friends, yes, but understand right now that I’m going through a lot of shit and don’t need to be told what to do and when to do it. So get off my back.”

Hana blinks, a little caught off guard by your sudden announcement. Her mouth slightly agape, clearly not having expected your outburst. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, her expression shifting between hurt and something close to understanding. She straightens, her arms falling from where they’d been crossed over her chest. “Y/N, I wasn’t trying to—” she begins, her voice softer now, but you cut her off.

“I know,” you say, your voice quieter but still firm. “I know you’re trying to help, Hana. And I’m grateful, I am. But right now, I need to handle this on my own. I need space. Can you give me that?”

She nods slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I get it. I’ll back off. Just—if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here. You know that, right?”

You exhale, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”

Hana offers you a small, tentative smile before stepping aside, giving you the room you so desperately need. As she moves to leave, she hesitates at the curtains, glancing back at you. “For what it’s worth, Y/N…I think you’re handling this a lot better than you think you are.”

You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment, and she disappears back into the front of the café. Alone in the small back room, you lean against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.

Better than I think, huh? You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. It doesn’t feel that way. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said this probably won’t be that bad; not a big deal. But hell, it was huge. You hate unnecessary attention, especially attention from hundreds, if not thousands of random strangers. You’re recalling the incident from earlier when you dropped Koji off at school. Mr. Ito stopping you once more and confessing his surprise to you. In his words, “I didn’t know Koji had such an…esteemed father.”

You held back a slew of insults, keeping it classy, as always. But as the days go on and the more shit that seems to be happening to you, you’re getting this close to breaking that. It’s the way he, everyone else, and even Hana seems so…shocked. The lingering glances from other parents at drop-off, the whispers in the hallways. It’s the way their surprise feels so…palpable. You get it, in a way. Satoru Gojo is larger than life—powerful, wealthy, and untouchable in a way most people only dream of. But still, the shock in their eyes stings more than it should. Did they think you weren’t of caliber to bag a man like Satoru? Did they think a man like that wouldn’t even dream of having a child with a woman like you? It feels a tad bit insulting. Actually, scratch that—it feels like a slap in the face.

The implications gnaw at you, poking at insecurities you’d rather not acknowledge. This is exactly why you hate social media. You’re already growing too conscious of the comments people are making—caring too much and it was just revealed. And the worst part? You can’t even fully blame them. Satoru’s world is one you’ve never truly belonged to. You’re not the glossy, magazine-cover type, and you don’t have the pedigree or connections his circle would expect. But that doesn’t mean you’re less than, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean Koji is any less precious because of it.

 You sigh, rubbing at your temples. If only these people could see you for who you truly are—if they could see the strength it takes to raise a child on your own, to hold your head high even when the world tries to tear you down. But no, all they see is the scandal and the drama, their curiosity morphing into judgment. Sure, you made mistakes—big and bad ones. But you’re doing all this in order to make up for those mistakes. And sure, Satoru doesn’t 100% forgive you—you’re not sure he ever will—but you don’t think he would agree with these kinds of comments being made. Right? 

You huff. Let them talk, you think bitterly, though the tightness in your chest betrays the confidence you’re trying to muster. Let them all talk, they know nothing. 

The minutes feel like hours. Unsure of how long you’ve exactly been here. Equally nervous about looking at your phone to check.

“Oh my god, look. It’s her.”

“Shhh! She’ll hear you.”

“I wonder if she’ll give us pointers.”

“You’re insane.”

The conversation doesn’t fly over your head. t’s like they want you to hear, voices loud enough to penetrate the usual clatter of the café. You swear, they’re practically aiming their words right at you. Your grip tightens around the rag in your hand, knuckles going white as you scrub the already spotless table. The motion is a little too aggressive, the poor table bearing the brunt of your simmering frustration. Your jaw clenches, brows knitting together as you try—desperately—to keep your temper in check. Jaw clenching and brows knitting together, you’re counting down to ten and back.

One…two…three… you recite in your head, attempting to steady your breath. It’s an old habit—one you learned a while back from you’re therapist, one you’ve relied on in situations like this, but today it feels like it’s barely working. Four…five…six.

You glance up, just for a second, and immediately regret it. The group of girls sits near the window, leaning into each other as they giggle, their eyes darting your way. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. One of them, a blonde with an annoyingly perfect smile, nudges her friend and whispers something, sending the others into another fit of laughter. Your fingers flex around the rag, itching to throw it across the room. Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe. They’re not worth it. But it’s hard to ignore the knot tightening in your chest, the sting of humiliation creeping in despite your best efforts. Because you know exactly what they’re laughing about, what they’re whispering about. It’s not just idle curiosity—it’s judgment, plain and simple. And maybe, just maybe, if this were any other day, you’d let it roll off your back. But today? After everything that’s happened? After seeing your son’s face plastered on screens and hearing people dissect your life like it’s a soap opera? You toss the rag onto the table, standing up straighter as you look their way. They immediately quiet down, eyes widening like they’ve been caught red-handed.

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice calm but carrying just enough edge to make them squirm.

The blonde fidgets, her confidence faltering under your gaze. “Oh, um, no, we were just…”

“Enjoying your coffee?” you finish for her, forcing a tight smile. “Good. Let me know if you need anything else.” Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk behind the counter, the satisfaction of their stunned silence doing little to ease the weight in your chest. Nine…ten… You exhale slowly, trying to let it go, but the anger simmers just beneath the surface.

It’s going to be a long day.

—-

The walk back home with Koji feels like you never want to use your senses again. It feels like a marathon you never signed up for, every step heavier than the last. The pounding in your head has escalated into a full-blown migraine, the sharp pain clawing at the edges of your skull. You clench your teeth, trying to hold it together, willing the tears pricking at your eyes to stay put. Koji chatters beside you, his small hand in yours, his voice a muffled hum against the overwhelming throb in your head.

 So much has changed within just the span of a week and none of it feels good. You like change, but not like this. Not the kind of change that’s so spontaneous and out of nowhere that it makes you dread the littlest things. The kind of change where you feel like every way you turn, it’s a dead end. Every thought spiraling into another reminder of how much you’ve lost control, or of how much you never had it to begin with. The kind of change that you never fucking asked for in the first place. The kind of change where you feel like a ticking timebomb. A simple walk home feels like an obstacle course. The sound of Koji’s innocent laughter, once a balm to your soul, now feels like a weight pressing down on you, a reminder of how fragile your balance is.

This change doesn’t come with warnings or instructions. It doesn’t let you adjust, and doesn’t give you the chance to prepare. It just dumps its baggage on your doorstep and forces you to deal with it, whether you’re ready or not. And right now, you’re not.

The last thing you want to do is blow up on someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially your son. You glance down at him, his bright eyes scanning the world around him with that endless curiosity only a child can have. His tiny fingers grip yours with a trust that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the storm brewing inside you. And he shouldn’t have to.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Koji’s voice is soft, his head tilted as he looks up at you with concern.

You force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you manage, squeezing his hand gently. “Just tired.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and resumes his animated recount of the day’s events. You let him talk, his voice a small distraction from the noise in your head. One step at a time, you tell yourself. One breath at a time. For him, if not for yourself.

You wonder to yourself how many more times you can continue repeating that phrase to yourself, like a broken record spinning endlessly in your mind. Shouldn’t you be allowed to do some things on your own? Something that isn’t tied to the constant grind of making sure Koji has everything he needs, of shielding him from a world that feels more hostile every day? Everything you do is for him—every decision, every sacrifice, every moment of biting your tongue when you want to scream. It’s all for him. 

But what about you?

The thought is bitter, curling in your chest like smoke. It feels selfish even to entertain it, but the exhaustion is suffocating. How long has it been since you’ve done something just because you wanted to? Since you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of thinking about what you need, instead of what everyone else expects of you? Is it selfish? Is this not how a good mother thinks?

The doubt gnaws at you, persistent and sharp. 

Not like you’d know the answer to that question. Your mother—a woman you rarely ever want to think about—never gave you the guidance for situations like this. You have no inspiration, nothing. You’re doing everything free-handed. She didn’t leave you with blueprints for moments like these, no voice in your head to tell you what’s right, what’s wrong, or even what’s okay. She was a void, an absence, and that absence shaped you more than you’d like to admit.

And now here you are, trying to be everything for your son that she wasn’t for you. But it feels like you’re fumbling in the dark, building something fragile with trembling hands. There’s no instruction manual for this, no map to follow. You’re doing everything on the first try, improvising as you go. Every decision feels like a gamble. Did you do enough today? Did you do too much? Did you make the right call, or are you setting him up for something you can’t even see coming? The uncertainty is exhausting.

You glance at Koji, his small hand still tucked safely in yours, his voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts. He’s so blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging inside you, and that’s how it should be. He deserves that innocence, that security. But the weight of always being the strong one, the reliable one, is starting to crush you. How much longer can I keep this up? The question whispers in your mind, and you hate it. You hate that you’re even asking it, hate that it makes you feel weak. But the truth is, you’re tired.

And you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you’re not.

You focus on Koji again, his small frame silhouetted against the afternoon light of the day. He trusts you implicitly, and looks at you like you’re the answer to everything. And the weight of that trust makes you want to cry and scream in equal measure. How can I possibly live up to that?

They never said motherhood was easy. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Maybe this is what being a mother really is—second-guessing everything, carrying the weight of your own past, and still showing up every day, trying your best. 

You don’t know if that’s enough. But it’s all you have.

It seems like you’re in for a surprise every second of the day.

Satoru, much to your own dismay and confusion, is perched against your apartment door; waiting for you again. Like a magnet, Koji runs into his lower half, hugging his father with all the strength his five-year-old body will allow. 

“Hey, little man. I’m happy to see you.” Satoru smiles wholeheartedly, patting Koji’s back with gentle ease.

“Hi, Papa! I missed you.” His voice is muffled by Satoru’s clothing.

The older man laughs, relishing in the moment for another second, before opening his light azures. His eyes look like they’re darting all around you, as if making sure you’re okay. Standing up, he shuffles his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you mutter, walking up closer. Arms crossing. 

He nods. “I know, I–I should’ve told you. But this was urgent and I knew you were busy at work.”

A hum is all you offer, unlocking your apartment door and stepping in. The semi-warmth envelops you like a worn blanket. Finally, in the comfort of my own home. Even if it is just for a little bit before you’re off again. 

“Call off his babysitter.”

You look back, watching him close your door and lock it. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

Koji runs off to his room, presumably to play with his toy collection. Leaving the two adults alone. Biting your lip, attempting to come up with something to say—or what to say first. Luckily, he beats you to it. “I want you two to spend the night at mine, don’t go to work. I’ll pay you whatever you miss out on. I know you saw the leak and I’m working on figuring out who the hell did it. But until then, I’m a little concerned for your guys’ safety, so stay at mine until we figure things out long-term.”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the resolute earnestness in his voice. The Satoru you know isn’t usually this serious, this concerned. It’s disarming—attractive, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “This is my home, Satoru,” you finally say, your voice quiet but firm. “I can’t just up and leave because of a leak. And I can’t run every time something like this happens. That’s not a long-term solution either.”

“I get that,” he says, stepping closer. “But this isn’t just about you. It’s about Koji. Someone took that photo, and I don’t know who, or how, or what their intentions are. Until I do, I can’t take chances.”

“And I get that, but I can’t just—sleep at your place.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s just…weird.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he exhales out. “You think something’ll happen? It won’t. I'm doing this for Koji and you because I care. Not because reviving something that’s long-ended is my priority.” 

“It’s not about that,” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself. You close your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply, trying to rein in your frustration. “It’s just... complicated, Satoru. You showing up like this, offering to fix things with money, with solutions I didn’t ask for, for problems I never wanted—it’s overwhelming.”

He takes another step closer, his presence filling the small entryway. “You think I don’t understand that?” His voice softens but carries an edge of urgency. “Y/N, I’m not trying to make this harder for you. I know this is all... messy. But I can’t sit around and pretend I’m okay with you and Koji being here while someone out there is bold enough to invade your privacy like that. I’m trying to protect you. You can’t keep pushing me away like this, you said you wanted to make things better.”

“I know, but—”

“Then stop it. Stop arguing, complaining, whatever. You’re not going to keep me out of Koji’s life any longer, or yours. They already posted another damn picture of you today at work.”

What? You blink your eyes, widening them. You don’t even want to see the photo evidence, gulping down the weird lump that forms in your throat. What the fuck is going on with my life right now? You hesitate, biting your lip. His words chip away at your defenses, but the walls you’ve built don’t crumble that easily. “And what happens if we go to your place? What’s next? You swoop in, play hero, and then leave us when this blows over?”

His jaw tightens, the faint hurt flashing in his eyes almost imperceptible. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, arms crossing tightly over your chest, a weak attempt to shield yourself from the weight of the conversation. “That’s what you always do, Satoru. You show up when it’s convenient for you, and when it’s not, you disappear.”

The words hang heavy in the air, stinging both of you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m not leaving you this time,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes back to yours. “Not until I know you two are safe. I’m not running, Y/N. Not from this. But you have to stop trying to keep me at arm's length, I’m trying my best to help.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading yet determined. You hate how convincing he can be when he’s like this. How he makes you question your own resolve. “Please,” he adds, his voice dropping. “Just for a little while.”

The conviction in his voice is startling, and it makes something inside you waver. You’re tired, too tired to keep arguing, too tired to keep carrying everything on your shoulders. It’s true, you’re feeling yourself pushback on him. He deserves this—time with Koji, protecting him, and more. It’s just so hard breaking from the fragile bubble you built for your son and you. Satoru’s presence is like a sharp knife, waiting to just poke through it with ease, to get to his family.“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But just for tonight. Koji and I will come to your place for tonight.”

Relief washes over his features, but he doesn’t smile. He nods, stepping back to give you space. “That’s all I’m asking.”

As you turn away to gather what you need for the night, you catch a glimpse of Koji peeking out from his room, his eyes wide with curiosity. You put on a smile for his sake, but deep down, you can’t shake the unease settling in your chest. This isn’t just about staying at Satoru’s place. It’s about what this means—what it could mean—and the part of you that still isn’t sure you’re ready to face it.

The inside of Satoru’s Mercedes is spacious, but asphyxiating. Koji in his car seat in the back, watching something on his tablet. This is the first time you’ve been in the car with Satoru since way long ago. It’s nostalgia, but sickening at the same time. You remember how he would place his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Or how he likes to rest his hand on the gearstick, or his elbow on the middle console. 

Your skin prickles with goosebumps when he brushes against your arm as he reaches for the temperature controls, adjusting the heat. It’s a small, thoughtless gesture, but it sends an involuntary jolt through you. You glance out the window, pretending to admire the blurred city lights instead of acknowledging the memories flooding back. The hum of the car engine fills the silence, an uncomfortable contrast to the weight of everything left unsaid. Koji giggles at something on his tablet in the backseat, his innocence a stark reminder of why you’re here and why you can’t let your emotions take over.

“You okay?” Satoru’s voice breaks the quiet, calm yet cautious.

“Fine,” you reply quickly, too quickly. You keep your eyes glued to the window, your arms crossed as if to shield yourself from the proximity.

He stops at a red light, leaning back in his sight. He’s a pro at side-eyeing you as you’re faced away. Seeing the way your hands ball into small fists. Nervous. Your foot is tapping on the floor. Thinking. And if he looks closer at your chest, he’ll notice how it’s rising up and down a little more quickly than normal. 

Oh. 

He clears his throat, looking forward as the light turns green. Focus on driving, focus on driving. He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze flickering toward you now and then, like he’s reading every shift in your posture, every flicker of hesitation. It’s infuriating how well he knows you, even now. You glance at Koji briefly before turning your gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks as the car moves. The nostalgia you felt earlier morphs into a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate how easily Satoru slips into the role of a doting father, as if the years of his absence never happened.

You need to get a better hold of your jealousy. 

“You’re quiet,” Satoru says, breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” you reply curtly, not bothering to look at him.

He hums, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Long day, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

His gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to the road. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But I’m glad you’re coming with me. It’s the right thing to do.”

You let out a dry laugh, finally turning to face him. “The right thing to do? Since when have you ever cared about the right thing, Satoru?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales deeply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I care now. Now that you’ve granted me that option,” he says quietly.

You want to scoff, to throw his words back at him, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. Something raw, unguarded. The way he gets out those snark remarks angers you, but only further solidifies the weight of your actions, and the fact that things will never be the same. 

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When the car finally pulls into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Koji’s excitement is palpable.

“Wow! This place is huge!” Koji exclaims, his eyes wide as he looks around.

Satoru chuckles, stepping out of the car and opening the back door to unbuckle Koji. “Wait till you see the view, buddy.”

You follow them, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled back into a world you thought you’d left behind—one of complications and heartbreak. Satoru presses the button for his floor, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just for one night.”

You don’t respond, staring straight ahead as the elevator begins its ascent. But deep down, you know it’s never just one night with Satoru. 

“No running.”

“Sorry, Mama.”

You place Koji and your bags on one of the chairs in the kitchen, watching your son rush to his father’s living room. Satoru follows him, hands on his hips. “Hey buddy, bought some toys for you. Do you want to play with them? You like Spiderman, right?”

If possible, Koji’s eyes light up even more with excitement. Gasping and squealing, nodding his head furiously. “I love Spiderman! Mama threw me a Spiderman birthday last time.”

Satoru hums. “Wish I coulda seen that.”

You freeze at Satoru's words, your hand halfway to unpacking one of Koji’s bags. His tone is light, almost wistful, but it feels like a loaded statement—one that stings more than you’d like to admit. You glance over at him and Koji, your son practically bouncing on his toes as Satoru kneels to pull out a neatly wrapped box from a hidden cabinet. “Here you go,” Satoru says, handing it to Koji. “I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

Koji tears into the wrapping with glee, revealing a Spiderman action figure set. He gasps, clutching the box to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, Papa! This is so cool!”

Your heart twists at how easily Koji has taken to calling him that. It’s like Satoru’s sudden presence is a gift he didn’t realize he’d been missing. And yet, for you, it’s a reminder of the years of absence—of the birthdays and milestones Satoru missed. “Please, don’t spoil him too much,” you mutter, finally unpacking Koji’s things and setting them on the counter.

Satoru looks over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong with a little spoiling? He deserves it.”

You exhale sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation. “What he deserves is consistency.”

His smirk falters, standing back up to his full height and coming over to you. Keeping his voice level calm, in case Koji decides to listen in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. 

Satoru narrows his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you busy yourself with Koji’s things. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t read into it.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t push further—not yet. Instead, he leans against the counter, folding his arms as he observes you. “Y/N, you can’t be the angry one in this situation. I thought you understood that.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m just—” you let out a big breath, looking up at him once more. “I’m tired. Forgive me if I’m not overly happy right now.

Satoru’s gaze softens, his posture relaxing slightly, though the tension in the room lingers like a heavy fog. “I’m not trying to add onto that, I’m just trying to be here for my son.”

I know that. I don’t know why I’m snapping. All you can offer is a nod, reaching into your bag, and grabbing a change of clothes. “I…I’m gonna go shower, watch him please.”

Satoru nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before shifting to the living room where Koji is engrossed in his toys. “Of course. Take your time.”

You offer a small, tight-lipped smile before retreating down the hall, clutching the clothes in your hands like a lifeline. Once you’re inside the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind you, and the weight of everything crashes down. Leaning against the counter, you grip the edge tightly, your knuckles turning white as you take slow, measured breaths. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you hardly recognize—tired, frazzled, and barely holding it together. The faint hum of Koji’s laughter echoes down the hall, grounding you for a moment. At least he’s happy. That’s what matters.

The shower is a welcome escape. The hot water cascades over your skin, washing away the grime of the day and the lingering tension from your conversation with Satoru. You let your head fall forward, droplets sliding down your face, mingling with the tears you didn’t realize had started to fall. You didn’t mean to snap at him. He’s trying, you know that. But the past doesn’t let go so easily, and the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, fear, hope—leaves you feeling unsteady. And you feel angry at yourself for letting your emotions slip through, getting the best of you. You’re surprised Satoru hasn’t been more outwardly rude to you, short, or even snappy. It seems like he’s taking this all better than you are, and once again, that bitter jealousy of yours is shining through. How he can just handle things so smoothly—at least that’s what it seems like. But he’s used to all this: the spotlight, public eye, attention. You just wish things could’ve been handled…differently. 

Everything feels like a domino effect, starting all with that dreaded day at the grocery store. How so much has changed. 

 By the time you step out, you feel a fraction lighter, though the knot in your chest remains. You towel off, change into your clean clothes, and take a moment to steel yourself before heading back into the fray.

When you return to the living room, you find Satoru sitting cross-legged on the floor with Koji, holding up a miniature Spiderman figure. Koji is giggling, animatedly explaining an intricate story about how Spiderman saves the day. Satoru glances up as you walk in, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. We’re just working on a top-secret mission over here. No big deal.”

Koji looks up too, beaming. “Mama! Papa’s playing Spiderman with me! He’s really good at the voices.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms, even as your heart aches a little at the sight. “Sounds like you two are having fun.”

Satoru nods, his expression soft. “We’re a good team.”

You stand there for a moment, watching them, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders once more. Maybe this is what Koji needs. Maybe this is what you need. But trusting him again…that’s the hardest part.

That night, eating dinner at Satoru’s long dining table, the same one where you faced his parents, it all feels strange, to say the least. The clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoes faintly in the vast dining room, filling the silence between the three of you. Koji hums to himself as he picks at his plate, occasionally glancing at his father to tell him some small details about his day or ask about the toys he’d gotten earlier. Satoru engages him with ease, his tone light and playful, but you can see the flickers of something deeper behind his smiles—guilt, maybe, or a desperate need to make up for lost time.

And then there’s you, sitting stiffly at the other end of the table, your appetite wavering as your mind keeps drifting back to the last time you sat here. That memory is sharp and vivid, like an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.

But Koji’s laughter brings you back down to Earth. Looking up from your plate of food to the sight before you. Father and son, son and father, family. They look so alike, you don’t think you can ever get over the blatant resemblance. Satoru’s genes are just very strong. You wish Koji could’ve inherited a few more things from you. You place a hand on your lower stomach, as if a physical touch will make the strange abundance of butterflies flying around in there to go away. 

It’s strange, this setup. Domestic in a way you never thought you’d experience with him again. But it’s also…nice. 

It feels whole, like this is how things should be. Would’ve been had you not held your tongue for so long. And you’re starting to think to yourself how much you like this sight. How it’s making you feel at home.

But this isn’t your home. However, you think you can pretend for just one night. 

“You’re not eating much,” Satoru says, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but there’s an undertone of concern.

Your eyes widen at him, realizing you’ve been caught staring and quickly looking back down. “I’m fine,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Just sleepy, I guess.”

“I bet,” he says, and while his tone is conversational, his gaze lingers on you, searching for something beneath your calm facade.

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, stabbing at a piece of vegetable on your plate. You don’t want to talk about your day or your worries or the mounting anxiety sitting heavy in your chest. Not here, not now.

Koji interrupts before Satoru can press further, his voice bright and full of excitement. “Papa, can we watch a movie after dinner? Mama too!”

Satoru grins, lightly pinching his cheekbone. “Of course, buddy. What movie are we watching?”

Koji claps his hands together, listing off a couple of titles before settling on one of his favorites. You manage another smile, this one a little more genuine, as you watch the way Satoru effortlessly makes Koji light up. For a moment, the tension eases, and you let yourself focus on Koji’s joy. Maybe this is enough for now. Maybe that’s all you need to get through the evening.

But as you glance at Satoru across the table, his eyes catching yours for a brief second, you’re reminded of how fragile this truce feels. Of how much history lies between you, threatening to resurface at any moment.

Koji picks Spiderman, of course. You’ve watched this movie at least a hundred times now, maybe more. You can practically recite the lines perfectly. The movie plays on, the familiar dialogue flowing like background noise to your swirling thoughts. You’ve seen this scene so many times—the hero’s triumphant swing through the city, the bad guy’s dramatic monologue, the moments of comic relief Koji always laughs at—but tonight, it feels different. There’s an added layer of tension sitting heavy between you and Satoru.

The living room feels unusually cozy, the dimmed lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Koji wiggles in his spot, clutching a Spiderman plush as he stares at the screen with unblinking eyes, thoroughly engrossed. You, on the other hand, are trying not to let your exhaustion bubble over. Koji sits between you two, Satoru’s arm over his little shoulders. Satoru’s arm rests casually behind Koji, but every so often, as he adjusts his position, his fingers graze your shoulder—a light, fleeting touch that feels far too deliberate to be accidental. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems entirely focused on the movie, his face relaxed, a small smirk tugging at his lips during one of Koji’s excited reactions. So, you ignore it. But you do shift slightly, creating just enough distance to break the contact. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Koji laughs out loud at a particularly funny scene, leaning against Satoru’s side. “That’s so cool, Papa! I wanna do that someday!”

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Maybe we’ll get you a Spiderman costume, and you can be the hero of the city.”

Koji beams at him, his excitement is contagious. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate this dynamic, the way Satoru fits so naturally into Koji’s world. You hate to admit it, but this is what Koji’s been missing—what you’ve been missing, too, in some small, buried way. Satoru’s hand once again brushes your shoulder during his next adjustment, that buried part of you is quickly overshadowed by the reminder of why this dynamic fell apart in the first place.

Luckily, Koji is already showered and dressed for bed in his matching red set. So as the movie progresses, nearing its end, so does his sleepiness. You along with him. Koji’s head begins to droop as the credits start to roll, his little body leaning further into Satoru’s side. His eyelids flutter with each blink, his earlier excitement now replaced by the slow pull of sleep. Satoru’s about to make a remark, before looking over at you and seeing your body slumped over on the other side. 

The scene feels peaceful in a way he hadn’t anticipated—a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos that’s been your guys’ lives lately. Koji’s soft breathing grows steadier, his small body completely leaning into Satoru’s side now, one hand clutching his Spiderman plush while the other hangs limply at his side. Satoru glances down at his son with a faint smile, brushing Koji’s hair out of his face with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He looks over to you next, ready your head resting on your hand. Your expression is soft, lips parted slightly as you drift into the kind of sleep that only exhaustion can bring. Satoru looks at the clock; 9:00pm.

For a moment, he just watches you both. Koji, who looks so much like him it’s almost uncanny, and you, the woman who’s somehow always managed to throw him off balance without even trying. He sighs softly, shaking his head at the scene before him. For a split second, he feels a shadow—a ghost from the past appears beside Koji. A baby girl who would’ve been seven by now.The baby girl who never got the chance to grow up. In that fleeting, haunting moment, he imagines her sitting there too, nestled beside her brother, giggling at Spiderman’s antics. He can imagine her features. She would’ve looked so much like you, it’s painful.

His chest tightens, and he has to look away, focusing on a random corner of the room as he fights to steady his breathing. It’s not fair—to her, to Koji, or to you. And yet, here he is, caught in the what-ifs and the might-have-beens, unable to let go of a past that feels like it happened both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. The glimpse is gone as soon as it comes, to which he’s thankful for because he is not crying right now. With a small grunt, he stands up and carefully moves Koji into his arms. Adjusting the boy and making sure he’s not waking up, he walks him over to the spare bedroom.

Satoru moves quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor as he cradles Koji in his arms. The boy’s head rests comfortably on his shoulder, his small body relaxed and completely unaware of the careful handling. The weight of his son in his arms, the warmth of Koji’s tiny form, is a stark reminder of everything he’s been missing. He pushes the door to the spare bedroom open gently, trying not to disturb the silence of the house. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a calm glow across the room. Satoru places Koji carefully on the bed, tucking him in with the same gentle movements he’s always used. He watches for a moment as the boy shifts slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

For a second, Satoru just stands there, hands lingering at Koji’s side as if unsure of when to leave. It’s as if the past week—no, the past years—are catching up to him in this very moment. He never thought he'd be here, standing in a room like this, watching his son sleep under a roof that used to feel so distant. His chest tightens, but he refuses to let himself feel the weight of it. Not yet. Not with Koji so close. With one last look, he slowly pulls away, stepping back into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him. The house feels colder as he moves through it, but this time, it’s not because of the empty spaces or the lingering tension. It’s because, for the first time in years, he’s truly trying to figure out where he fits in all of this.

And it’s a lot harder than he ever expected.

He walks back to the living room, your body now completely lying on your side. His lips purse as he stands before you, unsure if he should wake you or move you himself. Would that be okay? Is he crossing some boundary of yours if he touches you fully and intentionally?

Satoru stands there for a moment, studying you as you sleep. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your body curls slightly into the pillow, creates a sense of peace in the room, but also a sense of tension in him. The pull to reach out, to make sure you’re comfortable, is strong. But he hesitates, his mind racing with thoughts about boundaries, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable, especially when everything already feels so fragile between the two of you. He watches for a few more seconds, the quiet of the room making everything feel so... still. He doesn’t know how he got here, standing in the middle of the room, feeling so torn. Part of him wants to just go ahead and make sure you’re properly tucked in, like he did with Koji. But that other part of him continues to wonderf if that’s overstepping, if his presence, even now, feels intrusive. Satoru exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he decides to attempt to recreate his actions for Koji; it’s the least he can do.

He bends his knees slightly, hands reaching out. But just as his fingertips graze your bare arms, you’re jolting up and awake. Head swiveling around, eyes barely open and bleary. “What’s happening? Where’s Koji?”

Satoru freezes, his fingers hovering in the air as your voice cuts through the stillness. His eyes flick to you, wide and disoriented from the abruptness of your awakening. "Y/N?" He murmurs, his voice low and hesitant, almost as if he's unsure whether you’re fully awake. "Koji’s in the other room, he’s asleep."

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your thoughts are jumbled, disoriented from the deep slumber you’d just woken from. “I— I didn’t hear him... when did he go to bed?”

Satoru, still crouched by your bedside, lets out a soft sigh, his expression softening. "I put him down a few minutes ago. He was out before the movie ended." He pauses for a second, watching you carefully, his hand still lingering awkwardly in the air as if unsure whether to touch you or not. "You were really tired, so I thought I'd handle it."

You blink, the fog in your mind barely beginning to clear. Slowly, you nod, still trying to process everything in the haze of your exhaustion. “Thank you.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but there’s something in your voice that surprises both of you.

Satoru’s gaze lingers for a moment, a mix of concern and relief flashing in his eyes. He stands up, backing away from the bed slowly. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says softly, hands running through his hair as he takes a step toward the door. “But you should go to bed. You can sleep with Koji or um—in my bed if you want.”

You stare at his figure, the weight of the situation still pressing down on you. There’s so much 

happening, so much you didn’t expect, and yet… for some reason, having him here, like this, almost feels normal. You rub your temples, trying to stave off the headache forming. 

“I’ll sleep out here, of course,” he quickly adds on, realizing the small, but accidental hinting.

You raise an eyebrow at his quick backpedaling, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's been a long time since you shared any sort of space with him—especially under these circumstances. But the way he’s stumbling over his words, trying so hard to make things comfortable, it makes you wonder if maybe he’s not as composed as he likes to act. “Thanks,” you murmur, rubbing your temples again. The migraine's intensity is growing, and it's all you can do to keep your emotions in check. You hadn’t expected this—any of it. Satoru’s presence here, offering you comfort in his own odd way, only complicates everything more. You never asked for this kind of help, but you can't deny the relief it brings. “I’ll sleep with Koji.”

Satoru’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his expression softening as if he’s weighing his words carefully, trying not to overstep. He knows you’re not the type to ask for help. Hell, you hardly ever accept it when it’s offered. But tonight is different. Tonight is full of a thousand unspoken things. The lingering tension, the awkwardness of it all, and the confusing emotions between you two. It’s all too much, too quickly, and yet you feel the pull of something familiar—a bond you haven’t felt in years. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Almost like he’s waiting for you to give him some kind of permission or reassurance, something that lets him know you’re okay. His presence, his concern for Koji, it’s all so overwhelming in its own way.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens just having him this close, even if it is just in the same house. “I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended. The last thing you want to do is drag him back into your life fully. But he’s already here, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you're too tired to argue. "You don’t have to stay out here." The words hang in the air for a beat.

You take this moment to rise from the couch, wiping your eyes once more. “Where is he?”

“Spare room,” he points.

You nod, more to yourself than to him, and retreat to the spare room. The migraine pounds in the background of your mind. Mind still riddled with sleep, you accidentally bump your shoulder into the wall, footsteps faltering. He moves faster than you anticipated—expected, his hands finally making contact with your upper arms; stablizing you. His touch itself feels reminiscent.

His grip on your arms is steady, firm—just like it used to be. You catch your breath for a moment, not expecting the familiarity of his touch to feel so grounding. For a split second, you’re taken back to moments from the past, the memories of simpler days when his touch brought comfort instead of tension. You want to pull away, to remind yourself that things aren’t the same anymore. But you’re too tired, too worn out, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into the stability he’s offering without question.

"Careful," Satoru’s voice is quiet, but there's a soft edge to it, like he’s genuinely concerned. His hands stay on your arms, not pulling away immediately, as if waiting for you to give him a signal that you’re okay.

You blink, the haze of sleep making everything feel just a little more surreal. "I’m fine," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, but it lacks conviction. Your body feels heavier than it should, and your mind seems to be swimming in fog.

He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, his fingers give a slight squeeze, a small, unspoken reassurance. "You sure? You look like you’re about to fall over."

"I’m just... tired," you say, the words slipping from your lips before you even realize. You wince internally, but it’s too late to take them back now. There’s no point.

Satoru nods, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway, but the way his eyes linger on you makes something in your chest tighten. It’s like he’s still trying to figure you out, still trying to read you after all these years. He always was good at that. Without saying much more, he gently guides you to the door of the spare room, a hand hovering above the small of your back; his touch still light but firm. He’s not pushing you, just there, a quiet presence in the storm. "Get some rest. I’ll be nearby, just in case."

You nod, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and frustration well up inside you. "Thanks," you murmur, finally able to pull away from his grip and step into the room.

Before you close the door, you glance over at him, standing there in the hallway, his figure outlined by the soft glow from the living room. "Good night," you add, your voice a little softer than you meant it to be.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that you can’t quite place. After a beat, he says quietly, "Good night, Y/N."

And then, with one last look, he walks away, leaving you alone in the quiet darkness of the room. The door clicks softly behind you, and for the first time in days, you feel a small sense of peace—fragile, uncertain, but there all the same.

Satoru has taken the liberty of getting Koji dressed and ready for school. Shushing his son with quiet murmurs so you won’t wake up. He’s a little surprised, but you must be that tired. Satoru usually wakes up earlier than most, having went to go check on you two, but getting shocked to see his son using the bathroom instead and saying something about how “Mama’s still sleeping, I have school.”

He’s a smart kid—a very smart kid. He guided Satoru the entire ride, remembering the name of his school and which streets to use. You raised him well. He parks his car in the lot, it stands out like a sore thumb among the civics, corollas, and trucks.

Carrying Koji in his arms towards the boys classroom. “Excited, buddy?”

“Mhm!” 

Satoru smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Okay, Papa. Thank you.” Koji gratefully responds.

“No need to thank me, Koji. It’s my job.”

Satoru can feel the lingering stares and hushed whispers as he walks down the hallway to his son’s class. Ignoring it like a pro and focusing on one thing and one thing only. As they approach his room, Mr. Ito is standing outside like usual. As soon as the man sees the two, his eyes visibly widen before playing it off with a cough of his throat. “Good morning, Koji. Gojo.”

Satoru remembers the guy as the one from the cafe. That one. He nods in understanding, setting Koji down and crouching with him. “Have a fun day, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Papa.” Koji kisses his cheek and rushes inside happily. 

 "Morning," Satoru replies coolly, standing tall as he watches Koji run off to join his classmates. "I trust Koji’s been good?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Ito replies quickly, his smile tight, the words coming out a little too fast. "He’s been a delight to have here. Very bright."

Satoru nods, but his eyes never leave Mr. Ito’s. "Glad to hear it."

There’s an awkward silence that stretches between them, but Satoru isn’t in the mood for small talk. He could read the teacher’s discomfort, and he’s not about to play into it. After all, it’s not like they’re friends, or even acquaintances. Mr. Ito shifts on his feet, and Satoru can tell he’s trying to think of something to say, something that will smooth over whatever awkwardness hangs in the air. “So, where’s Ms. Y/N today?”

Satoru’s brows tick, arms crossing. “At home.”

Mr. Ito nods, clearly trying to gauge whether there’s more to the story, but Satoru doesn’t give him any openings. He’s not in the mood to entertain questions about you, not now, not here, especially not from someone like him. "Ah, I see," Mr. Ito mumbles, his voice trailing off as he shuffles his feet again. "I just thought... well, with everything that’s been going on, I expected to see her here, too."

Satoru’s eyes narrow, though his expression remains calm, just a hint of warning in his tone. "She’s handling things on her own. We’re both doing fine. You don’t need to worry about it. You have a class full of children to teach."

The other man hides his displeasure behind a stiff nod. “Right, right. Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Don’t have to, she already has a man for that.”

Satoru wonders why he’s being do damn weird right now. Possesive almost. You two aren’t together, but the way this guy is asking about you, it’s slightly setting him off. Who does he think he is worrying about you?

Mr. Ito falters, his smile fading as Satoru’s words hang heavy in the air. "Right, of course," he mumbles, clearly taken aback. He shifts on his feet, his eyes darting to the ground before locking back onto Satoru. "Just asking, I mean… it's just a lot going on, you know?"

Satoru’s gaze hardens, the protective instinct that rises within him catching him off guard. He takes a slight step closer to Mr. Ito, his tone deliberately neutral but carrying an edge. "You don’t need to worry about her. She’s got it covered."

There’s a flicker of something in Mr. Ito’s eyes—something that hints he’s about to say something else, but he swallows it down, nodding stiffly instead. "Yeah, of course." He quickly looks away, clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I’ll… I’ll get back to the class."

Satoru stands still for a moment, his posture rigid, a sharp edge in his expression as he watches Mr. Ito retreat. He doesn't know why it bothered him so much. The guy wasn’t even doing anything wrong, not really. But the way he was asking about you—like he had any right to—made something inside Satoru twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man didn’t belong in your world, that he had no place prying into your life.

Satoru finally exhales, shaking his head. Whatever. It was just a teacher.

With one last glance at the classroom door, he turns and heads back to the school doors. There's no reason to overthink this. It’s just… odd. He can’t let it get to him.

You wake up that day to a lone bed. Groaning to yourself as the sunbeams spray across your face and momentarily blind you. Hand reaching out for the space next to you. Instead, you see a note saying: dropped koji off, i’ll be back around noon to grab some lunch. sleep up

Instantly, your eyes widen, springing up out of bed. Reaching for your phone, the time reads 11:30pm. “Shit!” you curse to yourself, rushing out the door and to your bag still on the chair from last night. You dig in for your work clothes, changing right there and then and praying to the gods that Satoru doesn’t walk through this door. Brushing your teeth, hair, washing your face, putting some moustirzer and sunscreen on, all of it takes way too long. By the time you’re done and messily putting your shoes on, it’s twelve. Four hours after you were supposed to be at work. Hana’s going to kill me.

Grabbing your bag with rough and rushed movements, you’re sprinting to the door at this point. Out of breath and already conjuring up a sorry apology for Hana. you reach the doorhandle, flinging it open. But as soon as you do, you come to an abrupt stop.

Because standing before you is a woman, a woman you’ve seen before on Satoru’s lock screen. The same woman who kissed the lips that you used to. Arms crossed and a nasty scowl forming on her face as she eyes you up and down in a criticizing way. 

Finally, she scoffs out. 

“Do you know who I am?”

a/n: they so cute

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[starmapz]

what you know - ch7: yuletide || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 11.2k.

❦ a/n ; happy holidays to those who celebrate! this was originally intended to be a little bonus chapter but as you can see, it kinda got away from me LOL. so i hope you enjoy <3

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“Kunaaaaaaaa!”

Walking back from Choso’s friend’s house, Sukuna inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here, quit yelling, brat.”

“You’re not listening though!” Yuji pouts, tugging at his arm until he kneels down.

And god, Sukuna’s head pounds the moment he’s lowered himself down to his little brother’s height. His mind is practically screaming at him, begging him to lay down in the dark and sleep just a little bit longer.

With a sigh, Sukuna rubs at his temple. “What, Yu?”

“Cho’s friend said they’re having a big, big Christmas dinner with turkey and stuffing and veggies and- and- potatoes, and they have a big tree and decorations and they have family traveling to see them-”

Sukuna lowers his hand from his head slowly, eyes narrowed in an attempt to fend off the effects of his hangover following his night of drinking, partying, and chicken fingers as he listens to Yuji go on about the holidays.

Christmas.

Aside from saving a bit of extra money to get gifts, Sukuna hasn’t exactly had the luxury of stopping to think much about it. He supposes he could have, and probably should have focused on that yesterday rather than going to Gojo’s party, but he needed a night to himself more than ever before with the lawsuit weighing down heavily on his shoulders.

He’s not thrilled that in his drunken stupor he dragged you into the fray of his issues with his step-mother, if Sukuna even dared grace her with such a name, but somehow it doesn’t seem quite as dire with you on his side.

“Seeeeeeee!” Yuji groans, catching Sukuna lost in thought. “You’re not listeningggg!”

His jaw tightens. “I’m listening,” he grumbles, gritting his teeth as he drags his palm over his face.

He casts a glance at Choso, who’s blankly staring at the exchange between his older and younger brothers, and Sukuna wonders if the twelve-year-old is worrying about him right now. He wonders if this is one of those moments that his own kid brother is contemplating his well-being.

With a pang in his heart, he grimaces and gives Yuji his full attention. “You wanna have a big Christmas?”

Yuji nods eagerly. Swallowing hard, Sukuna prays he can provide that and not dull the light behind his eyes. The reality is that no matter what he does, there won’t be a big extended family, or a turkey, or even a big tree. The most he can manage is a small tree, a couple of friends, and some decorations from the dollar store.

Yuji isn’t old enough to remember the holidays with their dad, and his mom was gone so soon after he was born that Sukuna doubts he remembers her at all, let alone a holiday with her. Choso surely remembers both, though during their first holiday as just the three of them, Sukuna destroyed the illusion of holiday merriment and the joys of waking up on Christmas morning to gifts from Santa.

It wasn’t on purpose, but he had no clue what he was doing. He wasn’t in a good place mentally, nor did he have the money for much more than a hoodie Choso had wanted. The closest thing they’d had to a Christmas that year was Uraume surprising them by coming over and cooking dinner. Since then, it’s become tradition. Uraume never expects a gift in return for cooking a full Christmas dinner and even leaving the leftovers, but Sukuna makes an effort regardless to return the favor.

With a huff, Sukuna stands at his full height, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he gives in to his little brother’s request. That’s how he finds himself pushing a cart through the dollar store with his brothers in tow and a mean hangover that seems to have no intention of relenting anytime soon as the sterile white lighting beats down on him.

“What about these?” Choso holds up a stack of Christmas plates and napkins.

With a glance at the price, Sukuna mutters a ‘sure’, only because nodding makes his head absolutely ache.

Leaning over the cart, Sukuna watches Choso grab reasonable items, while Yuji shovels anything and everything he can into the cart.

“No,” Sukuna mutters each time a plush, massive wreath, or Christmas themed cookies make their way into the cart.

“Kuna, can we pleeeaaase at least get these?” He begs, holding up a pair of light-up antlers. He clicks a button on the ears, causing the lights to flash.

“No, Yu. Put ‘em back.”

Yuji pouts, staring down at them in his hands as he fiddles with the fabric of the ears. The little boy glances back up at Sukuna with wide, glassy eyes and sure enough, his resolve crumbles.

“Fine. Grab a pair for Cho, too.”

Yuji parades around the cart with a series of ‘yay’s and ‘thank you’s, and even Choso’s eyes light up as Sukuna leans further over the cart until the wheels are squeaking in an effort to support his weight.

The aisle is a blur of pink hair as Yuji bounces around the decorations, lips pursing into a big ‘o’ as he points at a small Christmas tree with lights strung around it. With a yawn, Sukuna mildly watches as Choso tries to talk the pink-haired child down from the tree that’s on the more expensive side for the dollar store, but even his eyes go wide with wonder as Sukuna reaches over them and sets it in the cart.

Remember when everything at the dollar store used to actually cost a dollar? Sukuna certainly does.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sukuna sighs, leading the way towards the exit as Yuji talks his ear off about how he wants to watch Christmas movies. As he goes on about how he’s never seen Home Alone, Sukuna watches the cashier scan their items, his brow furrowing as he sees Choso pull a Santa hat out from the pile in the cart. “No,” he scolds, holding his hand out to his brother expectantly.

Usually the reasonable of the two kids, Sukuna simply raises a brow when Choso continues his motions, placing a second Santa hat on the counter. The poor employee has paused with an uncertain expression, taking note of the debate going on between the two siblings.

“Choso,” Sukuna growls, holding his hand out more expectantly.

The boy grabs a third Santa hat, placing it on the counter as well.

“Choso,” Sukuna hisses, reaching forward to grab the hats off the counter but the little boy snatches them away first.

“Please, Kuna.”

“No. Antlers or hats, not both.”

Yuji grabs his brother’s hand in solidarity, pouting up at Sukuna.

“No, brat. That won’t work twice.” Losing patience, Sukuna pulls out his card, silently threatening to pay and leave if they don’t choose.

“Kuna, please. I won’t ask for anything else,” Choso pleads.

He falters, his thumb running over the chip on his card as he shoots the dark-haired Itadori a glance from his peripherals. Why the hell does he want these hats so bad? He’s not sure he understands, but the extra few dollars won’t kill him, and if he’s being honest, there’s another reason behind his sudden leniency with the two kids.

There’s a small nagging thought in the back of his mind that this might be his last holiday with the brothers. It’s not something he wants to consider, not when he thinks his guardianship for the last three years over the two of them should count for something in court, but he can’t deny the feeling of unease that has him giving in to another request.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, using his spare hand to massage between his brows in an effort to dull his headache. “Fine.”

Yuji cheers happily as all three hats flop onto the counter. The cashier shoots an uncertain glance at Sukuna, who scowls down at the hats at the realization that there’s three of them, which means one’s for him, but he keeps his mouth shut as they scan the last of the items.

With a tap of his card, he tucks it back into his wallet, handing each of his brothers some small, lighter bags, while he grabs the tree.

The walk back to the apartment is grueling between the excited ramblings of Yuji, the overcast sun assaulting Sukuna’s hungover senses and the melting snow that’s giving way to a particularly icy sidewalk. How convenient.

Finally reaching their apartment, Sukuna lobs the tree down on the ground and unceremoniously tosses himself over the couch. At his height, his legs dangle over the edge of the couch, but it’s such a relief to lay down that it feels comfier than ever. He drapes his arm over his eyes to shield himself from the natural light flooding in through the windows as his brothers take it upon themselves to decorate the apartment.

He must have drifted off, because the feeling of Yuji tugging on his hoodie jolts him awake very suddenly. Dazed, he drags his hands over his face harshly before cracking his eyes open. His headache has dulled enough that he can function without the sharp pain of a pounding head, but he could definitely have used some more sleep.

“Will Rume be here this year?” Yuji asks as he tugs at Sukuna’s hood.

“Christ, brat, you’re gonna choke me,” Sukuna gruffs, pulling the collar of his hoodie back down. “Yeah, they’ll be here,” he confirms, carding a hand through his hair. Much like Sukuna, Yuji hasn’t quite gotten Uraume’s name down, but they’ve never seemed to mind.

Yuji bounds off with tinsel in-hand, tossing the glittery strands of foil over a kitchen chair. With a yawn, Sukuna sits up and takes a look around. “Oh, fuck me,” he mutters under his breath as he realizes that the apartment is no longer just overrun with beaded lizards, but there’s now tinsel strung up on every surface that the two boys could reach. The apartment practically looks like a craft store threw up in it.

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stares at the absolute fire hazard that the stove is looking like right now and he sighs, pushing himself to his feet to get his laptop. The two kids go barreling past him in a fit of laughter, nearly bowling him over if he weren’t so steady on his feet.

“Hey. Hey! No tinsel on the stove, you two know better!” Sukuna barks. They don’t even cast him so much as a glance, but Sukuna can’t be bothered to deal with the issue himself right now. Flopping down on his bed, he leans against his headboard and opens his email.

He scarcely remembers letting you know he got home last night as you’d requested, having passed out shortly after sending the email, but he’s somewhat surprised to find that the timestamp from your email is from late last night as well. You must have stayed awake until he emailed to make sure he was safe. Something stirs in his stomach at the thought, but he quickly pushes it aside.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:42 AM

Good to hear, Kuna! Get some sleep, thanks for the ice cream!! :)

He lets out a breath of relief at seeing you type his nickname, thanking any god that will listen that you aren’t upset with him anymore. Especially with how much he’d fumbled his shitty apology, completely ill-prepared and inebriated. Even sober, he doesn’t think he would have been prepared, but drunk and high? It’s a miracle he pulled it off at all.

“Kuna?”

Sukuna peers over his laptop to the doorway, his usual disinterested stare falling on a head of messy pink hair. He doesn’t respond, but Yuji knows he has his brother’s attention as crimson eyes look over his hopeful expression.

“The stove is clean.”

“Good.”

“Sorry,” Yuji fiddles guiltily with the hem of his Sonic the Hedgehog shirt. 

Sukuna hums in acknowledgement.

Yuji continues to fiddle with his shirt before hopefully asking if Sukuna is inviting you to Christmas dinner. His eyes are wide and full of optimism as he takes a step towards Sukuna.

“She’s probably spendin’ Christmas with her family,” he replies mildly, reaching up to scratch his jaw.

“But we do dinner on Christmas Eve anyway,” he points out, a tradition started to make sure they could include Uraume.

Sukuna sighs, clicking on the reply button to your email as he mutters out a “fine.” Yuji jogs over to him and leaps up onto Sukuna’s bed, crawling to his side to watch as he types out an email to you. Sukuna huffs, grimacing at his little brother before typing out a message to you.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 1:08 PM

got christmas plans?

“That’s it?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong with that?” He grumbles, the full pain of his headache beginning to return at the judgment from the five-year-old.

“Ask her to come over!” Yuji insists.

Frowning, Sukuna playfully shoves Yuji’s face away from his screen. “Go finish decorating with your brother,” he huffs, watching the giggly kid hop off the bed with a bright expression. “If, and I mean if she’s free, I’ll ask. Got it?”

Yuji nods, running towards the door excitedly before pausing. “Oh! Can we also invite-”

Sukuna sighs as he begins rattling off a couple of Choso’s friends, as well as his own from Kindergarten.

He’s definitely in over his head this year.

–

With one final piece of tape, you secure a red ribbon over a small green box, setting it alongside two bigger, more slender boxes. One for Sukuna, and one for each of the boys.

Piling the gifts into a bag, you set them at the door and finish getting ready.

Your holiday plans had gone very quickly from a video call with your family and a cozy movie night alone with your laptop to a brunch with Suguru’s family, a dinner with Satoru’s, and dinner with Sukuna and the boys. Of course you appreciate Satoru and Suguru for making an effort to include you, but there’s something deeper to the idea of having Christmas dinner with Sukuna that you can’t deny.

Over the past week, you had helped pick up the kids from school a couple of times, so Sukuna had presented this as a way of ‘paying you back’, but your conversations with his little brothers had you thinking there was more to this than just paying you back. Yuji talked non-stop about Christmas movies and a big dinner and how he was beyond excited for the big day. Sukuna seemed tired at the mere concept, but Yuji was adamant that you had to be a part of it, and there’s no world where you’re willing to let down the sweet little boy.

Picking the kids up from school had also given you the opportunity to scheme with Choso about Sukuna’s gift and you’re pretty sure you nailed it.

With a final once-over of your outfit, you nod to yourself in the mirror. A cute red wool Christmas sweater hangs over your frame decorated in stitches that form the shape of reindeer and snowflakes, with a pair of black leggings adorning your legs. You make your way to the door and pull on a pair of knee-high heeled boots to complete the look, pleased with the cute and festive outfit.

When you arrive at Sukuna’s door with some fresh-baked Christmas cookies (those cute Snowman ones from Pillsbury that are to die for), and the gifts for all three brothers tucked into a bag hanging around your arm, you hit the button for their intercom and wait for a response. After a few rings, the buzzer seems to die and the door doesn’t budge. Blinking a few times, you pull out your phone to check you have the right date and time.

December 24th, 3:00 PM.

With a furrowed brow, you juggle the cookies and gifts to hit the buzzer again. Maybe they just didn’t hear it. It rings once, twice, three, four times, and you’re sure it’s about to die when static sounds over the speaker and excited screams can be heard. Not unusual, but it sounds much more chaotic than usual.

“Hello?” Choso’s voice finally sounds in the brisk afternoon winter air.

“Hey Cho, it’s me!”

He doesn’t reply, but the door buzzes as it unlocks for you to make your way up. Before you can knock, Choso pulls the door open for you with a toothy smile, his cheeks rosy.

“Hey, Cho!” You grin and take your boots off as he closes the door behind you and adjusts his absolutely adorable reindeer antlers with sparkling red and green LEDs.

You’ve hardly taken a step into the apartment when the madness of the apartment hits you, quite literally.

Yuji barrels into your leg in a hug, matching antlers to Choso’s adorning his head as he giggles and grins at you. “Merry Christmas!” He cheers, tugging you further into the apartment as you set down your gifts and cookies at the door.

Tinsel is spread across every surface below waist-level, which makes you think the boys did most of the decorating, while a small tree sits on the floor near the TV, lit with sparkling red and green lights. Garland is spread across light fixtures and the warm glow of colorful fairy lights illuminates the dining room. You hadn’t taken Sukuna as the type to decorate to the nines, but it’s heartwarming to see just how much cheer and spirit is spread throughout the otherwise fairly dark apartment.

The real shock as you’re pulled into the living space, is the sheer amount of people all crammed into the living room. Mostly kids between Yuji and Choso’s ages, and one other person who seems to be around the same age as you with snowy white hair, while Sukuna sits on the floor. Displeasure twists his every feature as his youngest brother runs back up to him and a girl around his age with short brown hair. The little boy takes a string of red garland from the girl, clambering over the tattooed man as he strings it up around his broad shoulders. A couple of boys chuckle at the sight of Sukuna decorated like a Christmas tree from where they sit playing MarioKart.

Sukuna grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched as he just barely manages to tolerate his little brother’s antics. You giggle at the sight, pulling out your phone to snap a photo of the sweet interaction, catching Sukuna’s attention finally.

“Don’t,” he hisses at you, fists clenching at his sides.

Biting your lip to conceal your smile, you hold your phone up to him, snapping a photo just in time before Sukuna’s pushing off the ground suddenly. The action of his chest and shoulders rising pulls the garland taut before it splits under the tension, falling from his frame to the dismay of the kids.

Holding your phone tight to your chest, you gasp playfully at the realization that Sukuna’s darting towards you, intent on deleting the photo. You duck quickly away from him, unable to hide your smile as you slide into the dining room where Choso and a couple of friends seem to be playing with Pokemon cards.

“Delete it,” Sukuna growls as he closes the distance between you in a few short strides. An unceremonious squeak parts your lips as he catches up to you and slips a strong arm around your middle, using his other hand to reach for your phone and hold it up to you. You push against him, but he’s not budging even an inch. The feeling of his chiseled abs pressing against your back is dizzying, and you almost forget why he has you tucked into his warmth, until he hisses out another “delete it, brat.”

“It’s so cute!” You protest, wriggling against him in an attempt to slip from his grasp.

Sukuna falters for a split second, swallowing hard as your endeavors to escape from him has your ass brushing against him just right and he prays you don’t feel his body involuntarily reacting to you as his cock twitches in his jeans. Blinking, he scrambles to think about something unpleasant to counteract the thoughts beginning to race through his mind. You twist in his grasp, and he’s reminded of what he’s doing in the first place, pulled back to the present. “It’s not fucking cute. Delete it.”

“It’ll be a good memory for Yuji and Choso!” You insist, putting your full weight against Sukuna’s arm that has you caged against him. He doesn’t move a muscle, not needing to so much as tense to keep you up, he’s just that strong.

His brow furrows as he considers your words, finally huffing as he releases you. With your full weight being supported by him just seconds ago, you barely manage to catch yourself before you go tumbling to the floor, grinning triumphantly when you find your footing.

“If that sees the light of day, I ain’t joining you for lunch anymore,” Sukuna grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Standing up straight once more, you tilt your head innocently up at him. “It won’t,” you promise, tucking your phone into a pocket on the side of your leggings.

With a frown, Sukuna rounds the couch and takes a seat beside his friend with white hair cut into a bob. You follow after him, plopping down on his other side. He states your name, casting a glance between you and them. “This is Uraume,” he tells you.

Your eyes light up with recognition, grinning as you wave politely.

They return your wave with a kind smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” they comment with a knowing look to Sukuna that he shoots down with a scornful frown. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” You grin, happy to finally be able to meet one of Sukuna’s friends. He’s slowly allowing you further into his little world, giving you a piece of him that very few get to see. Though, looking back at the door where your bag of gifts resides, it occurs to you that you had no idea there would be seven kids and three adults here, and you haven’t brought nearly enough for everyone. “Had I known you would be here, I would have brought you something for the holidays,” you comment sheepishly.

“Did Yuji not tell you?” Sukuna arches a brow questioningly as he leans back into the couch.

You shake your head. “No, was he supposed to?” You cast a glance at the little boy wrapping the torn garland around his friend, the two giggling up a storm.

Sukuna sighs. “I figured he would have, the kid wouldn’t shut up about today and Uraume’s been a part of our holidays for a few years now.”

“It’s fine, anyway!” They pipe in, shaking their head. “I don’t need a gift and I certainly wasn’t expecting one.”

“And don’t worry about the kids. They’re all headin’ out for their own dinners soon, but Yu wanted a big Christmas this year, so…” Sukuna trails off, his gaze flitting between both brothers. You know what’s going through his mind, you can see the hollow distance resurfacing in his eyes as his mind grapples with the idea of this being their last Christmas together.

But you aren’t about to let him give up without a fight, so you snap him back to the present with a prod to his shoulder. “So, what are you cooking?”

“I’m not,” Sukuna replies, casting a glance at Uraume, who explains that every year their gift to Sukuna and the boys is a full Christmas dinner, though they replace the turkey with chicken given that they’re in college and that’s one pricey bird.

The afternoon carries on with excited laughter from the kids while you and Uraume learn about one another, while also poking fun at Sukuna, who’s relatively quiet as usual. The kids’ parents slowly begin to pick them up over the course of the evening, and Uraume occupies themself with cooking as the sun sets over the horizon. A merry glow casts over the apartment as fairy and holiday lights shine over the tinsel and shimmer along the walls.

Though not exactly Christmassy, you can also see what Sukuna meant at Gojo’s party when he mentioned his house was overrun with bead lizards. They seem to be strewn across nearly every surface as well, with tinsel tied to them like a second tail.

As the last of the kids file out, Yuji and Choso turn to the Gamecube that Sukuna has long forgotten is yours. You prefer it this way anyway, for it to get some use from the kids than to rot in your storage.

“Have you spoken to, uh, Kento?” Sukuna asks curiously over the sounds of clanking pots and utensils and video game music.

You nod. “He’s willing to help. He has something for me from my parents anyway, so he said we can meet at a cafe when he gets back and he’ll have his friend tag along.”

Sukuna raises a brow. “Does he know he’s doing me a favor, not you?”

“He does!”

“I’m sure he was thrilled to hear it,” Sukuna grumbles, slumping into the couch with his arms crossed over his chest as he stares blankly at the little tree on the floor. His gifts to the kids sit on the floor, nearly blocking the tree itself given its small stature.

“He’ll come around,” you assure him. “He hasn’t really had a chance to get to know you.”

Sukuna hums, his gaze remaining trained on the little Christmas tree. “He’s from your hometown?”

You nod. “Him and Haibara.”

“Mm.” Sukuna drums his fingers over his bicep. “Why didn’t you go home with them?”

With a tight-lipped smile, you join him in staring at the Christmas tree, suddenly finding its intrigue. “I couldn’t afford to.”

Crimson irises tear away from the tree to take in your bittersweet expression. He knows that feeling all-too-well, but it’s never occurred to him that it could be a sentiment you would share. He’s never made any assumptions that you’re rich, and although he has no clue how much or little it costs for you to get home, he did assume that wouldn’t stop you from spending Christmas with your family.

“Mm.” He supposes maybe you aren’t as different as he once thought. Perhaps you aren’t from different worlds, but rather two sides of the same coin. “‘M sorry.”

You turn your attention to him, your usual cheerful expression taking over again. Always looking on the bright side, like a ray of sunshine that seems to find its way through Sukuna’s darkness to light up his life.

He’s only known you for a couple of months, but he wonders when you became such a staple in his life, one that brings warmth to an otherwise cold and hardened man.

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “There’s always next year.” Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you regard the two boys playing Mario Party. “It’s nice to be here, anyway.”

Sukuna follows your gaze, his eyes befalling a game of Mario Party nearing the end that he fears will also end in tears if he knows anything about that game. He blinks a couple of times, taking in the thought that this is the first time in a while that his house has been so filled with life.

One year after another his holidays had diminished in size, beginning with the kids’ mother moving for a job, followed shortly by his father passing away. Along with the passing of his father, Sukuna’s mental health had followed, and what resulted was a Christmas so hollow that he struggles to remember that year, hidden deep within the carefully guarded recesses of his mind.

Yet when he needed them most, Uraume had made their way into his life and bit by bit, they had helped him pick up the pieces and find his footing. Just when he needed you most, you found your way into his life as well, though you were little more than the source of his disdain at first. He considers himself lucky that you’re so resilient when it comes to his snide demeanor, because for the first time in a long time, something occurs to Sukuna.

You and Uraume may not fill the same roles that having parents would have, but you’re both important figures in the kids’ lives and they need the positivity that you bring that Sukuna doesn’t provide. He’s aware he isn’t the best influence for two impressionable young kids, something that he wrestles with daily, but one reassurance remains a beacon when he finds himself doubting his abilities.

Your declaration that he’s their hero.

He’d never considered it before, but he sees it in the way Choso worries for him and understands, even at such a young age, that Sukuna is struggling. He sees it in the way Yuji runs to him to show him the latest basketball trick he’s learned.

So he’s gotta be doing something right.

After an extended silence, Sukuna finally finds the footing to reply to you. “We’re glad to have ya, princess.”

Uraume begins setting out dishes, requesting help as they work on the dinner’s finishing touches. The three of you work together to set the table, complete with a little candle in the center as the smell of chicken floods the apartment.

You narrowly avoid a meltdown by the looks of it as Choso is winning Mario Party by a landslide when Sukuna calls them over, asking them to shut off the TV for the night. Bounding to the table, you let the kids pile their plates high with chicken, stuffing, and potatoes, both completely avoiding anything that so much as touched vegetables. With a scowl, Sukuna reaches over to scoop some veggies onto their plates, met with a guilty frown from Choso and a groan from Yuji.

Once their plates are full, Sukuna insists that you and Uraume go first before he loads up his own plate with enough food to feed a whole family. You can only imagine what the grocery bill looks like for two growing boys and the wall of muscle that is Sukuna.

“This is all amazing, Uraume.”

They grin at your compliment, a warm blush dusting their cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Where’d you learn to cook? I know you’re in the history program with Sukuna, but I’d believe you if you said you were in the culinary program,” you continue, reveling in the flavor of the potatoes.

The shade of their reddened cheeks darkens and they chuckle lightly. “I appreciate that, but I’ll leave the culinary degree to Choso,” they smile, casting a glance at the little boy whose eyes sparkle at the mention of a culinary degree. You suppose that explains why he loves to follow you around in the kitchen so much. “I’m self-taught. I learned during our first year when I got sick of ramen and eating out.”

“I wish I had that same dedication,” you giggle, shaking your head as you go on to mention that the amount of times you’ve had eggs this week should be criminal.

Sukuna shoves his face full of food as he quietly listens to you and Uraume chat, while Yuji chimes in every so often. He can’t remember the last time he had a meal that wasn’t takeout or something he cooked mainly for the boys, who could be a bit picky, which often meant he was having the same few meals with a protein smoothie to tide him over. Apart from the leftover mac and cheese you cooked a little while ago, he thinks the last time might have been a full year ago to the day.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s smiling until you nudge him. “Doing alright, Kuna?”

He raises a brow questioningly, his mouth full of potatoes.

You smile, shaking your head. “Don’t worry about it. How’s your dinner?” You decide not to push him, your heart full when his expression eases as he sits up, leaning back in a relaxed manner.

“Fuckin’ great,” he mumbles through a bite of chicken, going back in for more immediately.

“How many times have I told you to stop swearing in front of your brothers?” Uraume scolds, a playful air to their words.

Sukuna huffs, rolling his eyes. “If I start countin’ how many times you tell me not to swear or smoke, we’ll be here all day.”

“They have a point,” you poke fun at him with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas, get off my case,” he grumbles, leaning over the table.

“Quitting smoking would be a suitable Christmas gift for me, you know,” Uraume points out with a mischievous grin.

“Your gift,” Sukuna growls, no real bite to his words as he points his fork at them, “is learnin’ how to drive. Take it or leave it.” He shoves the piece of chicken into his mouth with a scowl in their direction, grunting when Uraume laughs.

“I suppose I’ll take the driving lessons,” they sigh humorously as though they’re settling.

Sukuna’s narrowed eyes are met with laughter from the table as conversation flows naturally throughout dinner. By the end of the meal, Yuji is practically vibrating with excitement as he casts glances towards the tree where a few wrapped gifts are sitting. Even Choso seems a bit restless, shifting constantly between sitting cross-legged on his chair and kicking his feet.

The moment Sukuna’s second plate of food is clean, Yuji pipes in. “Can we open presents?”

“Let me clean up, Yu,” Sukuna sighs, pushing his hair back from his forehead. It seems a moment’s rest is too much to ask for with two eager kids awaiting presents. Splaying his hands on the table, Sukuna pushes himself to his feet, piling all of the plates onto one to carry to the kitchen.

You gather empty glasses and follow after Sukuna, setting the dishes on the counter.

“Go sit,” Sukuna mumbles without casting you a glance as he rinses off plates and loads them into the dishwasher.

“I don’t mind, really!” You insist, bounding back to the table to grab the leftover potatoes. When you spin around, you’re met with Sukuna’s chest, startling at his close proximity. He pulls the bowl of potatoes from your hand, smirking as you purse your lips.

“Sit.” With his spare hand, he presses down on your shoulder until you’re back in your seat.

Uraume stifles a laugh, exchanging a glance with you as your cheeks warm. “Every year, I cook and he cleans up afterwards,” they explain. Clearly, he intends to keep it that way, giving you a chance to get to know Uraume better.

“How long have you known each other?” You ask as Sukuna continues to clean up, gathering the leftover food into tupperware to keep in the fridge while the two kids talk amongst themselves.

They tilt their head in thought. “Around four years now, I sat beside him on the first day of History 109.” They lean back in their chair, resting their hands in their lap with a chuckle. “He drank my coffee.”

“I thought it was mine,” Sukuna groans from the kitchen.

Uraume smiles wider. “I’m not sure how you thought that. You were drinking black coffee and mine had cream and sugar.”

“I thought classes started at ten, not eight,” he huffs as he pulls more dishes from the table “I was tired.”

“I suppose you needed the caffeine more than I did,” Uraume laughs, their eyes crinkling gleefully at the corners. “But it did mean that he owed me a coffee,” they continue their explanation. “Our friends got along well, and here we are.”

“God knows Toji needed someone to keep him in line,” Sukuna mutters.

“Toji… you mentioned he got you kicked out of Gojo’s once?” You question with a tilt of your head as Sukuna clears the last of the dishes from the table.

Uraume hums. “Sounds like the right Toji. He can be a handful. We can introduce you when classes are back in.”

“I’d like tha-”

“Kunaaaa, can we open presents nowwww?” Yuji interrupts, doing his very best to remain patient.

You giggle at the poor kid, who’s just about bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball at the rate he’s vibrating in his seat.

Sukuna sighs, shutting the last tupperware lid over the remaining vegetables. “Go wait in the living room.”

Both boys’ chairs scrape the floor as they dash into the living room, excitedly yelling about who gets to open their gifts first.

The tattooed brother watches them with mild interest, returning to the table where he leans over the edge on his hands. “Can you entertain them for a minute?” He glances between you and Uraume. You nod in unison and watch as Sukuna pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Sliding one from the pack, he balances it between his lips and opens a drawer in the kitchen, pulling out a box of matches and striking one.

His cigarette burns like a lone star in the night sky against the backdrop of the twinkling apartment. He inhales as he whips the match through the air to put it out, tossing it in the sink to cool as he waits until he’s on the balcony to exhale smoke.

Before he shuts the door, he frustratedly murmurs something about having lost his dad’s lighter. The door closes with a thud, and he leans over the balcony, his back visibly rising and falling as he sighs.

With the kids excitedly seated in front of the tree seemingly entertaining themselves, Uraume uses the opportunity to turn towards you with a more serious expression, though they remain smiling.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for him. I know he won’t ask for help, but he needs it. He doesn’t seem as burnt out lately.”

You return their kind smile, nodding. “He doesn’t make it easy, but I’m trying.”

They roll their eyes, chuckling. “He certainly doesn’t, does he?” As their laughter dies down, they cast a glance at the kids. “I’m surprised he told you about his brothers though.”

Shaking your head, you blow air from your nose in a wry laugh. “He didn’t. I ran into him after he didn’t show up to work on our project.”

“Oh? In that case, I’m surprised he’s let you in at all.”

“You and me both,” you scoff, shaking your head. “I think most of our friendship has hinged on the fact that he thinks he owes me.”

“Sounds familiar,” Uraume quips, getting to their feet as Sukuna makes the motions of putting out his cigarette outside. He rolls his shoulders backwards in an effort to stretch his muscles before stepping back inside. You follow after Uraume, quickly making a motion to grab the gifts, as well as your forgotten cookies.

“Oh! I- um- brought some cookies,” you hold out the tupperware as you make your way into the living room, setting the container down on the coffee table with the bag of gifts at your feet.

“That’s so kind of you!” Uraume delights, opening the box.

“They’re nothing compared to your cooking, but they were always a tradition back home for me,” you smile to yourself, heat rising to your cheeks.

Finishing the cookie in only a couple of bites, they shake their head. “They’re delicious, and it’s still very kind of you.”

You find yourself grinning, glancing at Sukuna who hums in agreement as he takes one as well. The brothers are close behind as they practically scarf the treats down, their eyes shining.

“Alright you brats, there’s one for each of ya from me, and one to share.”

“Wait!” Choso cries out, scrambling to his feet as he runs down the hall. You watch curiously as he rounds the corner with three santa hats. Adjusting his antlers, he holds them out to you, Uraume, and his older brother, met with two ‘thank you’s, and an adamant ‘no’.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which of the three of you is scowling down at the hat held in his hands.

You nudge his bicep with your elbow, a gleeful smile donning your lips. “C’mon, Kuna. Just wear it for an hour. Look how excited they are.”

Sukuna follows your gaze, deep red irises flicking between the two kids before resting on the hopeful look his middle brother wears. With a sigh, he gives in to both your and his brother’s wishes, pulling the hat on over his tousled pink hair. Even with his familiar grumpy scowl, he looks surprisingly cute in the Christmas spirit.

Though you’re sure if he realized that, the hat would disappear in an instant, so you keep that secret to yourself.

“One at a time. Youngest goes first.”

Yuji scrambles excitedly with the first of his gifts, tearing at wrapping paper around a gift box that’s practically his size. Tossing the paper aside, he flips the box towards him, eyes wide at the five-year-old sized basketball. He gasps in excitement, holding it up triumphantly. “A new basketball!” He proclaims, immediately trying to tear it from the cardboard.

“Slow down, Yu. There’s one more thing in there.”

Yuji curiously peers down at his lap, now noticing the black and red material he’d missed previously. He holds it up, gaping at the realization that Sukuna’s gotten him a custom jersey with his last name scrawled in big red text across the back with his favorite team’s logo on the front.

“No WAY!” He cries out excitedly, standing up and immediately pulling it on over his t-shirt. It’s a bit big on him, but Sukuna figured it made the most sense to get him a bigger size given how fast he’d been growing. “Thank you thank you thankyouthankyou!” Yuji cries, hopping up and down excitedly.

Sukuna’s chest swells at the sight of what he hopes is a Christmas living up to his brother’s dreams while you and Uraume grin at his sides. Even by his own standards, he thinks he could enjoy Christmas if it’s like this every year.

Like a shot to his chest, his mind suddenly reminds him of the impending lawsuit, but he pushes the thought aside, subconsciously pressing his knee against yours.

You cast him a glance at the feeling of his leg knocking against yours, but you can’t make out whether he’s aware of how close you are. Your cheeks warm as you search for a meaning behind the action, but Sukuna’s mirthful expression gives nothing away about his lingering doubts. Likely thinking too much into the action, you let it go.

“Your turn, Cho.”

Sukuna points to a smaller gift wrapped as neatly as Sukuna could manage (which is to say not neatly at all) in snowflake-covered light blue wrapping paper.

Choso grabs the gift, much more timidly opening it. He pulls out a set of kid-sized knives along with a pan sized appropriately for him. “Thank you, Kuna!” He grins, testing out the weight of the pan in his hand.

“Be careful with those things,” his elder brother mutters as Choso examines the knife set. “One more thing in there for you too, Cho.”

Deep brown eyes widen and he peers down so suddenly his antlers nearly fall from his head. Sure enough, beneath some tissue paper at the bottom of the box is a black apron, also a bit big for him, with his name embroidered across the front in deep purple.

In a much more subtle show of gratefulness than his little brother, Choso holds it up with a look of wonder, running his thumb over his name. In disbelief, he too gets to his feet and throws it on over his head, tying it at the back.

Choso’s grin widens and he runs up to Sukuna, practically hopping over the coffee table in an attempt to get to him. “Thank you, Kuna,” he repeats himself again as he clings to his brother’s sweatshirt.

“Mm.” Sukuna ruffles his hair with a small smile. “Go open your last gift with your brother,” he urges. “And you two better share.”

Choso hops back towards his little brother as the two excitedly unwrap their last gift from Sukuna. Within a small box sits a copy of Sonic Advance for their Gameboy.

“No way!” Yuji proclaims excitedly, turning back to Sukuna. “You’re the best, thank you!” He cries, scrambling to his feet to hug his brother. Choso follows suit, each kid finding a place on either side of the tattooed man.

He blows a breath out through his nose, smirking as he pulls them in. In a rare moment of genuine happiness, he hugs them close. You cast a glance at Uraume, who seems just as happy to be a part of this moment with Sukuna’s little family. They may not be perfect, but they care a great deal for one another, that much is clear.

Uraume leans forward and hands the boys a card. “This is for both of you.”

“You didn’t have to get them anything,” Sukuna mumbles to his friend. “The dinner is more than enough.”

“I didn’t have to,” they agree, “but I wanted to.”

Choso tears the envelope open, reading the card out to his brother before peering down at the three papers that fall from the envelope. “Sonic the Hedgehog 3 movie tickets?” He gasps with wide eyes, looking up at Sukuna.

“Tell me the third ticket is for you,” he grumbles to Uraume as Yuji hops to his feet to hug them.

“Nope! I checked with both of your work schedules, you can make it,” they grin at him, bursting into laughter at the grimace that pulls Sukuna’s lips into a frown.

As the cheers and laughter dies down and the brothers make their way back over to the tree after hugging Uraume, you pull out two long, slender boxes and hand one to each kid.

Sukuna sighs, his brow knit tightly together as he avoids your gaze. “You didn’t have to do all this either. You do more than enough for them too.”

“It’s Christmas, Kuna. I wanted to.” You shrug. “Open them at the same time,” you instruct, watching Choso gingerly rip the paper off as Yuji is already eagerly tossing it aside. With wide eyes and gasps, they both hold up Nerf guns, a purple one for Choso and a red one for Yuji.

Sukuna groans as the two boys exchange an excited look, showing their gifts off to one another. “You’re gonna give me a damn headache, woman,” he grumbles, leaning forward on his palm with his elbow resting on his knee.

Yuji bounces to his feet, running to give you a hug as he thanks you over and over, followed shortly by Choso. You wrap your arms around them both, rubbing both of their backs softly. Adjusting your hat so it doesn’t fall off of your head as they pull back, you’re about to grab your gift for Sukuna when Choso gingerly shuffles in place in front of you.

“We- um- have something for you guys too,” he proclaims in a voice barely above a mumble. With a shy smile, he runs off to grab what you can only assume is the gift, leaving the three of you in an air of confusion.

Yuji returns first, followed shortly by Choso. Hidden in their fists are three woven friendship bracelets each. Your lips part, forming an ‘o’ as you gasp at the sight. The two boys are positively too cute.

Holding out your wrist, you watch with tear-filled eyes as Yuji’s tongue sticks out while he ties a red and white striped bracelet around your wrist. It’s the type of bracelet that isn’t coming off anytime soon, but you don’t mind one bit. You’ll treasure it for as long as it’ll stay on your wrist.

Yuji moves on to Sukuna with a red and black checkered bracelet while Choso ties a purple and blue striped bracelet around Uraume’s wrist, his face scrunched in concentration. Unbeknownst to him, Sukuna’s knee presses harder into yours, a somber look crossing his eyes for a split second as he stares down at the checkered bracelet soundly wrapped around his wrist. He swallows hard, twisting his wrist to better see the woven jewelry.

With a glance to either side, he watches with a barely-contained frown as Choso ties a purple and black checkered bracelet just below Yuji’s on his wrist, moving along to add a purple and white striped one to yours.

Both you and Uraume grin, while you obviously fight tears of joy at the simple, yet meaningful gift. Sukuna's stomach seems to twist and he forces down the bile that threatens to come up, chewing on his lower lip.

The idea that this could be the last gift he ever receives from his brothers is fresh in his mind, plaguing his thoughts like an endless nightmare. His muscles tense as he returns his gaze to the two checkered bracelets around his wrist, one much cleaner looking than the other, but that’s not what matters to him.

With a tight-lipped smile that barely masks his underlying anxieties, he’s just about to open his mouth to thank the kids when you speak up first.

“This is so sweet, you two are so talented!” You beam, eyes glassy as you continue to fight tears.

Your knee gently brushes his, a silent acknowledgment that you recognize the paralyzing distance crossing over his eyes. Your quiet offering of support doesn’t go unnoticed and Sukuna uses the opportunity to compose himself. With a sharp intake of breath, he forces a smile that reads more real than the tight-lipped one he previously wore.

“Thanks, kiddos.”

“They look wonderful,” Uraume agrees.

Returning to their gifts, the two kids distract themselves by tearing into whatever cardboard they can get their hands on in an effort to free the basketball and Nerf dart guns. As they busy themselves with their new gifts, you pull out one more box for Sukuna with a cute little bow wrapped around the gift box.

He peers down at the gift as you hold it out to him, shaking his head.

“I don’t need anything,” he grumbles, his mind still somewhat fuzzy as he grapples with the stress of the lawsuit.

“Just take it, Kuna.” You hold it out expectantly to him.

He sighs, taking the box into his hands with a glance up at your timid expression. Pulling at the ribbon, he unwraps it and slowly opens the box, his lips twitching into a frown as he picks his Type O Negative shirt up from inside the giftbox.

“My own shirt,” he comments with a sarcastic edge to his tone at what he’s sure is a joke gift, though he’s actually somewhat relieved you didn’t get him anything.

You giggle at his disdainful expression. “You’re just as bad as your brothers. Unwrap the shirt.”

His brows knit together as he slowly unwraps the shirt. Hidden between the layers of fabric is none other than his dad’s lighter, with the cap back in place, shining like the day Sukuna pulled it from his father’s belongings as though it’s been freshly polished.

His jaw subtly falls open as he drops his shirt into his lap, flipping the cap of the lighter open and watching as he turns it and the flame comes to life. He blinks a few times, his throat tightening as he turns the lighter, the ‘Itadori’ engraving no longer dull and barely visible, but full of life and a stark contrast to the rest of the metal.

Shutting the cap, he runs his tongue over his lower lip once before biting down a bit too harshly on the plush skin, a metallic tang penetrating his taste buds. He pays it no mind, finally looking up at you.

His expression is unreadable and your stomach flutters with nerves as his words seem to fail him when he opens his mouth, fiddling with the lighter.

“You fixed it?”

You nod. “I mean, a professional did, but yeah. I hope- I thought you might appreciate it after the whole lighting yourself on fire thing.” Your voice is quiet, wavering slightly. You catch a questioning gaze from Uraume, but they don’t dare interrupt the moment.

Sukuna stares down at the lighter for another moment, flipping it again. Your stomach does a flip when he rubs his face harshly and you can’t tell whether he’s frustrated with you or thankful.

He’s so damn near tears that it takes him a moment to compose himself before he lowers his hand back down the lighter. “Shit, princess,” he mutters, his throat raw with emotions that he can’t identify.

Unable to tell if that’s a good or bad reaction, you wrap your arms around yourself, tilting your head. “I hope it’s- um-” you stammer, trying to find words, but it’s not like you can undo what’s been done to the lighter, having taken a leap of faith to begin with, even if the gift was Choso-approved. “Sorry, I-”

“Shut up.” Sukuna’s tone isn’t nearly as assertive as usual as he shakes his head at the lighter, unable to meet your gaze out of fear that his eyes might be red again, though this time not from weed. “I appreciate it.”

Your brow raises and a smile finds your lips as relief washes over you. “Yeah?”

He blows a humorous breath out through his nose, nodding. “It means a lot.”

Your smile stretches to a grin that you exchange with Uraume, who seems to know the meaning behind your gift just as well as you do.

“For the record, Uraume’s still right, you should quit,” you point out, earning a sharp stare. Giggling, you nudge his shoulder playfully. “But I know what that means to you, so I thought- you know,” you shrug, thankful you got the right impression from the fact that he continued to use the lighter long after it had broken.

“You two are pains in my ass,” Sukuna huffs, shoving the lighter into his pocket as he finally finds himself back in the moment as the source of your teasing. Reaching up to scratch his chest, he leans back against the couch again. “When did you nab my lighter anyway? It disappeared on a night when I don’t think I saw ya.”

You shoot a smirk at his middle brother, who’s carefully loading foam darts into his toy gun, completely oblivious to the conversation going on between the adults.

“I see,” he hums. Your accomplice glances up as he feels three pairs of eyes on him, tilting his head curiously until Yuji grabs his attention and his impending question is long forgotten. Swallowing, Sukuna gets to his feet. “I have somethin’ for you too.”

He disappears around the corner towards his bedroom, and you’re left exchanging a glance with Uraume, who shrugs. You hadn’t expected anything from him, simply grateful to have company in the absence of your family over the holidays.

You glance back in the direction of the hall when his door clicks shut and he re-emerges, a single piece of paper held carefully in front of him. He sits between you and Uraume once more, turning to face you with a furrowed brow. “Here.”

Gingerly taking the page from him, your jaw drops at the sight. In his traditional graphite and charcoal style, an artistic rendition of you smiling at something off to the side of the page’s line of sight is scrawled across the paper. A clear amount of care has gone into capturing each of your features, deliberate shading and lines framing your complexion.

Bringing a hand up to cover your gaping mouth, you barely manage to whisper, “you… drew me?”

Sukuna’s somewhat glad you haven’t looked up at him yet, his face burning red hot as he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “You loved the project piece so much, I figured…” he trails off, staring down at the piece in your hand when he catches a glimpse of your trembling hand holding the paper.

You chew on your lip as tears prick in your eyes, butterflies threatening to burst at the seams in your stomach as your heart practically rolls over itself in your chest. Whether he returns your feelings or not, one thing is beyond clear.

Sukuna cares a great deal about you, to have poured so much time and effort into something like this, but one more thought lingers in the back of your mind. A thought that has you teetering dangerously close to spiraling into thoughts of uncertainty.

Sukuna thinks you’re beautiful. The proof is in the care that went into each stroke of his pencil and smudge of charcoal to portray you just as he sees you.

“Shit, are you…?” Sukuna mutters when he hears you sniffle, taken aback when you set the art aside and leap forward to hug him. His arms stiffen in the air as he stares blankly at the wall, uncertainty clouding his actions.

“Thank you, Kuna,” you mumble meekly, tears stinging at the edge of your tone as you do what you can to hold them back.

Silence hangs between you, interrupted only by the sounds of clicking plastic as the boys figure out their Nerf guns. Uraume smiles from behind Sukuna at the sight of their friend struggling to wrap his mind around you hugging him. It takes a moment, but gradually his muscles relax and he wraps his arms around you in return.

“Mhm.”

Your eyes flicker open, catching Uraume’s warm smile as you pull back from Sukuna, whose gaze trails to the art. Following his line of sight, you pick the piece back up and hold it gently in your lap.

“It’s gorgeous, thank you.”

He opens his mouth to reply, when a stray foam dart hits him square in the jaw and tumbles down to the ground at his feet.

“Watch it, brat,” Sukuna glowers at Yuji, whose toy gun is pointed a little too precisely at his forehead for his liking.

Unfortunately for the tattooed man, this doesn’t deter his little brother one bit.

With a plastic click, another foam dart is sent careening through the air, colliding with the man’s forearm as he lifts it to block the attack. “Brat!” He barks, getting to his feet and stepping over you. A giggle and pattering of small feet against the hardwood can be heard as Yuji skitters around the corner and out of sight.

With a sharp glare and intent to chase his brother, Sukuna stops, turning to you and bending down to your seated height. He points an accusatory finger at you, his face close enough to make your mouth go dry.

“This is your fucking fault,” he hisses, sans any malice. Despite the fire behind his glare and the accusation dripping from his tone, you spot the telltale sign that Sukuna’s having fun. His lip quirks just the tiniest bit at the corner, giving him away as he straightens and grabs the wall to send himself flying around the corner after his brother. “C’mere you little shit!” He calls.

“No swearing!” Uraume reminds him, but their reminder is met only with cacophonous laughter and the sound of foam darts hitting the wall at a near alarming pace. Yuji comes sliding around the corner, one hand tightly gripping his antlers in an effort to keep them on his head. He scrambles away from the foam darts that bounce harmlessly off the ground behind him before diving towards the couch.

You set the art in your lap on the coffee table before the youngest Itadori can clamber into your lap for protection.

The plastic sound of a gun cocking rings in the air as Sukuna points it squarely at you. He sports his usual scowl, but amusement swirls in his eyes.

“She ain’t gonna protect you, brat,” Sukuna threatens.

“You wouldn’t dare shoot us, would you?” You stick out your lower lip pleadingly, pouting as you play along.

Without missing a beat, a dart collides with your cheek.

“Ow!” You gasp in disbelief, although the dart didn’t truly hurt you at all. “Okay, so maybe you would,” you grumble, rubbing at your cheek. “Choso! Shoot him!” You point at the oldest brother.

Choso, who had previously only been watching, hesitates for a moment as he glances between you and the oldest sibling, before firing a shot at Sukuna’s arm. Sukuna’s attention is pulled to Choso, his teeth grit as he fires back a shot at the boy’s shoulder.

“Run, Yu!” You whisper to the little boy, who bounds down off the couch and into the kitchen in a fit of giggles.

Choso gets to his feet and runs into the hallway as the three brothers engage in a Nerf war, bringing a smile to both your and Uraume’s faces.

“I can’t help but feel as though you should have gotten one for Sukuna as well,” they laugh.

You settle into the center of the couch where Sukuna had been seated, laughing alongside them. “Seems like it.” Turning your attention towards them, you shake your head. “I’ll be honest, I thought Nerf guns would annoy him.”

“Oh, they will. I give it a week,” Uraume pointedly nods and you find yourself laughing alongside them again.

“A week is too generous.”

“A day, perhaps?” They laugh.

As the air between you settles, warmth washes over you. You’ve seen small moments like this in the apartment, ones where the three brothers are all smiles and laughter, even Sukuna, but this one seems different somehow. Less fleeting, as though the burden and weight of Sukuna’s responsibilities aren’t bearing down quite as hard on him right now, even if it’s only for a night.

You don’t believe in miracles, and certainly not Christmas miracles, but if they existed, you think this is what it would look like.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before.”

You turn your head towards Uraume, tilting your head. “Never?”

They take a moment to contemplate it before shaking their head, their lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s been playing the role of parent so long that I think he sometimes forgets he’s their brother.”

A pang of sadness floods you as a stray dart flies across the kitchen, clanking as it hits a glass that didn’t fit in the dishwasher before it falls to the floor. You’ve seen glimpses here and there of the version of Sukuna that gets to be just a brother and student, it’s hard to believe it’s a side of him that Uraume’s never seen.

“You know,” they comment, setting their elbow along the back of the couch as they lean on their palm, “he seems a lot more relaxed these days. Is that your doing?”

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug. “I’ve been helping take care of his brothers here and there.”

They smile. “I’m glad he has another reliable person to lean on.”

Heat crawls up to your cheeks, but before you can reply, Sukuna trudges into the living room and slumps into the couch with a huff.

“You know, suddenly the Sonic movie doesn’t seem so bad,” he grumbles with a sly look in your direction.

You roll your eyes playfully, nudging his knee with your own. “Oh, don’t act like you aren’t having fun.”

He doesn’t reply, reaching up to pull his Santa hat off and set it aside, running a hand through his hair. He lets out a breath, leaning his head back on the couch. There’s a sense of calm to the silence held between the three of you that Sukuna’s grateful for. A certain understanding that even if only for a moment, he needs this escape.

“Thanks. Both of you.” In an uncharacteristically serious tone, he folds his arms over his chest, relaxing into the couch as he spreads his legs in typical man fashion. “I think Yuji got what he wanted.”

There’s an undertone to his words that you catch, one that gives away what he’s thinking, but before he can slip into a distant world of worries, you set a comforting hand on his bicep. His eyes flicker down to your hand, his expression unreadable.

“Merry Christmas, Sukuna. You too, Uraume.”

He blows air through his nose in a wry laugh, his expression relaxed as your hand drops back to your side. Carefully moving the art of you aside, he kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

“Merry Christmas.”

With a content sigh, Uraume gets to their feet. “I think it’s time I head out. I have an early breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh! So do I,” you follow suit, beginning to gather your things. “Do you need a ride?” You ask, having taken note of the fact that Sukuna’s gift to them was driving lessons.

“That would be great,” they reply with a smile as you both begin gathering your things. Sukuna calls the kids over to say goodbye before you leave as you pull your coat over your Christmas sweater.

Yuji thanks you both, adorably referring to Uraume as ‘Rume’ as he hugs them, before hugging you. Choso follows suit, both pairs of auburn eyes shining brilliantly as they stand at Sukuna’s feet.

“Thank you for the bracelets,” you grin, kneeling down to Yuji and Choso’s level. They both have three matching woven bracelets on each of their wrists in true friendship bracelet fashion, and quite honestly you could cry at how sweet that is.

Yuji leans in to hug you again, pulling back with a bounce to his step as he cries out “Merry Christmas!”

Choso repeats the merriment more quietly, waving at you both.

“Don’t forget your cookies,” Sukuna hands you the tupperware, but you shake your head.

“If I eat nineteen cookies on my own, I’ll be sick,” you giggle. “Let these two have them.”

Yuji excitedly rocks forwards and backwards on his feet at the prospect of having nineteen cookies that his oldest brother is almost guaranteed to not want.

Sukuna sighs, grimacing as his hand falls back to his side when you refuse the cookies, but he keeps his mouth shut.

It’s Christmas, he supposes his brothers can have some cookies, so he relents.

“Got your gift?”

You nod, unable to help the shy grin on your lips as you hold up the bag that the art is safely sitting at the bottom of.

“Good. Lemme know when you’re both home.”

“I’ll email you,” you confirm.

“Get a phone, Sukuna,” Uraume scolds, only to be met with a sneer as Sukuna’s lip curls in irritation.

“Bite me,” is all he replies, unwilling to admit that he needs to save for a lawyer before he can save for a phone.

He can worry about a phone once this is all over. For now, it’s Christmas, and he wants to put whatever focus he can into granting Yuji the only thing he actually asked for this year.

A big Christmas.

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❦ a/n ; i know i'm a bit late for the holidays and i'm sure many people will be reading this outside of that time period anyway, but i could nawwwt resist giving them a warm and cozy lil holiday together <3 not sure what happened but when it hit 10k words i figured i'd just make this a full chapter. aaaanyways i hope you all enjoyed the sweet fluffy glimpse into their family christmas because i have some angsty plans coming up 😶 forgive me!! as always, thank you for the love and support <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[feitanii-ll]

“ GUMI’S HOME!! “.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 …

✮ pairing: gojo satoru x reader (romantically). and megumi fushiguro x reader (platonically)

✮ synopsis: in which,, megumi comes to the realization over the years that he in fact does have a family. Or, raising megumi w satoru.

✮ contains: heavyyy flufff, long-term relationship w gojo, young megumi growing up :(, reader and gojo are the same age and get marrieddd. NOT LORE ACCURATE (kinda). ONLY SLIGHT SEASON TWO SPOILERS. crack-fix type dialogue. Megumi and Satoru scuffle. Not a lot of reader until the end. Uhhh, slight cursing. Centered around megumi’s POV!!

September, 2007

Upon first meeting Satoru Gojo, Megumi could confirm (with much confidence) that the man was truly an odd ball.

Like a snake, he slithered his way in with that cocky attitude. A stupid, smug grin and a bravado that made the little boy cringe. Crouching down before him to try and get on his level. Just who the hell did he think he was?

“You’re… fushiguro’s kid, yes? Man, you look just like him. It’s almost uncanny.” the silver haired male gets too close for comfort, thoroughly observing the boy as he mentally points out the similarities between him and his father. “It’s a shame you zen’ins are a bunch of deadbeats—“

“Do you, like, need something–?“ megumi butts in, voice sounding irritated in a way that says he ready to ditch this conversation completely, but curious as to what the hell he could possibly want from him. And just what the hell did “his” clan have to do with him? As if they even knew he existed.

“Well, yeah, actually. Fushiguro is—“

“—something Important.” He emphasizes just before he could finish his sentence.

“Just, about your dad— we aren’t on the best of terms. I ki—“

“Don’t care,” the ravenette huffs, and the sorcerer is surprised at just how much emotion is in such a tiny body. Or, lack there of.

“You.. don’t care?” The male pouts, hands dropping to his sides.

“Haven’t seen him in years. Nor do I remember his face, or what the hell he has going on. Why would I?”

Satoru’s lips purse, and his eyebrows raise in shocked amusement.

“Really. I’ll admit, I’m a little baffled,” he cackles in a way that has the boy frowning in disgust. “You’re stronger than I thought, then. Both physically, and mentally. I’m sure you see that within yourself, too, don’t you, Megumi?”

Megumi stares blankly, and the older boy takes it as a silent agreement.

“Well then! I guess I don’t have anything to say, after all.” With a slap to his knees, satoru stands up from his crouched position, his height shading the smaller boy from the sun. Megumi can now truly see him— the silvery stands of hair, pale skin, and though protected by the expensive branded sunglasses adorning his face, the uncanny, borderline disturbing radiant color of his eyes.

A blue too vibrant to look away from. It was far from comforting, really.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Megumi!” Satoru laughs, and because he has no damn sense of decorum, ruffles megumi’s hair, much to his dismay. “You stay outta trouble, ya hear?” He beams, a huge contrast to the disturbing news he was just about to break to the kid.

“Uh huh,” he hums, watching as he steps off. When out of sight, he scoffs.

“What a dummy..”

He doesn’t leave the area until the voice of his sister beckoning him over rings out through the alley from atop of the balcony. He takes a good look at where the sorcerer just was before slowly feuding his way back home, backpack straps clenched within his tiny fists.

──────

For a boy his age, Megumi is, for the most part, an emotionally intelligent, levelheaded kid. Other than a short temper, he’s always been good at simply ignoring the things that tick him off for the sake of his sanity.

But this? A grown man screaming out in the middle of a crowded street in front of a billion strangers? A very noticeably grown man, and a very obvious frightened looking child as the lanky weirdo sprints towards him, ignoring the cries and disgruntled curses of disagreement from the innocent people in which he shoves.

“Megumiiiii! Megumiii—!”

“Oh, no… no no no no no,” Megumi’s eyes widen, shaking his head to himself while simultaneously backing away slowly.

The calls of his name grow closer, and just as he turns on his heel to book it out of there, he’s tugged by the book-bag by an unnecessarily strong grip, and pulled backwards.

“Megumi, there ya are!”

A yelp escapes the boy as he’s lifted into the air, kicking his feet as he’s held like nothing, hanging by the armpits of his bag.

“Don’t ya know it’s dangerous to be walking home on your own like this? You could get kidnapped. Or worse, what if you get squished by car!?” Satoru gasps dramatically, arm extended out in front of him as he angles his hand so that the boy is facing him.

“Nothing—“ Megumi grunts, small feet kicking at the man’s torso to no avail, “is worse than this!”

“You make me sound like a monster.” Satoru whines in faux sadness.

“You might as well be!” By this time, the other patrons seem to dismiss the little scuffle as just a boy throwing a tantrum. For the most part, they aren’t wrong.

“Come on, I just wanted to check in on ya!”

“I’ll scream.” The boy deadpans, tiny fists shaking my his sides.

Satoru, pauses, the cocky smile on his face dropping slightly as a small bead of nervous sweat trickles down his temple.

“You won’t—“

“HELP! I DONT KNOW THIS MA— umpfff”

Satorus eyes widen as he clamps a large, sweaty hand over megumi’s mouth.

“Shhhhh shhh, alright, damn, kid!” He sets the boy back down on the floor, but still keeps his mouth clamped as he crouches down to his level. After touching down, Megumi goes quiet, but his silent rage is loud and clear as he glares and crosses his arms.

“Listen, I’ll make it up to ya with a an ice cream cone, huh? How ‘bout that? Actually, whatever dessert ya want, it’s yours! How’s that sound??” He questions desperately. After a beat, the boy nods, making the older man sigh in relief.

“Alright… now I’m gonna let ya go— fuck!”

With a gasp, Satoru pulls his hand back and clutches it to his chest. He glances down at his hand to see a curved row of lines engraved between his index and thumb, and he looks back up to see Megumi, spitting onto the pavement dramatically and wiping at his mouth as if he’d just consumed the worst thing imaginable.

After looking between him and the kid for a little bit out of pure disbelief, Satoru scoffs, “You little shit, you bit me!”

“You kidnapped me!” Megumi rebuttals, whipping around as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“I was having a conversation with you,” the sorcerer stands to his full height, cradling his hand as he rubs the stinging spot with pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows. “You’re just like your father!”

“Shut up, crazy! I wanna go where you wanna take me so that we can get this over with. I need to get back home. I’ve got homework—“

“After you bit me? Hell no—!”

“I’ll tell the cops!” Megumi points and accusatory finger, and Satoru is genuinely shocked at just how… difficult he was.

“Fine! C’mon..” he mumbles, now sulking as he basically lets the boy lead him to whatever dessert shop he desired.

For the first time, Satoru felt… defeated. Beat by a child, no less.

──────

That same day, Satoru finds out that megumi’s favorite dessert is mochi ice cream. At least, it’s what he can assume after being demanded to order 10 pieces, all various flavors, before eating them before the frost can even melt.

The duo sit in a red-leathered booth within a quiet dessert shop. The golden rays of sun spill through the large window pane, painting the walls and floors of the shop a rich shade of orange. The sunset meaning that he’d soon have to be taking Megumi home. Within this time, the two take the time to learn about one another. Satoru is surprised when Megumi actually seems interested and asks questions! Albeit, very rudely.

“So, are you like… homeless?”

“Nope!” Satoru purses his lips,

“Then why are you always around on the street?”

“Maybe I just like going outside?” His silver brows dip down in annoyance.

“Don’t you have friends?”

“Yes.”

“That didn’t sound convincing.”

“I do!” He shouts, to which the boy stares blankly.

“… I do” Satoru persists

“I don’t know why you’re still trying to convince me.” Megumi shrugs.

“Because—!”

The light bickering continues to flow through the area, though to Megumi, it’s honestly the most amusement he’s had in what seemed like a while. Long over due.

“There’s my best friends Suguru, and Shoko— I’m like, super cool with all my teachers,” The man lists off with his fingers, looking away in thought.

“And most of all, my amazing, beautiful girlfriend!”

“Oh—“ a shaky chuckle rings out between them. Escaping megumi’s lips.

Satoru whips his head towards the boy, not knowing whether to be shocked or offended at the blatant laugh at his statement. On one hand, he’s happy he finally got to break that tough exterior of the little man. On the other, he doesn’t believe he’s got a partner. Doesn’t believe he’s got you.

“Something funny?” Satoru grins, crossing his arms and leaning back against the seat.

“There’s no way you have a girlfriend,” Megumi mumbles, shoving the last piece of mochi into his chubby cheeks. “Who the hell would date you?”

“Her, thank you very much!” He sits up, pouting. “And I sure do have a girlfriend. Soon to be wife, actually!”

“How muush ju pay ‘er?” The boy mumbles with a full mouth, still not believing a word he says.

“Nothing!” He gasps, offended. “I’ll have you know, her and I are very much in love. I’m sure you’ll meet her one day.” He huffs, confident.

Megumi shrugs, swallowing and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. A bad habit, Satoru notices.

“Whatever. Can we leave, now?”

“Sure,” Satoru goes to move, but pauses. “Aht aht, wait. Before I forgettt,” he rummages through his pockets before slipping out a pen and swiping a napkin from the holder before scribbling something down.

“Boom! That’s my number, and home address. In case of emergency.” He slides the napkin across the table. And though Megumi silently judges the sloppy writing, he simply sighs and pockets it.

“Sure, thanks.” He mumbles, and the two slip out the the booth, Satoru ruffling his hair just as they walk out the shop.

Satoru was.. weird. But he wasn’t bad. Megumi glanced up to Satoru, who looks as if he doesn’t have a care in the world as he he walks the boy home. Lost in his own stupid world. What was the end goal here? To be a babysitter? An older brother?

‘And the stupid address. Like I’d ever need that stupid thing.’ He thinks to himself

──────

2 days after

Right now, Megumi hates that the world is seemingly out to test his already thin patience. Of all of the beautifully sunny days this week, this had to be the one day in which it’s pouring raining.

And the weather wouldn’t usually bother the boy, if when he had gotten home, he had actually felt his home key in his pockets. He pats his shorts frantically, eyes widening when he can’t seem to locate them. His frustration grows as the weather grows heavier, rain pouring just slightly harder.

“Don’t tell me…” he groan to himself, simultaneously pounding in the front door with one hand as the other searches for his keys.

“Tsumiki!” He shouts, but to no avail. “Hell… I forgot she’s out the house.”

Feeling hopeless, Megumi slips his hands into his pocket and kicks at a rock, groaning. Only then does he feel… something, in his pocket. He furrows his brow, pulling out the item and pausing.

The napkin.

──────

Everything in megumi’s being is dreading knocking on this damn door. A fairly large, but simple house with a wooden patio. It’s kind of.. out of the way, which he finds surprising, knowing how dramatic the male is.

He sighs, double- checking the napkin again before sighing. He wipes his wet face, now sheltered from the pouring rain as he stand in the patio. With a hesitant hand, he knocks three times.

He almost thinks he didn’t knock loud enough as there wasn’t any sign of movement for a while, until he sees the light just to the side of him turn on through the window. Then, the soft padding of footsteps. A pause. And then suddenly, the door creaks open.

And before he can be displeased by the face of Satoru Gojo, his annoyance disappears when the sight of a woman appears instead. Confused, shocked, and curious as to what he’s probably doing here.

“Oh… sorry. Must have the wrong house.”

The lady stares at him with pinched brows, as if trying to put pieces together as to who he was. He pushes his lips into a thin line and begins to turn on his foot before the voice cuts him off.

“Are.. are you Megumi?” The woman asks, as the boy turns, surprised. How..?

“Uhm, yeah—“

To his shock, the lady straightens up, in an odd excitement. “Oh my goodness! Megumi! Come come, it’s pouring out here! What are you doing out here in this weather? Honey—!”

He watches as you turn your head over your shoulder and call out for… for your husband? Boyfriend? Wife? He didn’t know.. his brain was trying to piece together where all this excitement was coming from from this stranger. And… if this was Gojo’s home, then—

As if on cue, there’s a heavier thumping from behind the woman. He watches as she smiles, but Megumi’s expression is the exact opposite as the face of that… monster, pops up over the woman’s shoulder.

Immediately, Satorus face is etched with excitement, and he smiles.

“Megumi!? Whatcha doing here, kid? Come inside!” He chuckles, and as if he’s in auto pilot, tiny feet shuffle their way through the door. He can’t even take in the beautifully places decor. The house plants, the smell of fresh clothes and lemon. The in-taste furniture— no way this was his home.

“You.. you live here..?”

He glances between Satoru and the woman, and drops his mouth in shock when he approaches her, wrapping his arms around her middle and pressing a kind kiss to her cheek, to which he smile. Grins, actually.

“We, live here, actually.”

Megumi doesn’t like that tone…

“Is this..?”

“Megumi, this is y/n. My girlfriend of three years.”

You laugh at the shock on the kids face, shaking your head. “Hopefully he hasn’t been giving you any trouble, Megumi. I only knew you from how much he talks about you, it’s good to finally meet you. Will you be staying?”

For the first time, Megumi felt defeated. And as he looks at Satoru a stupid, smug face— he begrudging responds to your kind offer.

“Yes… please, if you don’t mind.”

[hor3nee]

• Fatherhood •

What kind of dads are the JJK men ?

CW/TW: GN! Reader, Mentions of crappy parenting, BREIF mention of pregnancy in Geto's, (Lmk if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji x Reader

AN: Almost cried writing this the baby fever is going HARD rn dude. Headcanons !

• Gojo •

Menace of a father, but in the good way! Gojo spends his years raising his kids as if he's their best friend, truly and genuinely treats his kids as equals and in a sweet way, allows his children to have complete trust in him. Because Gojo is quite childish himself, he loves playing with his kids, making a fool of himself, and indulging with them.

Has a bit of a bad side to this though, his lack of traditional discipline or making himself the 'adult' in the situation leads the kids to both be very spoiled and not really ever listen to him.

"Sweetheart, darling, my perfect angel, can you please go to bed?? pretty please! Help your old man here, please??"

"Nuh uh!" And with that bout of defiance, he's back to running up to you, like HE'S the child, begging for your help. Because it seems you're the only one who can get the kids in line, and you do.

Plays pranks and teases the hell out of his kids as they get older, always in a loving way of course, but nonetheless loves getting them flustered over his stupidity. Type of dad to do dumbass dances in the middle of a Walmart to embarrass his kids.

• Geto •

Geto is optimum of what it means to be a gentle parent. Cannot, for the life of him, bring it in himself to yell at his kids. He's so soft-spoken, never so much as raising his voice against his children. Geto has children who respond to his voice alone, because it's so lulling, he's familiarized them with it and made them feel safe with it.

Doesn't mean he can't discipline them, of course he can, and he does so extremely gracefully. Whenever you're on your last straw with the kids, fighting the urge to start scolding them and yell, he steps in, smoothly taking over and the kids instantly listen to him.

"We're your parents, honey, c'mon that's not very nice to say, is it? They carried you for 9 months you know. Say sorry." Like magic the kids shut up and come over to you apologizing while Geto stands back, calmly having fixed the situation with ease.

With everything Geto does, has done, experienced etc, he can sometimes feel conflicted. Geto knows what he is capable of, and what he has done, he's extremely self-aware even if he justifies it, and he can struggle to balance the weight of all of it while also remaining a dutiful father.

Despite it, he does wonders keeping it separate from what his children have to see or experience, teaches them respect and kindness and hopes they hold true to it.

• Nanami •

Not a single man on this list fathers as hard as Nanami fathers. He's built for it like no other. Nanami treats fatherhood with his all, he puts his all into it and makes damn certain he does right by it. Stern when necessary, sweet when needed, provides for his kids and refuses to miss any important milestone of theirs.

Nanami is a calm man but the second work starts piling potentially making him miss his kids school play or something he's arguing with his supervisors and ready to throw hands.

He keeps the drawings his kids make on his desk, alongside a photo of you and your kids. Literally just stares at it while working smiling, unable to wait till he's home with the kids. They are his pride and joy genuinely.

No matter how over-worked Nanami may be though, when he comes home you are basically on vacation. Insists you rest and he takes over literally everything involving the kids.

"Darling, darling no, I got this covered. You take rest. You know I love spending time with my kids." He says with an earnest smile, both kids in his beefy arms just dangling around and playing with their father. He's definitely exhausted from work, but that never stops him.

• Sukuna •

The King of the Curses, as cruel and terrifying as he is, taking pleasure in all sorts of sickness and treating love as pointless, legitimately likes his kid.

He doesn't care about fatherhood, or the responsibilities that being a parent entails, but it's nice having a mini version of himself around. That he likes. An extension of himself and you, it's nice to have around he doesn't mind it. He may act aloof about it, not outwardly showing affection like hugs or kisses, but he clearly enjoys it.

He gets a massive ego trip when his kids cause chaos and disturbances. Points at them laughing with his belly "See that? That's mine."

Sukuna never minces his words though, and his kids have to get used to his bluntness. Again, he doesn't care for the concept of 'parenting', and will in their face call the kid some extreme insults and weak and they have to learn to take it.

On the flip side, Sukuna also never minces his praise, and Sukuna has an abundance to give his kids. Every accomplishment or show of strength that they show he'll let them know he's proud. A good ol' fashioned fatherly slap to their shoulder while he praises them.

He treasures his children, and even if he doesn't put much effort into parenting them, you taking over most of it, he's definitely a present figure in their lives.

• Toji •

Went to get milk, hasn't been seen since.

[tender-rosiey]

“OH GOD! IT’S WALKING?!”

— baby’s first steps with gojo, nanami, geto, and sukuna (f!reader)

GOJO SATORU:

your daughter simply adores her father, and she is almost as energetic as him. you recall multiple times when he would pick her up smiling, and she would hold his face giggling and smiling just as much.

it’s such a cute scene, and you have at least 6 similar photos.

so yeah, it doesn’t surprise you that she keeps looking at the door, waiting for him to come back from his mission.

you’re both sitting on the ground, a little distance from the door. you lightly tickle her, “you wanna see dada?”

she looks up to you then looks to the door and murmurs, “dada.”

“he will be here soon; I promise,” you press a kiss to her cheek, and she squeals. soon, the door clicks and it slowly opens to reveal your dear husband who’s holding what you think are bags of sweets, toys, and souvenirs.

“the world’s best dad and husband is here!” he announces brightly. quickly, you get your phone out to record yet another cute moment between your daughter and your husband.

however, neither you nor your husband expected your little girl to stand up excitedly and try to waddle her way to her dad.

“dada! dada!” she says as she hurriedly stumbles and waddles her way to him.

satoru kneels down on the ground, opening his arms widely as he grins, “yes, dada! come to dada, baby!”

successfully, the girl stumbles into satoru’s arms and giggles as he peppers her face with kisses.

he looks up to you with a pout, shifting d/n into one arm, “excuse me, but I would like my two favorite girls to be in my arms, right now!”

you chuckle and settle into his embrace and he presses a kiss to the top of her head and your own.

d/n gives him a kiss—more like simply put her mouth on his cheek—and nuzzles into his chest. satoru grins before looking at you, “she is so cute!”

you quip with a big smile, “I got that on video!”

“you and your gorgeous mind,” he hums as he kisses your cheek.

NANAMI KENTO:

“kento, you’re going to grow grey hair early like this.”

honestly, you can’t blame him for worrying like this. you were finally going on vacation, so your husband wanted everything to be organized.

the last thing he needs is a headache after he finally got rid of the walking one (read: gojo).

he sits down, sighing, “I know; I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

you chuckle, and settle down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “don’t worry,” you say, “we checked everything over a million times. nothing will go wrong.”

nanami smiles tiredly before pulling you into a gentle kiss, “well, I guess you’re right,” he looks around for a moment, “where is d/n?”

“she is playing with her toys on the mat; why?”

“she is not on the mat.”

“she is not on the what?!” you yell, bolting out of your seat and frantically searching for her, “d/n, honey, where are you?!”

“y/n, calm down!” your husband tries to comfort you, “she is still in the house, so don’t stress about it; we will find her.”

as if on cue, a giggle and a coo are heard behind nanami. he turns to find the culprit, his 10 months old girl grinning. she squeals and tries to walk towards him, hands eagerly reaching out for him.

she is stumbling a bit, and her steps are clumsy, and nanami couldn’t have been prouder.

he smiles fondly, “good girl, d/n,” he opens his arms, encouraging, “you can do it.”

she flails her arms as she giggles, “da-dada!”

d/n finally reaches his leg and holds onto it for dear life. she starts swaying as she looks up at him, “dada!” he bends down to kiss the top of her head.

she hums happily, before waddling towards you, worried, “mama?”

you breathe a sigh of relief and hold her in your arms, “you got me worried, baby,” you stroke her hair and she nuzzles into your embrace, little hands gripping your shirt tightly.

nanami lets out a chuckle as he watches your daughter starts to fall asleep in your arms.

he moves to hug you two, and hums with content, “and you say that I am the worrywart.”

GETO SUGURU:

“y/n, what makes you so sure that they will start walking soon?” your husband says as he watches his two little girls play in the garden.

he already had nanako and mimiko, but god chose to grace him with his own pair of twins.

he couldn’t be happier, especially with way the twins both care for each other and beam whenever they see him.

he also adores seeing them play with you; it brings a type of serenity to his heart.

you chuckle, “call it a mother’s instincts.”

suguru rolls his eyes and pulls you by the waist, “you showing off, pretty?”

“nope! just asserting dominance.”

with a roll of his eyes, he gives you a peck on the nose. the both of you then settle down on the grass as well, quietly watching the girls try to chase—wait what chase?

suguru and you lock eyes, and he quickly scrambles to get the camera. meanwhile, you’re trying to encourage the girls to continue their walking, “who’s winning, girls?”

each one of the stumbling babies yells out a—supposedly—‘me!’. they‘re both squealing as they walk around.

soon enough, suguru makes an appearance and starts recording, “I am gonna get you!”

the girls squeal and try their best to run away from the big bad monster.

the very cute thing that even has suguru pausing in his chase is that when one of them falls, the other waits for her or tries to help her up.

of course, the latter mostly results in both of them falling on their small little bums. luckily, they clumsily stand up instead of crying their eyes out.

they get tired eventually though, so they waddle their way to you. both of them sit beside you and rest their heads on your lap.

suguru stands in front of you, hands on his hips, “you leaving me out of this group cuddle?”

your twins perk up and turn their heads to peak at him and they giggle when he pouts. still, they open their little arms for their dad to join the family hug, “dada! hug!”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your husband is not exactly the most enthusiastic father.

he wasn’t that affected by your son’s first word being dada, and a lot of things that you can’t be bothered to think about.

so yeah, you’re left with the role to be the encouraging parent, and to hype your son whenever he accomplishes something.

so obviously, your son adores you more than he does his father. however, there is no denying that sukuna’s genes are indeed strong.

despite the kid’s beaming smile, he could be choking a snake. it actually reminds you of that one hercules scene.

your son also has a quicker development than most kids, but it doesn’t lessen the excitement when he finally took his first steps.

you held onto sukuna’s arms, pointing at your boy, “sukuna, look, he is walking!”

“so?”

you pause then look at your husband, “what do you mean ‘so’?” you grin, “they’re his first steps, you silly goose!”

sukuna frowns, “I am not a silly goose,” he then rolls his eyes, “he was going to start walking sooner or later anyway, woman.”

you huff, “you’re no fun.”

however, you don’t get to dwell on it for much longer as you hear the scream of one of the servants. you and your husband are looking towards them, and—suffice to say—it’s a memorable scene.

your son, who just started walking, is somehow holding a wooden pickaxe and waddling his way behind the servant.

he is grinning and squealing too like he isn’t about to beat up an innocent person (it reminds you of something or rather someone).

the servant is surprisingly terrified form the kid as she screams, “my lady, please save me!”

you have no idea how a grown woman is terrified of a one year old, but you will give her the benefit of the doubt that he is, after all, the son of the king of curses.

you sigh with a chuckle and walk towards them, “on my way.”

the kid squeals, waddling quicker after the servant who’s about to shit her pants.

meanwhile, sukuna is smirking proudly as he watches his son, “now, that’s my kid.”

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[lev1hei1chou]

Little Snitch

Dad!Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Words: 444 Synopsis: Gojo's son is a snitch Masterlist

Gojo Satoru strode into the preschool, his white hair practically glowing against the backdrop of the brightly colored walls. His usual confident grin was plastered on his face as he approached the reception desk to sign in for his son.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gojo," greeted the receptionist with a warm smile.

"Hey there! Here to pick up S/N," Gojo replied cheerfully, signing the necessary paperwork before making his way to the classroom.

As he stepped into the room, he immediately spotted his son playing with blocks in the corner. The little boy's eyes lit up at the sight of his father and he ran over, wrapping his tiny arms around Gojo's legs.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.

"Hey, champ! Ready to go home?" Gojo asked, ruffling S/N's hair affectionately.

"Yeah!" the younger boy nodded eagerly, taking his father's hand as they made their way out of the classroom.

As they walked through the hallway, a young teacher approached them with a friendly smile. "Hello, Mr. Gojo. I couldn't help but notice how adorable S/N is. You must be so proud."

Gojo's grin widened, his charisma oozing effortlessly. "Oh, definitely. He takes after his father, afterall."

The young teacher blushed slightly at his words, her gaze lingering on Gojo for a moment longer than necessary. "Well, if you ever need any help with S/N, or anything else for that matter, please don't hesitate to ask."

Gojo chuckled softly, giving her a charming wink. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

As they exited the preschool and headed home, his son chatted animatedly about his day making expressive gestures with his hands, oblivious to the brief exchange between his father and the teacher.

Once they were home, the little one burst through the door and ran straight to where his mother was waiting in the living room.

"Mama! Mama!" he exclaimed, tugging on her sleeve.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you asked, smiling down at him.

"Daddy talked to a pretty lady at school today!" he announced excitedly.

You raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in your eyes as you turned to Gojo, who entered the room with a sheepish grin.

"Is that so?" you teased, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yeah, but don't worry, I shut her down real quick," Gojo said with a wink, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You laughed, shaking your head in mock disapproval. "Well, it looks like I'll have to start picking him up from school from now on. Can't have you causing trouble with the teachers."

Gojo chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Sounds like a plan, babe."