#different stages of life au

[shatteredsilverwing]

Different Stages of Life AU - Sephiroth vs. Genesis

Words: 1,369 Characters: 7,523

It has been two months since Sephiroth and Angel had their first day at school and joined the 1st grade. Even better, they both visited the same class! And Sephiroth and Angel also managed to persuade their teacher to let them sit next to each other, which was the icing on the cake. But… Though they’re the best of friends and care deeply for each other, they were different as day and night. While Angel never had any trouble socialising with other people due to her outgoing and bold demeanour, Sephiroth was the exact opposite of it: shy, reclusive and always had difficulties expressing himself.

Angel was his safe haven when he needed a break from interacting with others or when he got bullied back in kindergarten. She was his refuge he could always return to whenever he felt his emotions and surroundings becoming too much to bear. Not that she wasn’t anymore, but a new chapter of life also meant meeting a lot of new people and potential friends. A blessing for Angel, a nuisance for Sephiroth. And one of those nuisances in particular had a name: Genesis. Genesis was about 3 months younger than Angel and Sephiroth and quite a feisty boy with a demanding personality which made him stand out from the crowd. Whenever there was a fight, you could be damn sure that he was involved. Whenever you heard a child rebelling against a person of authority, it was Genesis.

Usually, Sephiroth would ignore him since they didn’t have any points of contact to begin with. Yet there was one big problem: He and Angel instantly became good friends. So naturally, she and Genesis spent a lot of time with each other, much to Sephiroth’s dismay. No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out what she liked about him. He was loud, an obnoxious brat, reckless and, not to mention, impudent. One day when they were on recess, Sephiroth planned on spending time with Angel outside to which she happily agreed. They chose to play skip, which was one of their favourite games to play. A few minutes later, Genesis came running towards them. Or, running to Angel, rather; completely ignoring Sephiroth. “Hey, Angel! Do you want to play tag with me? You still owe me a rematch y’know!”, he shouted at her. But not because he was angry. He was such a full bundle of energy that he didn’t know where to go with it. “I know that I do! But I’m already playing skip with Sephiroth so… You will have to keep waiting~” Genesis looked at Sephiroth, who tried his best to keep his facial expression as neutral as possible. He didn’t want him to know that he was a nuisance to him. Genesis however didn’t even make the effort to hide his sneer. “Playing skip, huh? I can see why YOU are playing it, Angel, but I can’t see why he should play it. That’s only for girls~” Sephiroth blushed slightly in embarrassment and quickly looked away from him and over to Angel. She noticed his embarrassment and immediately hit back at Genesis in his stead. “Maybe. But Sephiroth is very skilled at it! Even better than me, not to mention you. You could never beat him~”

If there was one thing Genesis couldn’t stand, it was someone who was better than him. It didn’t even matter in what regard, he just hated to come second place, so it wasn’t a surprise that he fell for Angel’s deliberate provocation.

“I can beat him easily. It’s not that tricky”, he talked back as he nonchalantly walked towards Sephiroth and came dangerously close to him, which made him antsy on the spot, “you want me to prove it?” “Leave him alone, Genesis! He doesn’t have to prove anything to you!”, Angel tried to step in, but that only resulted in a more spiteful grin from the addressed person.

“So he’s a chicken! Too scared that you will hurt yourself? Or are you too scared to lose against me?” Sephiroth decided that enough was enough. He gathered all his courage and glared back at the smirking boy. Angel got a little scared to see her dear friend looking at someone like that… She didn’t like it one bit.

“You’ll be sorry once I’m done with you.”

Angel and Genesis both were so flabbergasted by his unexpectedly blunt reply that none of them held him back when he tied one end of the skipping rope onto the metal pole that was connected to a basketball hoop. Once he made sure that the skipping rope was firmly tied around it, he turned to Angel and gave her the other end of the rope. “You don’t have to prove anything to him, Sephy… Just let him talk”, she told him while she grabbed the rope carefully, looking at him with genuine concern.

She’s never seen him like this before and it frightened her. Normally, Sephiroth would just take her hand and skedaddle with her somewhere else so they can mind their own business. Yet something was different this time… He came across as cold as ice and it made Angel literally shiver.

“You want me to prove it?”, Sephiroth spat at Genesis, “sure. But since you asked so nicely, you can go first.”

With a self confident smirk, Genesis gladly stepped forward to position himself next to the rope, ready to skip. Angel slowly counted to 3 and then started to swing the rope. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… After the 10th jump, Genesis tripped and fell onto the ground. “I got 10 jumps! Bet you can’t beat that!”, he yelled proudly and walked over to Sephiroth, who seemed completely unimpressed by his accomplishment.

Instead of making the effort to reply, Sephiroth simply walked over to the rope and positioned himself. He gave Angel a nod to signify that he’s ready to skip. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5…

Sephiroth beat Genesis’ record with ease, managing to reach 25 jumps in total.

Not only Angel was impressed by his record, but Genesis as well which made him furious. The fact that he also had a big mouth before made his embarrassment even worse. Sephiroth stepped over to him and simply shrugged. “The next time you want to beat me, pick a challenge where you actually can.”

And with those words, he left Genesis flat and took Angel’s hand to escape from the scenery to finally spend some time with her alone. While they were taking a stroll through the recess yard, they didn’t let go of each other's hands. None of them said a word and simply enjoyed each other’s presence, until Angel spoke up. “Sephy…”, she sheepishly called out his name, “your record at skipping was amazing, but… You really didn’t have to prove yourself to him. To anyone…”

“I just didn’t like it when he called me a chicken in front of you…” he admitted hesitantly with a slight blush on his face, “b-besides, I can’t stand how he’s riding the high horse all the time! He’s so conceited!”

His remark about Genesis made Angel burst out in laughter. As a result, she gained a baffled gaze from Sephiroth. “So you felt embarrassed because he called you chicken? You don’t have to, because I know that you’re not. Actually… You were pretty brave and cool when you challenged him and won…” Her compliment made him feel overjoyed and also a little proud. He smiled bashfully at her and stepped closer to her, taking her other hand into his gently. “I was only brave because you always were. I think you’re rubbing off on me.” Angel’s face lit up in sheer happiness when he told her that, making her all giddy with excitement. So much, in fact, that she gave him a small smoochie on his cheek. With a pounding heart, he was just about to return her sweet gesture, yet the school bell upset his plan to do so.

“Awww, now we have to go back to class… We haven’t had the time to play together now…”, Angel sulked while she looked at Sephiroth.

“Don’t worry, we’ll just play together next break time!”

[totalswagisland]

design of ~middle school age bridgette. her fashion style can only be described as "tropical adam sandler"

[puppetmaster13u]

Y'know how they canonically don't know if Jason or Cass is technically older than the other? What if

Possessed doll AU belongs to @phoenixcatch7 so go check them out <3

[bonefall]

do the starclan angels get to taste the culinary evolutions their descendants cook up? do they ever watch their great grandkids salting something and think "damn that looks agreeable"

Sadly there are downsides to being dead. They can still eat and cook the prey in StarClan offerings, but they can't taste of the mortal plane any longer.

There is ONE exception. Sacrificial offerings can be tasted. Tasting these offerings as a spirit can sometimes have... unintended effects.

Nothing magical, but suddenly, it hits you again that the afterlife isn't the same as being alive. There's flavors you haven't experienced in years. Mass returns to your lips and paws. You realize that you aren't breathing, and for a twinge of a second, your chest surges with the warmth of a beating heart.

Angels who died young are usually alarmed and unsettled by eating such offerings, and won't partake more than once. To others it's a comfort. Many cry after their first experience, so perhaps, unknowingly for the living, it's why it's so common to make food sacrifices during droughts.

[honeybard]

what if I drew my pokemon aus instead of just thinking about them (wip... in varying levels of quality lol)

[biillys]

uhhh yo i'm thinkin about. tommy and eddie not Getting each other but Dealing with each other becos of billy. but then somehow without even realising, they actually become pals too. hashtag billy's impact.

then ofc billy + eddie + tommy bestie-ism. becos i want it.

anyway. rewind becos we need to talk about billy + tommy and billy + eddie first before we slap tommy + eddie together

billy initially hating tommy when he first rolled into town, thinking he was kind of pathetic for how he was acting about harrington ditching him, and thinking he was just genuinely like. trying too fucking hard. trying to hard to be liked, to get attention, to get his fucking peers approval. billy already knew. high school didn't fucking matter. other kids approval and opinions didn't mean shit. everyone was fake as fuck. he just had to make it ‘til graduation, then he'd be fucking gone.

but then. he somehow ends up getting roped into joining tommy and his family for dinner one night, becos he's unable to say no to tommy's mom who asked him, and suddenly, he's seeing tommy in a whole new light.

he didn't know that tommy had a fucking baseball teams worth of siblings, and was the 3rd eldest. he watches as tommy cuts up his baby sisters dinner, pulling faces at his little brother next to her the entire time to make him laugh. listens as the entire table actually talks and interacts with each other, how his twin little sisters ask about when carol's coming over next, and how his mom cuts in and asks if carol's appointment went okay the other day and if she was feeling better. watches as him and his older brother clear the table without even being asked, their mom moving to start bath time for the kids under six. can't remember the last time he sat at a dinner table with an entire family and felt warm. like what dinner's look like they feel like in the movies.

after, when he's walking down the hallway to tommy's room, he sees all the pictures of him and harrington. they're all over the the wall, some not even having tommy in them, just steve and other members of the family cheesing at the camera from basically fucking diapers all the way up til last year. that's when he realises. tommy and steve weren't just school friends. steve was fucking family. and he left. over a fucking girl.

suddenly, billy gets it. he fucking Gets it. gets what it's like to have a family member walk out, with little to no explanation or reason, or for the worst fucking reason of all. to have everyone in the world expect you to just be fucking okay with it, like your entire world hasn't just changed, like you aren't eating dinner with one less plate setting now, like birthdays aren't suddenly forevermore gonna be one person short. he fucking gets it.

tommy looks embarrassed, though, when he catches billy eyeing the pictures, the red so obvious on his cheeks, and it feels like this is the first time billy's seen him without the act he puts on at school. billy just gives him a slight nod, then walks past the bathroom and flirts with his mom, feeling good about the way tommy groans behind him.

billy makes more of an effort after that, and tommy stops trying so hard.

maybe one night, after a slightly wild party at some cheerleader's house, him and tommy split to get some food from benny's, walking the whole way cos they're both not in any condition to drive, and tommy ends up spilling the details of what actually happened between him and steve. not just the shit that's been spreading around school, either. the real shit.

billy listens, still slightly drunk and definitely fucking high, and ends up vaguely mentioning his mom. he cuts himself off quickly though, cos even when he's wasted he knows not to expose himself like that. but tommy looks at him, and he nods, and he moves the conversation along.

they get close, after that.

they don't cling to each other at school, with tommy usually floating between anyone and everyone, carol leading the way, and billy only gracing the basketball table with his presence maybe once a week, the other days ditching to his car or hiding out under bleachers becos he’s sick and tired of people, but out of school, they're a bit more attached. 

tommy's mom loves billy, and apparently, so do his siblings. well–the younger ones do, at least. the teens and the two older two seem unfazed by him at best, and wary of him at worst. that's probably fair though, considering his reputation. 

it takes less than a month for billy to clock the fact that tommy doesn’t seem to “get” music. tommy says he considers it something you put on in the background while you do shit, just to have some noise, and billy pulls the car over immediately and gives him a wild look. he pulls out a mixed cd from the glovebox that has a decent chunk of his favourite songs, and when tommy says he's never heard a single one, billy loses his fucking mind for fifteen minutes straight before promising him that before the years out, tommy will understand music. 

tommy just agrees, having learnt early on that billy's gonna billy, and he's expressive and passionate about so fucking little, so seeing him get so worked up about something tommy considers so small is like. kind of fucking adorable. he sits there and listens as billy explains the difference between one band and the next and thinks–he's never actually heard billy sound so genuinely happy to be talking about something before, like his love for it is roots deep.

and then–there's eddie. 

he fucking hates billy on principal alone, at first. heard the talk and rumours about him from day one, his name even being whispered about by hellfire members, and instantly judged and stereotyped the fuck out of him. knows it's pretty pot, kettle–the whole hating each other becos stereotypes etc but like. no way this new california basketball guy isn't gonna tear eddie to shreds. there's no way.

so, he doesn't wait to see how billy treats him, just expects that he's gonna fuck with him the same way all the other assholes do, and writes him off as a waste of time, just like all the other jocks are.

gets the surprise of his life when billy not only acknowledges him publicly at a party, but also knows him by name and talks to him at school. usually, his crowd treats him like his social status is contagious, and keeps any interaction to a quick and private arrangement. except then he's walking down the corridor at school and his name is being yelled across the hall, and suddenly billy hargrove's standing in front of him, a kind of terrifying look on his face.

eddie rolls with it though, figures his buddies will catch him up to speed and explain the rules that keep things flowing around here, and billy'll never speak to him again.

that's not what happens, though. what happens is one of jason's dipshit besties throws an arm over billy's shoulder and laughs, calls eddie a freak like it's the funniest and most original insult to ever exist, and tells billy that they don't actually have to talk to him, that they can get anything they want from samson's older brother who's back from college.

billy shrugs the guy off, "you mean that shit that you were sharing around at patrick's last week? yeah, fuck that. at least munson's shit is good."

eddie watches the scene unfold with slight interest, but writes billy off again when he walks away with the crowd, having gotten the information he needed.

charges him double and a half when billy eventually tracks him down behind the school, and billy gives him a flat look but still hands over the money.

"that the standard price, or you just being a little bitch about it?"

"whatever you wanna tell yourself, short guy."

billy rolls his eyes, but takes the baggie eddie hands him and walks away, flipping him the bird over his shoulder as he goes.

eddie watches him leave and shakes his head. thinks, at least that'll be the last of it.

feels his eyes widen slightly the next week when billy rocks up again, money already in hand.

"price has actually went up this week, sorry man. must've forgot to send you the newsletter," eddie shrugs, walking straight past him and dumping his bag on the table.

"fuckin–seriously? you seriously pulling this shit?"

eddie gets his little tin lunch box out of his bag, not even sparing him a glance.

"supply and demand, gotta make a buck, you know how it is," eddie shrugs again and waits to hear billy's footsteps walk away. that doesn't happen. instead, he hears billy take a deep breath, mutter a fucksake under his breath, then hears his footsteps approach.

"well, how much is it this week, then?"

eddie looks at him over his shoulder, then turns around fully, a slow grin growing on his face. "how much you got?"

watches the flash of anger and frustration cross over billy's face before he seems to reign himself in.

"just–just give me my fucking shit, munson, i swear to god."

eddie just watches him and waits, letting him sweat a bit, before grinning at him, all teeth, then turns back around.

he grabs some things from his little stash then slaps three baggies in billy's hand.

billy clenches his fist around it, before taking another calming breath, then nods.

"how much?"

"same as last week."

billy gives him a look, and eddie snorts.

"supply and demand," he shrugs again, twirling his hair.

billy huffs, slapping the money down on the table.

eddie winks at him.

billy becomes a pretty regular customer after that, even though he looks at eddie like he thinks he’s batshit crazy most days. doesn't stop him from asking for his phone number though, complaining that sneaking notes in lockers is fucking corny. 

next thing eddie knows, billy’s rocking up at his trailer and banging on his door, inviting himself in. eddie would like to pretend to give more of a fuck, but honestly, billy isn't actually that bad. and uncle wayne fucking loves him for some reason.

billy clocks his guitar on his second visit, and sniffs out his fucking heart wide crush on chrissy cunningham on the fourth, and eddie never knows peace affer that. 

it’s a bright as fuck day when billy finally figures out a way to merge his two worlds and get both eddie and tommy into the same place at the same time, and it happens purely by his own intervention.

billy's driving tommy home when eddie’s van mysteriously breaks down, and he calls for a lift. billy eyes his glovebox, where he’s stashed a small but important part of eddies engine, and thinks hell fuckin’ yeah your van’s broke down.

he smirks into his phone as he listens to eddie stress, quickly checking on his passenger as he thinks about the way eddie’s face always screws up whenever he mentions him, and how tommy always looks downright uncomfortable every time he mentions spending time at munson’s trailer. 

but. here's the thing. he doesn't give a fuck. what he does give a fuck about is splitting his time between the two, like a fucking child of divorce, when he could simply just hang out with them both at once, them all chilling together. of course, that involes playing matchmaker. or just like. force them into getting stockholm syndrome about each other or some shit. but whatever. as long as something works. he’s not picky.

he flips his turn signal on and does a u-turn, shrugging when tommy asks where they’re going.

when he pulls up behind eddie’s van, tommy’s face does something complicated, and billy holds back a snort. he gives tommy one last sideway glance before climbing out and going to find eddie.

“what’s the damage?” he calls out, walking up to the front.

“fuck if i know, man. i look after her the best i can, but she’s old as shit and high maintenance, and i’m fucking broke,” eddie says from the front seat where he’s been waiting, looking at billy like maybe he’ll know the answer.

“just leave it. i’ll come back later and have a look. got a passenger though, so. we gotta go,” billy waves his hand dismissively before nodding his head towards his car.

“oh shit, little red’s here?” eddie asks, hopping out and walking alongside him.

billy snorts. “worse.”

eddie opens the back passenger door and ducks down to look before standing straight back up. 

“tell me you’re joking,” he says, sounding fucking pained.

billy laughs. “get in the fucking car, freak.”

it’s the most awkward and uncomfortable drive he’s had since he got his own car, and he spends most of the time trying to make fucking conversation with them both only for them to give him stilted and one word answers back.

“holy fuck,” billy breaks, pulling up in front of tommy’s house. he locks the car doors before anyone can split and turns in his seat. “what���s the big deal between you two? it can’t be that fucking bad. you’re both like–harmless. fucking bitchy, and definitely petty, and both fucking dramatic, but like. harmless. what’s the beef?”

tommy stays silent, making sure to look anywhere but them, while eddie leans forward to look between them. he looks from billy, to tommy, then back to billy.

“just–history,” eddie sighs, giving tommy a look.

billy stares blankly between them both. “history,” he deadpans back.

“well, we have went to school together for most of our lives, even been in most of the same classes in high school,” eddie reasons, sounding offended that billy’s not getting it.

“boo hoo, he stole your lunch money,” billy bitches back, giving eddie a bewildered look, “move past it. you’re like, 20, dude.”

eddie gives him an incredulous look right back, and billy shrugs, unlocking the car doors. tommy bolts.

“christ, man. you don’t get it,” eddie starts after he’s jumped in the front seat and they’ve started to drive away, “you haven't been at the bottom of the food chain.”

billy raises an eyebrow at him, ‘cause like fuck has he never been at the bottom of the food chain, and eddie fucking knows that. billy’s turned up at his trailer enough times now after a run in with his dad for eddie to have put the pieces together.

“that’s fucking different, don’t even try to compare,” eddie shoots back instantly, throwing his arms out.

“yeah, ‘cause one’s fucking high school bullshit, and one’s my fucking homelife. like, dude. come on, seriously? he bullied you? i fucking bully you.”

“yeah but you bully me because you want to fuck me, he bullied me for like–fucking everything. living in a trailer, hellfire club,” he starts listing, “my parents and all that bullshit–my fucking band–”

“yeah, and i tried to fuck your uncle last week,” billy cuts him off, sitting there and giving him a blank look. 

eddie looks scandalised before a smile starts to crack, a slight laugh coming out. “you are such a fucking asshole.”

billy laughs right back, making an illegal turn and flooring it, “fuck you, i’m your hottest fucking customer. now, let’s go fix your fucking van.”

“tommy ain’t that bad,” billy tries again as he puts eddies van back into working condition, pulling the piece he took out earlier from his jacket and putting it back in the engine, eddie none the wiser sitting in the driver's seat.

eddie raises his eyebrows at him when he pops up to look at him over the hood, “uh huh. sure. tommy hagen’s got a heart of gold.”

billy rolls his eyes then bends back over, fixing up the last few things before slamming the hood shut.

“seriously. he’s like, chill, once you get to know him. he pissed me off too when i first met him. then, i actually gave him the time of day, and now–” billy shrugs, wiping his hands and smearing some grease around, then walking around to eddie’s door.

“why the hell do you care so much–what? you want us to all share friendship bracelets? want us to jam together?” eddie questions, looking at billy through his rolled down window.

billy lets out a deep breath. “‘cause. we’re almost graduated, we’re basically fucking adults, and i don't want to spend my fucking summer having to divide my days going between you both because you guys can’t get over shit from middle school. we were all fuckin’ pricks when we were twelve. luckily, you two both grew out of it, but i sure as shit didn't. so, either learn to get along, or i’ll make you fucking get along.”

billy pulls out a pack of smokes, gets one out, gives eddie a salute, then lights up and walks away.

billy’s words bounce around in his head the following days, and when billy tells him to meet him at his car after school three days later and he rocks up to tommy and carol fucking perkins sitting in the back seat, eddie stops for a minute before standing tall, then throws himself into the front passenger seat.

billy smiles his most angelic smile at him, and when eddie turns around, tommy won’t meet his eye. carol smirks at him and pops her bubblegum. “‘sup, eddie.”

eddie didn't even know she knew his name. he lifts his hand in a weird little wave before turning back around and facing the road. “fuck you,” he mutters under his breath, sinking down in his seat.

billy laughs and drops his hand to rest on eddie’s knee, squeezing it. “we’re gonna have fun, baby,” he mumbles back.

after a few blocks, billy pulls up to benny’s diner and cuts the engine.

“you said ‘meet me at my car, it’s important’,” eddie deadpans, looking around the busy carpark in the peak of the after school rush, tommy and carol already getting out.

“yeah,” billy deadpans right back, eyes looking fucking gleeful, “after school milkshakes. most important part of the day.”

“you’re lactose intolerant,” eddie breathes out disbelievingly as they both reach for their car doors.

“i know,” billy grins, pushing his door open and stepping out, then turning around and leaning in, “now let’s go, hot stuff.”

and maybe one day i'll finish this. oops.

[cluescorner]

Randomized Robins AU - Ages + Worst Trait Exercise:

Steph (25):

Says her worst trait is her murderous rages (she is exaggerating for dramatic/comedic effect, she’s killed 3 people tops and for very good reason)

Thinks her worst trait is her spitefulness (one of the few traits she definitely got from her father + one that prevents her from fixing her relationships and living her best possible life. She’ll refuse to interact with someone she dearly loves after an argument (happens significantly less after Tim’s death) or will say things she knows are hurtful just for the sake of having the last word. This trait will worsen in some ways as the list of people who have wronged her and those she loves grows, but will also ease up as she matures and realizes the harm it’s doing to her relationships with those she loves most.)

Her worst trait really is her spitefulness

Cass (26)

Says her worst trait is her self-righteousness (she believes that her goals are righteous and, as a result, she is righteous. Cass becomes very defensive whenever someone questions the mission and often does not second-guess herself. This is a trait she only develops later in life as she grows closer to Bruce/learns to understand herself more/starts to love herself more. But she knows she isn’t perfect and when somebody she trusts criticizes something she is doing she is willing to listen. She just usually isn’t the one to START the introspection.) 

Thinks her worst trait is her self-righteousness. 

Her worst trait actually is her obsessiveness (she gets it from Bruce and, while not as bad as him, she will easily become preoccupied with her night-life and the mission if someone isn’t there to pull her back. She will do this to the point of self-destruction and it hurts her relationships with the people she loves, especially Steph.)

Tim (24)

Says his worst trait is his spitefulness (he actively rejects the idea of mending his relationships with the older members of the family and this causes him to also lack good relationships with the younger ones)

Thinks his worst trait is his obsessiveness (similar to Cass, if he gets fixated on a task or idea he will neglect everything else in his life in order to dedicate more time to it. Unlike Cass, he will almost never be dragged away from it unless Pierrot snatches control of the body and forces them to take care of themself.)

His worst trait actually is how manipulative he is (the KING of guilt-tripping and using people’s emotions against them. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to get what he wants, he’s not above crocodile tears. And he will do it to whoever he needs (or wants) to with little care for how his actions impact others.)

Pierrot (Insists: “Age doesn’t apply to me! And even if it did, I'd probably be the oldest. Or the youngest! I’d never be a middle child, though.” Mental assessments by the Bats have put him around 21, with a margin of error of 3 years. Pierrot has called this “blatant character assassination by my eternal rival!”)

Says his worst trait is that he is an irredeemable psychopath without any regard for the wellbeing of others (this is a lie and everyone who's important to him understands this). 

Thinks his worst trait is his parasitic nature (he literally would not exist had Tim not suffered the way he did. Plus he is a living reminder of one of the worst things that happened to many of his loved ones. He is a parasite injected into a functional person's body and contributes to his continued suffering. This is also a largely incorrect judgement of himself, caused by his actual worst trait.)

His worst trait actually is his limited sense of self (he doesn’t really know who he is outside of ‘inheritor to the legacy of the Joker (a man he despises yet also views as a father)’ and ‘chip in Tim’s brain that became sentient’. He slowly develops an identity over the course of his life and relationships with other people, but he lacks the foundations of identity that most people have. Pierrot will often almost become a caricature of himself and what others perceive him to be because it's the only person he knows how to be. This causes wild swings in how he behaves and relates to others, sometimes to the detriment of himself and others.)

Dick (17) 

Says his worst trait is his clinginess (he is a very extraverted person who likes to be around others, which mixed with his fear of abandonment after his parents died means that if he goes a few days without seeing/talking to a friend he will get very anxious.)

Thinks his worst trait is his anger issues (he gets ticked off very easily and will explode on people. He’s kind at his core and is usually very nice, but he has a temper that can escalate significantly. Spoiler (and later Twist) help him channel this anger into something positive.)

His worst trait actually is his anger issues.

Barbara (18)

Says her worst trait is her disability (internalized ableism, she thinks of herself as less valuable than the other Bats because she cannot be out there in the capes like they can. She will grow out of this as she matures and as she learns how invaluable her support for the team is.)  

Thinks her worst trait is her disability 

Her worst trait actually is her overly-independent nature (In an attempt to overcompensate for everything she can no longer do, she has resolved to do literally everything that she possibly can without any help from others. This results in many instances where she either takes on too much and winds up not being able to fully realize any of her tasks or where she makes her life and the lives of others significantly harder by refusing help when offered/not asking for it when she needs it.)

Damian (16)

Says his worst trait is his perfectionism (he is overly critical of both himself and others, taking any flaw or problem and amplifying it to an absurd degree. This is due in part to his life with the LoA (where even a brief misstep could lead to death), in part to how others treated him initially as Spoiler (any flaw was fixated on and used as a reason to either mistrust him or portray him as unworthy of the mantle), and in part due to the fact that he is Bruce’s son (the only person with worse perfectionism problems than Damian). Gradually, Damian has improved in this regard but it’s still a massive barrier to both his own happiness and his relationships with others.)

Thinks his worst trait is his perfectionism 

His worst trait actually is his perfectionism

Duke (16)

Says his worst trait is his definitely-real secret evil side (says this as a ‘my dad is a villain so who knows??’ joke)

Thinks his worst trait is his impulsivity in his words (Sometimes he will crack a joke or say a remark without thinking it through, leading to a LOT of hurt feelings and drama. He’ll say something without thinking it through and wind up seeming insensitive. This isn’t done because of malice, rather because Duke is someone who’s quick to act and speak. But while the mantle of Insight and his awakening powers have helped him with his actions, they do not always help with his loose tongue. As such, Duke gains an unfair reputation in the media as an instigator and will accidentally cause family drama through what he says.)

His worst trait actually is his impulsivity in his words

Jason (14)

Says his worst trait is his bad manners (he grew up on the streets and has no idea how rich-people society works, which he’s pretty insecure about considering he’s now the youngest kid of Bruce freaking Wayne). 

Thinks his worst trait is his reactiveness (Jason never got the privilege of planning ahead for various events in his life, so he instead needed to rely on being swift and harsh in how he could react to situations. It’s saved his life on multiple occasions and helps significantly in his role as Spoiler, but it can also lead to extreme overreactions (accidentally causing kidnapping scare after Jason ran away following a fight with Dick) and a struggle to plan things out ahead of time. As he grows more secure in his place in the family and in life, this trait will lessen but never fully dissipate.)

His worst trait actually is his reactiveness

[fitzrove]

Ok so I'm not 100% sure of this because the claim seems to come from known bad book (twilight of the empire) and this information is not stated in sources from before that (at least that i could find on a cursory search) but. Idk there's the whole thing about Rudolf shooting Mary (according to her wishes) and then apparently just sitting there for five or six hours. Like what was going through his mind. sexy fanfic idea

(Tw: discussion of suicide in the tags)

[kneworder]

i have all these draft documents of half finished fics full of lines i love but that are so fundamentally flawed i can't figure out how to finish them and can't kill my darlings mercilessly enough to get past the roadblocks so i just reread them over and over and think damn this is kinda fire. wish it was anywhere near shareable.

[lexa-griffins]

So does Lexa get pregnant in your Drabble? I feel like the pill wouldn’t have done anything after that happening!

I mean, that's true 😂 but Lexa has just entered her slutty phase after college so she is very well protected because Lexa is a girls' girly and she was ready to fuck just every damn woman 😅

There will be a surprise pregnancy, but it's gonna take them about two years to get there! To be fair,Clarke and Niylah had spent so much time trying for Madi that Clarke almost forgot babies could be made in just one forgetful night 😂

[kurthorton-moving]

this isnt an au ive talked ab on the dash much its mostly been written on discord but i am thinking heavily about the au where kurt spends his entire teenage years kidnapped and finally escapes a little while after he turned eighteen and the way he has to adjust to the shift in his life from being hostage and conditioned into the lifestyle he lived vs freedom and rediscovering the world and more importantly rediscovering himself

[shatteredsilverwing]

Different Stages of Life AU - First Sleepover Pt. 1

It's the very first time that Angel stayed at Sephiroth's place for a sleepover. Of course, he's very nervous about it, but also happy in a way? But first, let's see how it all came to be. And I kind of have a hunch whose idea it was~ Words: 1,138 words Characters: 6,248 characters

Sephiroth found himself in a distressful situation and Mother Jenova couldn't help herself to feel joyous about it. The reason for that was, once again, Angel, who happened to catch him unawares at the kindergarten the other day.

Every Monday, the children got the opportunity to freely share their adventures of their weekends in their respective morning circle. Angel chose to tell everyone about how much fun she had spending her weekend alone with her grandmother. They had gone on an excursion at the local zoo and her stepfather even permitted her to take her camera with her to take pictures of the animals. Later that day when she was playing house with two of her friends, she had the marvellous idea to spend another weekend with someone she liked. Despite the fact that she was technically every child’s best friend, she would gladly choose one significant boy anytime above everyone else: Sephiroth. He was in the habit of making himself scarce, which made it hard for other children to find him. However, the good thing was that Angel seemed to be the only one who knew where to look. Even if she didn’t, she would track him down until she found him. But such drastic measures weren’t necessary since she knew Sephiroth well enough by now to know all of his secret places. And it wasn’t a surprise at all that she eventually found him at his most favourite spot in the whole kindergarten: the book corner.

If there was something Sephiroth hated the most, it was being disturbed while reading. Especially when he was slouching in his favourite armchair. And, yes, he may have made an exception for Angel, but that didn’t mean that she could enjoy the privilege of fools. To his cost, she played that card a bit too often… First, she slowly crawled up behind his armchair, and then jumped up to cover his eyes with her tiny hands to surprise him. “Guess who!”, she shouted while giggling playfully. With an exasperated sigh, Sephiroth dropped his book down on his lap and leaned his head back slightly. “It’s you Angel”, he replied, stretching the vocal “e” in her name in the most annoyed tone of voice he could muster, “I told you not to disturb me when I’m reading… What do you want?” With an insulted pout, she let go and stomped around the armchair to face him, letting herself fall on the cushioned stool in front of him. “You know, you could really put more work into your courtesy, Sephy.” “And you could really put more work into respecting other people’s privacy, but here we are.” If this was a cartoon, you could’ve seen the steam hissing out of Angel’s ears. She glared angrily at his impish smile, which almost made her ready to burst any minute.

Sephiroth’s bluntness and quick-witted responses constantly managed to catch her off guard, yet she could never be mad at him for some reason. It was a trait she admired about him and sometimes she secretly wished to be like him as well in that regard, instead of resorting to violence at the slightest provocation.

But she didn’t seek him out to squabble with him, so she quickly picked up the conversation where they left off. “A-ny-way, I wanted to ask you something. This morning, I talked about my weekend with grandma…”

Sephiroth only gave away a short “Uh-huh” while he switched his attention back to the book he was reading. Angel gracefully ignored it and continued speaking. “And I had much fun spending time with her, we even went to the zoo and saw a lot of animals!” Instead of giving her a proper response, Sephiroth simply kept silent and continued listening to her. It might not have looked that way, but even if he was occupied by something else, he still found the energy to listen to her. And Angel got the hint, so she speaked further. “And now, you see… I had this idea…” Like a scalded cat, Sephiroth’s head shot up and looked at her. His eyes squinted while he slowly set down his book on his lap again. Whenever Angel started a sentence like that, he always had a hunch that it meant trouble. “... How much time do I have to run and hide?” “You’re so mean! It’s not like all of my ideas are bad! … Only a few maybe… B-But this one isn’t, I promise! I’m serious this time! I thought of spending this weekend with you… And maybe I could also stay at your place…?” The confidence Angel had built up for this conversation seemed to vanish into thin air all of a sudden. She felt her cheeks burning brightly, and that right in front of him! It was so embarrassing for her at that moment that she wished she could just disappear off the face of the earth. A feeling she’s unfamiliar with since she used to be so bold and brave in front of everyone. But with Sephiroth… It felt different somehow… Sephiroth was flabbergasted as he expected everything else, just not that. Angel has never visited him before and on top of that, it would be the very first time someone would visit him at all!

The poor boy neither knew what to say, nor could he say what made his heart beating faster right now. Was it happiness? Or was it because he was on the edge of panicking? However, the overwhelming silence made this situation more awkward than it already was, so Angel promptly began to speak yet again. “It’s okay if you don’t want to! I just thought-” “No!”, he abruptly cut her off mid sentence, “I… I’d love to spend this weekend with you…”

Angel’s face lit up in excitement; her cheeks still glowing in a delicate rose, while Sephiroth’s gaze turned down to the floor, his cheeks burning in a deep red. With a playful giggle, she dashed over to Sephiroth and almost knocked him over along with the armchair, and trapped him into a tight embrace.

He accepted her embrace and even returned it, though he was worried that she might hear his deafening heartbeat. In fact, his heart was beating so fast that he felt as if it jumped out of his chest any second. “We just have to ask our Mommy and Daddy first though… But I’m sure that my Daddy doesn’t mind!” Angel’s voice and her bouncing brought him back to the here and now. He took a deep breath, trying to ease his nervousness that still ran through his body. Before he answered her, he nodded slightly.

“I-I don’t think my Mother would mind either. She will be happy if you visit us. A-And me too…”

“Alright! Let’s make it a weekend to remember!”

[inamindfarfaraway]

I had to do Team Batgirl. Babs is Oracle, Cass is Black Bat and Steph is Batgirl as per pre-New 52. Remember, the core drive of each emotion is benevolent, no matter how bad they feel. Sadness is responsible for empathy, sympathy and asking for help; Fear wants to keep us and what we care about safe; Anger wants things to be fair; and Disgust wants to protect us from physical, social or moral contamination. They're all the basis for more complex emotions and processes, e.g. Fear enables forethought and common sense for risk evaluation, Anger inspires courage and bold, direct action and Disgust is highly involved in meeting social expectations.

[Babs's Headquarters have a similar professional atmosphere to Bruce's. The walls are dark grey. In the background of the immaculate main office, a few closed doors partition off other spaces, probably more personal ones; the memory shelves are longer than average and have additional walled channels beneath them to store memory orbs that fall from overflow, and the memories glow unusually bright; there are no windows and the room is lit by overhead office lights, the sight screen and the memory orbs. Her emotions are also in wheelchairs and wear glasses, with individual styles and decorations. Her console is a large, angular, intricate control panel of polished silver metal, elegant and futuristic, at which sit Fear at the helm, Anger at her right hand and Joy at her left, then Sadness and Disgust next to them.]

Fear: We’re scanning our entire surveillance network, but the Joker is still unaccounted for. We should check in with Cassandra and Stephanie.

Joy: I’m so proud of them. Permission to verbalize that to them, ma’am?

Fear: Don’t know if we’ll have time.

Anger: Yeah, expressing vulnerability takes a lot of energy, and we all agreed to divert 75% of it to single-minded fixation on justice until Joker is back in Arkham. Preferably via ambulance.

Fear: I’ll schedule a tight smile for when the girls get back, but no guarantee Babs will remember it then. Our short-term memory bank is already full to bursting.

Disgust: (under her breath, annoyed) As always.

Sadness: So, um… Dick hasn't called us back yet, but I think he wants to. Maybe we should call him.

Fear: No, we’re both busy. We can catch up tommorow.

[Cass's Headquarters are largely a fusion of a dojo and a gym, a wide open space with mats, punching bags and other exercise and martial arts equipment. The walls and floor are wooden boards. A set of floor-to-ceiling windows at the back and sides shaped like bat symbols make the space light and airy. The background has a corridor leading off to the left and a staircase going up at the right that look straight out of Wayne Manor. There is no console. Rather, an elevated black stage with yellow curtains is before the screen. Sadness is centre-stage, flanked by Anger and Fear, then Joy and Disgust. The black surface lights up with squares of the emotions’ respective colours under their feet as they dance in a graceful, perfectly coordinated ballet routine to classical music. Until Fear makes a different move to the others. An alarm beeps, cutting off the music, and everyone freezes. The others stare at Fear. Anger is offended, Sadness and Joy intrigued and Disgust confused.]

Anger: (folds her arms, raises an eyebrow and puffs out her chest at Fear challengingly)

Sadness: (gently holds Anger in place with a hand on her shoulder and nods to Fear)

Fear: (cringes, but cautiously makes the move again)

Anger: (clenches her fists and gestures in outrage to Sadness)

Joy: (steps forward and holds Fear’s hand in support, making unintimidated eye contact with Anger)

Disgust: (looks ahead through Cass’s eyes, unlike any of the others are, due to boredom with the dispute)

Disgust: Ugh. More henchmen.

Sadness: You handle it.

Disgust: Fiiiine.

[The emotions reshuffle so that Disgust is centre-stage. She dances alone to simpler music with only one instrument. The others retreat upstage, Sadness between Anger and Fear and Joy as she tries to mediate.]

Joy: (stands protectively in front of Fear and beckons for Anger to bring it on, balancing her weight)

Sadness: (shakes her head disapprovingly, unseen by anyone)

Anger: (yells wordlessly and punches Joy)

[The four break into a fight, tumbling offstage onto the mats. Disgust rolls her eyes.]

[Steph's Headquarters are furnished much like a mundane living room, with white walls, a plush purple sofa, cluttered coffee table, lamps emitting warm light, windows to one side and a comfortable atmosphere. The doors to ancillary rooms are open. Tucked away by the memory orb shelves, two cardboard boxes of purple, blue, red and green memory orbs marked ‘Trauma - FRAGILE’ remain unpacked. Her console resembles a video game controller, being white plastic, rounded and having colourful buttons, switches and joysticks. It has a single chair, a spinning one made of black plastic and purple cushions. Joy is seated, gleefully wiggling a joystick. Anger is on her right, excitedly watching the mission, and Sadness is on her left, concerned. Disgust is hovering at the side of the console, not very interested. Fear is on the sofa quietly writing in a puzzle book.]

Joy: We’ve got this in the bag. None of these bozos even know we’re here.

[She reaches to press a yellow button. Disgust notices, abruptly invested, and pushes past Sadness to grab Joy’s hand.]

Disgust: But they will if you quip from so near them. And then we’re gonna fail and Babs is gonna make her disappointed face and, like, never trust Steph with a stealth mission again.

Joy: Good point.

Anger: There’s the ringleader! Aw, Cass is already beating him up.

Sadness: (sighs and leans on the console, turning it partially blue) She was a way better Batgirl, we’ll never come close and everyone knows it.

Joy: (batting her arm away) Sadness, we’ve talked about this. Steph earned her place and has nothing to prove. Everything's gonna be fine. Okay, let’s just sneak past and get out with the intel -

Fear: Hey, guys, do you ever think about how Steph’s daughter could die at any moment and we wouldn’t even know?

[The others tense and flinch. The console lights up purple and fades to blue.]

Joy: SHUT UP, FEAR!

Disgust: So not the time!

Sadness: (crying) I am now!

Anger: This is why we never listen to you!

[dawnled]

tag post #5 ( au verses #2 ) !

[cresvalkyrie]

The brainrot is real...

[alygator77]

.˚✶˚. motherhood and matrimony ・❥・ wrapped in love .˚✶˚.

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

ꨄ series 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.

ꨄ chapter summary. christmas morning at the gojo estate has always been a display of elegant grandeur—but this year, the true magic is found in the quiet, heartfelt moments shared with you. for satoru, it’s a holiday that finally feels like home.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. pure tooth rotting fluff. satoru being the best step dad. lots of domesticity. it does get a bit suggestive at times.

ꨄ words: 12.6k

ꨄ a/n. this is a part of my series motherhood and matrimony, however it can also be read as a fluffy holiday oneshot (you'll probably appreciate some of the references more if you've read the series though!) this entire ch is written from satoru's perspective! also, for those that have read the series, i would definitely read this after ch 7 ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist ꨄ series masterlist ꨄ

side ch // wrapped in love

Christmas had always been a spectacle at the Gojo estate. Extravagant decorations that seemed to glisten with the weight of their price tags, a towering tree so grand it nearly grazed the vaulted ceilings, and a meticulously curated guest list for the Gojo’s annual holiday gala.

Business, wrapped in tinsel—topped with a bow.

Yes, for Satoru Gojo, Christmas always felt cold. Not the kind of cold that nipped at your nose or made you long for a crackling fireplace—it was the emptiness of grandeur.

Growing up in the Gojo estate, Christmas wasn’t a celebration; it was a stage. Takemi Gojo orchestrated the performance with precision, weaving an illusion of family warmth while the frigid reality of their relationship sat heavy within the corners of the mansion.

Twinkling lights adorned every surface, crystal ornaments shimmered under the tree’s glow, and tables overflowed with feasts meant to impress, not to savor.

His father had called it tradition. Satoru had called it lonely.

And from a young age, Satoru had learned that gifts were currency, not sentiment—the meaning of the season buried beneath layers of duty and pretense.

But this year… something was different.

Satoru lounges on the couch, long legs sprawled out as he watches you and Haru at the tree. You crouch low, holding an ornament in your hand, gently guiding Haru as she reaches up to find the perfect spot.

Her giggles fill the room like the sound of bells, bright and contagious, and she claps her tiny hands when the ornament finally stays.

Turning to her, your smile and the warmth in your expression is enough to melt something in Satoru’s chest.

It’s a feeling he can’t quite name—foreign, yet achingly familiar. Like standing outside during the first snowfall—the cold biting at your cheeks, but the beauty of it stealing your breath.

For the first time, Christmas doesn’t feel like an obligation. It feels like… home.

But it isn’t the decorations, nor the estate’s grandeur—it’s you. It’s Haru. It’s the way you’ve taken this cold, hollow place and filled it with laughter, warmth, and life. It’s the way you’ve turned this house into a home—a home he doesn’t want to leave.

“What do you think, Satoru?”

He blinks, glancing up at you—your voice pulling him out of his reverie. You were holding up two ornaments, one red and one blue, with a quirked brow and a soft smile.

Haru, meanwhile, was standing on her tippy toes, trying to reach the highest branch she could manage.

“Oh, uh… hmm?”

You roll your eyes with mock exasperation, shaking the ornaments for emphasis.

“Red or blue? We can’t have both; it’ll clash. Focus, Gojo.”

His lips twitch into a lazy grin as he leans back, folding his arms behind his head.

“Oh, definitely blue,” he says with a teasing lilt. “It matches my vibe better. Don’tcha think?”

You snort, rolling your eyes with a grin—muttering something about his ego—and as you turn back to Haru, Satoru takes the opportunity to watch you again.

The sight of you—your hair falling loose over your shoulders, the way your smile makes even your oversized sweater seem elegant—It isn’t just the room you light up. It’s him.

‘Gifts are just another transaction, Satoru. A display of wealth and power.’

His father’s voice lingers in his mind, sharp and cold as ever. But you—you’ve shown him a different kind of wealth. One that can’t be bought, or wrapped in shiny paper.

And for the first time, he feels it. Not the chill of the season, but… the warmth of belonging.

But with that warmth comes something else—something he’s not used to.

Panic.

Christmas is just days away, and for the life of him, he has no idea what to give you.

He’s Satoru Gojo. He could buy you anything. Diamonds. Designer clothes. Hell, an entire island, if he felt like it. Money has never been an obstacle—it’s always been a solution.

But when it comes to you, every option feels… wrong.

You—who sighs in exasperation at the estate’s staff, grumbling about how you’re perfectly capable of pouring your own glass of water, thank you very much.

You—who pokes at the extravagant feasts from world-class chefs, saying they could feed an entire village, yet they still couldn’t make your favorite comfort food the way you liked it.

You—who wrinkles your nose at his pretentious lifestyle, rolling your eyes every time he casually mentions the price of something without even realizing.

A necklace dripping in diamonds? You’d probably say it was heavy to wear. A vacation to a private island? You’d tell him you’d rather spend the time with Haru in the backyard, making snow angels.

A car? A house? Exquisite art? Fuck, a horse?

None of it feels enough.

He groans quietly, running a hand through his hair, cursing himself under his breath.

When did this happen? When did he get so comfortable letting his guard down around you, so at ease that now, sitting in his own home, he feels utterly vulnerable? Utterly lost?

And worse, he knows you can probably sense it.

“Satoru.”

Your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, drawing his attention back to you.

Standing a few feet away, the soft glow from the Christmas tree casts a gentle light on your features—a slight furrow to your brow as you tilt your head, holding a new ornament in your hand.

“Are… you okay? You look like you’re plotting something.”

He straightens instantly, schooling his features into an easy grin, but it’s a little too late for that—you’re watching him too closely, as if trying to unravel the puzzle in his head.

“Me? Plotting? Never.” He leans back, resting an arm across the top of the couch. “Just wondering if we need a bigger tree. This one’s lookin’ a little small.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously, and for a moment, he wonders if you can see straight through him.

You always do.

“Satoru,” you deadpan, and fuck—he knows he’s lost. “This tree is ten feet tall.”

He shrugs, as though you’ve just proven his point.

“Yeah… but like… wouldn’t fifteen feet look better? That’d be a real statement.”

Your groan comes with a roll of your eyes, but it’s paired with the grin he was hoping for.

“Sure, let’s just knock down the ceiling while we’re at it. Maybe put the Empire State Building in here for good measure.”

He chuckles, relieved by your sarcasm, and for a moment, his deflection works—you turn away, back to the tree. He watches you carefully loop another ornament onto a branch while Haru tugs at your sweater, babbling about a penguin ornament.

But as soon as your attention has shifted, it’s back—that gnawing uncertainty, that quiet panic clawing at the edges of his mind.

Good lord, when did this get so hard?

He’s Satoru Gojo. He can charm his way through anything, pull the strings of the world’s most powerful people, and yet he’s paralyzed by the thought of picking out a gift for you.

The longer he thinks about it, the worse it gets. You deserve something perfect—something thoughtful. But what does perfect even look like?

What do you give someone who doesn’t want anything money can buy? How does he give you a gift that carries the weight of what you’ve given him?

“Santa’s gonna like our tree, right, Mama?”

Haru’s voice rings up like a bright chime, tugging him back to the room—to reality.

He watches as you glance down, and a soft smile blooms across your lips as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind Haru’s ear. That look—the one you reserve for her, the kind that could thaw glaciers—hits him squarely in the chest.

“He’ll love it, sweetheart.”

Your voice is as light and sure as the snow falling gently outside the frosted windows, and Haru grins, pivoting to Satoru now.

“’toru!” her face lights up like the tree behind her, “Santa’s coming! He’s gonna bring presents, and cookies, and he loves hot cocoa!”

Raising a brow, Satoru slouches further back into the couch with that practiced ease—masking the chaos still whirling behind his nonchalant façade.

“Hot cocoa, huh? With marshmallows?”

Haru nods so hard, her little curls bounce and her entire being vibrates with conviction.

“He loves marshmallows! And cookies. And maybe waffles too.”

Satoru huffs out a soft laugh, his smile easing.

“That’s a pretty sweet deal for Santa,” he murmurs.

With all the grace of a puppy on ice, Haru scrambles up onto the couch cushion beside him, wiggling her way into place. Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, though it’s far from quiet.

“Mama makes the best hot cocoa. We should have some.”

The confidence in her tone makes him snort quietly, and he raises a brow—playing along.

“The best, huh? Mmm.. I dunno. That’s a pretty big claim, kid.”

“It’s true!” she insists.

And then there’s your laughter—soft, light, and entirely unguarded as it floats from behind him. It’s a sound he’s learned to treasure, one he’d bottle up if he could, a warmth that sinks beneath his skin and quiets everything else.

He swears it’s one of his favorite sounds.

“You know what? That’s a good idea,” you say, ruffling Haru’s hair as you step behind the couch.

But then, you pause beside him, leaning down to press the faintest kiss to his temple—a feather-light touch, and it strikes him like a match catching fire, warmth unfurling from that single point of contact.

Oh, how he loves the touch of your lips.

“I’m gonna grab some hot chocolate—with marshmallows, of course,” your hand brushes briefly through his hair before pulling away. “Watch Haru real quick, yeah?”

Tilting his head back to look at you, he swallows down the tightness in his chest, masking it all with another lazy smirk—because he doesn’t know how to show you just how much that tenderness means to him. How much he loves when you touch him like that, so unthinking, like it’s natural.

And for Satoru, masking it is second nature—it always has been.

“Yeah, yeah… I’ve got it covered,” he waves you off with a dramatic flick of his hand.

You roll your eyes with an affectionate huff, and he lets himself watch you for a moment longer as you disappear into the kitchen, your humming trailing softly behind you like a ribbon that tethers him to you.

And then, silence.

The moment the door swings shut, he lets out a slow, quiet exhale, the tension uncoiling from his shoulders as if he’s been holding himself together for too long.

He slumps back against the couch, his head tipping against the cushion, feeling the ghost of your touch where your fingers had been in his hair. With a sigh, he runs a hand through the same spot, smoothing the strands down absently as if he can capture what’s already gone.

It’s ridiculous how much you’ve undone him. How a single kiss, a fleeting touch, can dismantle the person he’s spent so long pretending to be.

Because in those fleeting moments, when it’s just him and the lingering warmth of you, Satoru Gojo—the man who never lets his mask slip—realizes just how tightly wound he’s become. Just how much of himself he’s spent trying to hold it all together when, in moments like that, you make it so damn easy for him to fall apart.

He closes his eyes for just a breath, letting himself feel it—the calm, the weight of it all, the way his heart stirs.

But then—

A sudden rustling sound shatters the quiet, pulling him sharply from his thoughts. One eye cracks open, blinking lazily as he scans the room.

His gaze lands on Haru, and the breath leaves his chest in a sigh that’s somewhere between disbelief and resignation.

There she is—somehow, in the span of seconds—teetering precariously on the armrest of the couch, her tiny arms outstretched like she’s on a tightrope, her face scrunched in determination.

Satoru stares at her for a beat, utterly disheveled and utterly defeated. His head tilts lazily to the side as he watches her.

“Oi,” he drawls, dragging a hand down his face with a groan that’s more exasperation than anything. “Munchkin. What do you think you’re doing?”

Haru doesn’t even flinch. She grins, wide and triumphant, wobbling dangerously like a baby deer.

“I’m tall, ‘toru!”

He blinks at her, deadpan, before letting his hand fall limply to his lap.

“Yeah? Well, you’re also gonna fall on your face.”

“Nu-uh!” she insists, wiggling her feet against the cushion for emphasis.

“Kid…” He straightens with a reluctant sigh, reaching out with one hand, just in case she topples over. “You’re gonna get me in trouble. You do realize your mom’ll murder me if she catches you pulling stunts like this, right?”

Haru giggles—loud, unbothered, entirely unfazed.

“It’s okay. I’m good!” she declares proudly, as if she’s just conquered Mount Everest.

“You sure about that?” Satoru raises a brow, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. “Because… you’re about two seconds away from face-planting into the tree. And I’ll tell ya right now—Santa’s not gonna bring you anything if you wreck his setup.”

Haru freezes, her expression suddenly serious.

“He won’t?”

Satoru shrugs, as casual as ever, though there’s a sly gleam in his eye.

“Nope. Santa’s big on the whole naughty or nice thing, you know? Pretty sure ‘tree-destroyer’ lands you on the naughty list.”

Haru’s jaw drops like he’s just shattered her entire world.

“But I’m nice!”

“Yeah, well…” he sighs dramatically, “You’re not exactly convincing me right now, short stack.”

She gasps—a flurry of tiny limbs as she clambers down from the armrest in a dramatic tumble onto the cushions.

“I’m nice!” she insists again, louder this time, as if sheer volume might make it more convincing.

Satoru huffs out a laugh, ruffling her hair in an act of surrender.

“Yeah, yeah… crisis averted, princess. You’re nice. I’ll put in a good word for you with the big guy. Just… no more stunts, kay? Santa’s watching.”

She squints at him suspiciously, like she’s testing the limits of his authority over Santa Claus, before finally settling back with a small huff.

But then, Haru shifts entirely to look at him—her brows pinching together, her tiny face suddenly serious.

The shift catches him off guard—how a two-year-old can go from giggling chaos to this kind of weighty focus will always baffle him.

“‘toru.”

He quirks a brow, leaning an elbow against the back of the couch.

“…yeah?”

“You hafta tell Santa to get Mama something.”

The words catch him off guard. His grin falters just a fraction as he blinks, straightening a little to study her tiny, earnest face.

How the hell does this kid always seem to know exactly what’s on his mind?

“Oh yeah? Something for your mom, huh?”

Haru nods solemnly, as if she’s just handed him the most important mission of his life.

“Mhmm. Santa forgot last year.”

At that, his heart stumbles, the smile fading from his face.

“W-What? He… forgot?”

“Uh-huh.” Haru props herself on her elbows, swinging her feet idly against the couch. “Mama didn’t get a present.”

The simplicity of her words hits him like a punch to the gut. Innocent and unassuming, but full of a truth she doesn’t fully understand.

Satoru doesn’t respond right away, his mind suddenly swirling.

That unsettles him. The fact that no one thought to bring you anything at all?

You—who pours so much of yourself into others, who has brought a warmth into his life he didn’t think he deserved—spent last Christmas with nothing?

No gifts. No family. No one?

He hates the thought. He knows it shouldn’t surprise him though... you’ve never asked for anything, and it’s not hard to fill in the blanks.

You don’t talk much about your family—he knows there’s distance there, silence where there should be connection—and Naoya, well… he was never part of the picture. But still, the realization knocks something loose in Satoru, a quiet ache settling into the spaces he didn’t know could hurt.

“It’s no fair, ‘toru. Mama’s nice too!”

Satoru swallows hard, dragging a hand through his hair as he forces a smile back onto his face.

“Yeah… you’re right, kid…” he murmurs quietly. “Your mom’s on the very top of the nice list.”

Haru beams, her hands clasping together like she’s already imagining the magic of Christmas morning.

“Tell Santa, ’kay? Mama needs something really nice.”

The simplicity of her words hits him like a sledgehammer.

Something really nice.

As if it’s that easy, as if fixing the pieces of your world can be done with one perfect gift. But to Haru, it is that easy. Because to her, Santa fixes things.

And for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo feels the weight of expectation—not from a boardroom, or a title, or the world that demands he be untouchable—but from a tiny girl who trusts him implicitly to fix the one thing he’s been so afraid to get right.

Fucking hell. Now he’s back to square one. What the hell is he going to get you?

He leans back into the couch, one arm draped lazily along the back, but his mind is already turning—the gears clicking into place.

“Something… nice, huh?” he says softly, more to himself than to her.

Haru beams, her little legs kicking against the cushion again as she settles back, satisfied that her request has been heard.

“Yup!”

Satoru tilts his head toward her, studying her with a thoughtful squint. Kids always seem to know the answers to things grown-ups can’t figure out. She’s managed to pry into his thoughts with frightening accuracy already, so maybe—just maybe—she’s his best shot at figuring this out.

After all, who knows you better than Haru?

“Well…” he says after a beat, angling a glance toward her, “what do you think Santa should bring your mom then?”

Haru gasps—like this is the most important question she’s ever been asked—and sits up straight, her little face lighting up.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He flicks her nose lightly, earning a squeak and a giggle. “You know your mom better than anyone, right? So… what do you think she wants for Christmas?”

Haru’s brows furrow as she thinks very hard, her tiny hands tapping against her chin for emphasis.  Satoru watches her expectantly, the smallest spark of hope flickering to life in his chest.

“Well…” she starts slowly, drawing the word out as though she’s stalling for time. “Mama likes cookies.”

Satoru blinks. “Uh… cookies?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods solemnly, as if this is the most serious answer in the world. “Chocolate cookies. With milk. I like them too.”

Ah… right. To Haru, the solution is simple—because to a two-year-old, happiness is simple. And for a moment, Satoru envies her for it.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he humors her.

“Of course you do, princess. Alright. Noted. So Santa’s supposed to bring your mom cookies. What else?”

Haru’s face lights up as another thought strikes her, and she bounces slightly in place.

“Oh! A teddy bear!”

“A teddy bear?” Satoru quirks a brow, half-amused, half-resigned.

“Yeah!” Haru stretches her arms out as wide as they’ll go, as if trying to contain the sheer size of her vision. “A big one. Pink! Really fluffy. Mama can hug it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. So much for getting a serious answer out of her.

“Okay... so cookies and a big pink bear… anything else?”

Haru pauses again, tapping her chin with her finger like she’s pondering the great mysteries of the cosmos. Then—her eyes go wide, and she gasps, louder this time.

“A pony!”

Satoru stares at her, deadpan. “Really? A pony.”

“Uh-huh!” Haru nods emphatically, little curls bouncing with enthusiasm. “Pink! With sparkles.”

“A… sparkly pink pony?”

“Yes!” She beams, practically vibrating with excitement. “Mama can ride it. I can ride it too. And—and we can give it cookies!”

That does it.

A sharp bark of laughter escapes him before he can stop it, his shoulders shaking as he slumps back against the couch.

With a deep groan, he drags a hand down his face like she’s aged him ten years in two minutes.

He’s getting nowhere.

“Kid… you’re killing me here. Cookies, a teddy bear, and a pony? You’re just listing stuff you want.”

Haru puffs out her cheeks, crossing her arms in protest.

“Nuh-uh! Mama likes ponies. And cookies. And bears.”

Satoru sighs again, tilting his head back against the couch with an exaggerated groan.

This kid.

Her world is so simple—so bright and innocent. Cookies, teddy bears, and ponies.

Haru doesn’t overthink it. She doesn’t make it complicated. To her, happiness is just that—simple.

And maybe… that’s what he needs to remember.

They’re terrible suggestions, but she’s right about one thing: you deserve something really nice. Something that makes you smile—something that feels as bright and simple and warm as Haru’s world.

And if Santa won’t fix it, then damnit, he will.

“Everything okay in here?”

Your voice calls out lightly, followed by the soft clink of mugs. The moment Satoru hears you; he straightens a little, his casual mask snapping back into place.

Stepping in, a tray balances carefully in your hands, three steaming mugs of hot chocolate wobbling precariously as you nudge the door shut with your hip.

The smell hits the room before you do—sweet, rich cocoa laced with the sugary promise of marshmallows—and Satoru thinks that it might as well be magic, with how Haru perks up.

“Mama!” she bounces on her knees so enthusiastically; Satoru thinks it’s a miracle the couch doesn’t catapult her into orbit. “Yay!! Hot cocoa!”

“Mhmm. Hot chocolate delivery!” you announce proudly, lowering the tray onto the coffee table with a dramatic flourish and a smile of pure satisfaction. “Marshmallows included, as requested.”

The soft glow of the Christmas tree dances in your eyes as you kneel in front of Haru, carefully handing her a small mug.

“Two hands, Haru. It’s hot, okay?”

Haru nods solemnly, as if you’ve just bestowed upon her the Holy Grail itself. Her little fingers curl reverently around the mug, and she murmurs softly, “’kay.”

Rising, you hand Satoru his mug next, and he clears his throat—mumbling a quiet “thanks.” When you settle on the couch beside him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulder brushes against his—your own mug cradled in your hands.

For a moment, it’s calm. The Christmas lights flicker across the room like soft, lazy stars, the cocoa steaming faintly in the air, and Satoru almost lets himself believe this is pure perfection.

But then you ask it.

“And what were you two talking about?” you peer between the two of them with a teasing smile. “I heard lots of giggling.”

Satoru freezes, his mug halfway to his mouth. He’s ready to spin some ridiculous excuse—he’s a master at bullshit, after all—but before he can get the words out, Haru beats him to it.

“We were talking about presents!” Haru announces proudly.

Fuck. That tiny traitor.

Satoru schools his expression, plastering on his best lazy grin as if Haru hasn’t just sold him out for free. He doesn’t need you catching on to the fact that he’s been silently losing his mind trying to figure out what to get you for Christmas.

You arch a brow, amused as you blow lightly on your cocoa.

“Presents, huh? What about presents?”

Haru doesn’t even hesitate. She launches into her list like a kid on a mission.

“Mama, ‘toru is gonna tell Santa we need cookies. And a big pink bear. And a pony!”

Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relaxing fractionally against the cushions. Of course. The kid’s list is nonsense—pure, two-year-old chaos—and she’s so earnest about it that you’ll never suspect Satoru was fishing for information.

He’s safe.

“Uh-huh,” you hum, nodding indulgently as you sip your drink. “Sounds like quite the Christmas list, sweetheart. Anything else?”

Satoru almost smiles into his mug. It’s ridiculous how close he was to panicking—there’s no need.

But as Haru stops, her face scrunches in concentration before it lights up again. She looks straight at you, eyes wide and earnest, as she adds brightly:

“And I want a little brother!”

Oh, shit.

Satoru chokes—actually chokes—mid-sip, sputtering and coughing like he’s forgotten how to drink liquid. You don’t fare much better, nearly inhaling your cocoa as your head jerks up, eyes wide as saucers.

“A—what?” you croak.

Satoru’s shoulders shake, one arm flung over his face as he tries to muffle his laughter. It’s no use—his wheezing breaths betray him, and he can’t help but grin through his coughs.

“Haru, kid—”

“A little brother!” Haru repeats, utterly unfazed by the chaos she’s unleashed. Her tiny hands still cradle her mug, looking up at you with innocent conviction. “Santa can bring one. Like how he brings the toys.”

Satoru peeks out from behind his hand, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his laughter tumbles out in unfiltered bursts.

Oh, this is gold. Pure gold.

You whip your head toward him so fast he thinks you might pull something. Your cheeks are flushed—whether from the cocoa or mortification, he’s not sure—and your glare could cut steel. It would have him worried for his life if it weren’t so damn funny.

“Satoru Gojo, what did you say to her?”

“Me?!” he splutters, desperately trying to get his composure back. He throws his hands up in mock innocence, laughter shaking in his shoulders. “Hey, don’t look at me! That’s all her!”

Haru blinks at the two of you, her expression perfectly innocent.

“Santa brings presents, right? So he can bring a brother. A nice one. And he’ll ride the pony with me.”

Your hand flies to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shake your head, biting back the laughter threatening to spill out.

“Haru… sweetheart, that’s… not how it works.”

“Why not?” she asks, and it’s like she genuinely can’t fathom why Santa wouldn’t pull through on such a reasonable request.

Satoru, finally breathing normally again, leans forward with his elbows on his knees—the smirk on his face nothing short of diabolical.

“Yeah, Mama,” he drawls, dripping with mischief. “Why not?”

Your glare sharpens as you turn toward him. “Do not encourage her.”

“Hey,” he’s utterly unrepentant as he leans back lazily, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “I’m just saying—if Santa’s listening, we wouldn’t want Haru to be disappointed, right?” Tilting his head, he smirks at you. “Looks like Santa’s got his work cut out for him this year.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Satoru lets his laughter spill out again, unbothered and thoroughly entertained.

Meanwhile, Haru hums to herself, swinging her legs and sipping her hot chocolate contentedly.

“It’s okay, Mama,” she assures you with a confident nod. “Santa’s magic. He can do it.”

ꨄ

The past few days had been a blur of snow, laughter, and tiny hands tugging Satoru in every direction.

If someone had told Satoru Gojo that he’d spend his holiday season wrangling a two-year-old in the snow and actually enjoying himself, he would’ve laughed them out of the room. But here he was, standing knee-deep in the white fluff while Haru shrieked with glee, launching another snowball his way.

“Take this, ‘Toru!” she cried.

The kid’s aim was absolute trash, her snowballs missing him by a mile, but the way she shrieked with delight when Satoru “pretended” to get hit—well, it made it impossible for him not to play along.

“Kid, you’re ruthless,” he’d groaned dramatically after she tackled him into the snow for the third time.

And then there was you. You—standing off to the side like some winter painting coming to life—warm coffee in hand, wearing that smug smile he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss or wipe clean with a snowball.

He swore you’d been the one to tip Haru off about aiming for his knees. Traitor.

The snow had been Haru’s personal playground—and, by extension, his. For days now, his life had been an endless stream of winter chaos: sledding trips that left his muscles aching (Haru’s favorite phrase seemed to be “One more time!”).

Oh, and inside the Gojo estate? More chaos, pure and simple.

Haru’s Christmas cookie baking turned into an all-out war zone—flour dusting the countertops, chocolate chips mysteriously vanishing before they made it into the dough (a crime Satoru was not-so-secretly guilty of), and Haru wearing more icing than she’d used.

Still, the chaos didn’t bother him. He was struck, again and again, by the realization that this—this messy, chaotic, perfect life—was because of you.

And the high-end galas you’d been forced to attend as the faces of the Gojo Corporation—the press, the flashing lights, the constant conversations—all of it felt easier with you beside him.

And you? Well… you carried yourself with a poise that Satoru was genuinely impressed with. But beneath that, he could tell that these past few weeks had taken a toll on you.

You were exhausted.

The late nights catching up on work, the charity events, the endless holiday prep—you hid it well, but Satoru noticed the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking. The way you sighed as you kicked off your heels by the door.

And it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t just the exhaustion, though. It was this look in your eyes—something wistful, like you were watching all the joy and chaos around you, but holding yourself at a distance.

Satoru didn’t like that. Not one bit.

And still, despite everything, he hadn’t figured out what the hell to get you for Christmas.

The frustration simmered under his skin, gnawing at him whenever he thought about it. You deserved something perfect—something that would remind you how much you were loved. But every time he thought he had it, every idea felt wrong.

Too extravagant, too impersonal, too damn meaningless.

And now, tonight, as he sits at the kitchen table pretending to sip his hot chocolate (while sneaking glances at you sorting through Christmas cards), the idea struck him like a light bulb flickering on.

If he couldn’t figure out the gift just yet, there was one thing he could do.

He could give you a moment. Just one night to breathe—to feel cared for.

Leaning back in his chair, his legs stretch out underneath the table as he watches you—that little furrow of concentration in your brow. You aren’t even faintly aware of how tired you look, or notice when his voice breaks the quiet silence.

“Hey.”

You hum absently, still focused.

“Tomorrow night, don’t make any plans.”

Your gaze lifts, brows raising slightly as suspicion flickers across your face.

“Okay… why?”

“Mmm… ‘cause I’m kidnapping you,” he teases, folding his arms behind his head. “Just dress warm. It’s a surprise.”

That earns him a proper look—you eyeing him skeptically, your lips twitching like you were already fighting back a smile.

Bingo. That’s the look he lives for.

ꨄ

The night air is crisp, biting at his cheeks in a way that’s sharp but oddly pleasant, like winter itself is showing off. Snowflakes drift lazily from the dark sky, glowing gold as they pass through the light of the estate’s lanterns, and the world is blanketed in that perfect kind of quiet—soft, still, almost fragile. A nice kind of quiet.

It’d be perfect, really, if not for the sound of your increasingly dramatic sighs cutting through it.

Satoru tugs his scarf higher around his neck, not because he’s cold—he never seems to feel the cold—but because he’s trying to hide the grin pulling at his lips. He glances over his shoulder to find you trudging through the snow like a grumpy little marshmallow, bundled so thoroughly in your coat and scarf that you look like you’re about to tip over.

“You’re gonna freeze to death if you keep trudging like that,” he calls easily over the snow, making no effort to hide the amusement in his tone.

“I wouldn’t have to trudge if you’d slow down, Gojo,” you snap back, and your exasperation is muffled slightly by the scarf wrapped around your face. “Not everyone has legs like a damn giraffe.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unbothered, a puff of white against the dark sky. Deliberately, he slows his steps to a near-comical saunter, his boots sinking into the snow with every exaggerated step.

“Better, princess?”

“Barely…” You catch up, though you don’t look particularly grateful about it. “I swear, if you keep dragging me through the Arctic tundra—”

“Oh, come on,” he interrupts, stopping in his tracks. His grin is pure mischief, bright even in the dark. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“It died about twenty feet ago,” you mutter, shoulders hunching as you try to burrow deeper into your coat.

He holds out his hand to you with a dramatic flourish, fingers wiggling like he’s offering you salvation itself.

“Here,” his sighs affectionately. “Before you collapse and I have to carry you.”

You stare at his hand for a long moment, clearly torn between taking it and smacking it away. The tension only makes his grin widen.

“C’mon now… you’ll bruise my ego if you say no.”

With a sigh that sounds like a thousand reluctant decisions being made at once, you slip your gloved hand into his. It’s small and warm, even through the layers, and Satoru’s grin falters for just a second when he feels your fingers curl around his.

Did he just get butterflies? That’s dangerous. He’s gotta keep it together.

“Atta girl…” he says softly, a bit too softly for his own comfort. But he covers it up with a gentle tug, pulling you closer as the two of you trudge forward.

The path winds through the trees, the branches drooping under layers of snow. Some of them stretch over the walkway, woven with twinkling lights, so it feels like you’re walking through some kind of enchanted tunnel.

It’s the kind of thing that could make anyone believe in magic, and Satoru would probably be soaking it all in… if he wasn’t so preoccupied with watching you out of the corner of his eye.

Your nose is pink, your cheeks dusted with color from the cold, and there’s a light in your eyes that makes something stir in his chest. He tugs his scarf a little higher, like that’ll help somehow.

Then, just ahead, golden light spills onto the snow. A sleigh comes into view, and Satoru slows his steps as you round the corner and see it.

It’s impressive, even he has to admit. The carriage looks straight out of some over-the-top fairytale, polished black and draped with garlands of evergreen—dusted in fresh snow. Strings of soft golden lights wind along the edges, glowing warmly in the dark.

The horses, two massive creatures with sleek dark coats, stand tall and still, their breath misting in the air. Tiny bells dangle from their bridles, giving a soft jingle every time they shift.

It’s almost too picturesque, like something out of one of those cheesy Christmas movies Satoru always pretends to hate.

He doesn’t look at the sleigh, though. He looks at you.

Your eyes go wide, your mouth parting slightly in surprise, and for a moment, you’re so still he wonders if the cold finally got to you. The snowflakes catch in your hair, the glow of the lights reflecting in your wide-eyed expression, and there it is again—that quiet spark that makes his chest tighten.

“Well?” he breaks the silence with a quiet murmur. “Was it… worth the trek through the Arctic tundra?”

You blink, dragging your gaze away from the sleigh to look at him. There’s something different in your expression now—softer, quieter.

“You did all this?”

He shrugs, slipping his free hand into his coat pocket and forcing a grin onto his face.

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“Ridiculous…” you murmur, shaking your head with a faint smile, but there’s no edge to your words. Just that quiet disbelief, like you’re still trying to figure him out.

He gestures to the sleigh with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

“Well? You gonna stand there and let the snow bury you, or are you getting in?”

The driver steps aside with a polite nod, and Satoru’s already moving to help you—steadying you as you step up into the sleigh, his hand lingering at your waist.

When you settle into the plush seat with a quiet exhale, Satoru’s brain takes a quick pause to tell himself that he’s absolutely screwed.

Because if Satoru thought walking through the snow with your hand in his was dangerous, this is a death blow.

But he still climbs in beside you, moments later—tugging the blanket over your laps as the sleigh jolts softly forward.

The bells chime faintly as the horses’ hooves crunch against the snow. They carry you both down the path, allowing the forest to melt away completely as the sleigh crests a small hill, and suddenly, the town comes into view—a world awash in color and magic.

Lights shimmer from every surface—woven through trees, strung like ribbons between lamp posts, wrapped snug around shopfronts as though the entire place has been dipped in starlight.

Shop windows gleam with warmth, framed by wreaths and garlands dusted with frost, while displays of tiny trains, glowing reindeer, and spinning nutcrackers turn slowly behind the glass.

As the sleigh turns fully onto the main street, Satoru glances at you, and predictably, you’re completely mesmerized.

He knows, because you’ve gone completely still beside him—your breath visible in the cold as you take it all in—and he doesn’t even bother to look at the lights anymore, not when you’re staring at them like you’ve stumbled into a dream.

That glow in your expression—soft and open—that’s what mesmerizes him. And the reflection of the lights in your wide eyes gives him the urge to bottle this moment—keep it tucked in his coat pocket forever, so he can pull it out and look at it whenever the world gets too loud.

The bells from the horses chime softly, blending seamlessly with the hum of life ahead—children laughing, carols echoing, the soft crunch of fresh snow.

But Satoru can’t focus on any of that.

Snowflakes have caught in your hair, little flecks of white like frost spun from the lights above. Your lips, soft and faintly parted, are far too close to his line of sight, and his gaze catches there for longer than it should.

Satoru’s brain is short-circuiting.

He’s never been good at this. Restraint. Holding back. Not when it comes to things he wants, things he craves—and God, does he crave your lips so badly.

You shift slightly, burrowing deeper into his side with a soft hum of contentment that nearly knocks the wind out of him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmur suddenly, as soft as the snow.

He clears his throat lightly, tipping his head back in a lazy attempt at distraction—trying to focus on literally anything else.

“Yeah… not bad,” his voice carries the faintest edge of smugness. “Bet you’re glad I dragged you out here now.”

You hum softly, a little laugh under your breath.

“Yeah… guess I’ll give you this one.”

But as you shift slightly again, your head tilts, and your gaze lingers on something ahead.

In the square below, a father spins his daughter in his arms as she shrieks with laughter—bright red mittens flailing in the air. The mother stands beside then with a warm soft smile, brushing the snowflakes gently out of the little girl’s hair as she settles still.

It’s simple—a fleeting moment of joy—but Satoru notices the way your expression changes. The glow in your eyes dim, just slightly, fading into something distant, something far away.

He doesn’t like it.

It’s not the first time he’s seen that look either. It’s lingered in your eyes at odd moments during the month when you think he isn’t watching.

“Hey… you okay?”

The question snaps you from whatever memory you’ve fallen into. You blink quickly, turning to him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“What? Oh… yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s a lie. A bad one.

Satoru knows it instantly because your voice wavers, just slightly, and your hands fidget under the blanket like they’re looking for something to hold onto.

He doesn’t push right away. Satoru isn’t great at handling fragile things—he’s all big, teasing words and careless confidence—but seeing this?

You—retreating into yourself, suddenly quiet? Yeah… it never really sits right with him.

“You know…” he starts carefully, voice softening as he watches you, “you’ve already heard all about my old man. But you… you don’t really talk about your family much. What was Christmas like for you growing up?”

The words settle like snow between you—soft, quiet, but heavy. You stiffen slightly.

Fuck. Maybe he’s said too much. Regret flickers in the back of his mind. He’s half-expecting you to deflect.

You hesitate, staring at the lights again as though they’ll save you from answering, and for the first time, Satoru curses those damn Christmas lights. They feel like they’re pulling you away from him.

But then you sigh, and the sound makes something twist low in his chest. It’s too careful. Too practiced.

“Mmm… there’s not much to talk about,” you admit quietly. “My parents weren’t exactly… involved, so Christmas wasn’t really a thing for us.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting. He knows there’s more, and he’s careful not to push, not yet.

“I used to watch all the Christmas movies, though,” a faint wistful smile tugs at your lips. “The ones where families sat by the fire… wrapping gifts and baking cookies, singing carols together. It felt… magical. Safe. Like they belonged there.”

The smile slips slightly, and Satoru sees the moment the words shift—when they stop being a memory and start being something else entirely.

“But…” your voice dips to a whisper, “Honestly it was like watching through a window. I felt like a spectator. Always outside looking in.”

There it is.

The words hit him square in the chest, sharp and unrelenting, and Satoru hates it. Hates how small you sound when you say it, like you don’t realize how wrong it is for someone like you—you—to feel that way. It makes his jaw tighten, his fingers twitching faintly under the blanket.

“That’s not fair,” he blurts out, faster than he means to. The sharp edge in his voice surprises even him, but he doesn’t care. “I hate it. It’s not right. You shouldn’t have had to feel like that.”

Your head turns slightly, your eyes flicking back to him, startled.

“Satoru—”

“It’s not fair,” he repeats, reining it in slightly this time. He shakes his head, turning to look at you fully now. “And you know what? It’s not like that now. You’ve done the exact opposite.”

You blink again, your brows furrowing faintly.

“What do you mean?”

The surprise on your face makes him huff a quiet laugh. He can’t believe you don’t see it.

“C’mon now sweetheart… I mean, look at Haru.”

Your expression softens at the mention of her, and Satoru feels that familiar twist in his chest—this inexplicable warmth that’s only grown stronger since you and Haru came crashing into his life.

“She’s a happy kid,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve made her a happy kid. Kind of a little terror sometimes—definitely gets that from you—but happy nonetheless.”

You roll your eyes faintly, but there’s a tug at the corner of your mouth that you can’t quite hide.

“Seriously,” he continues, a smirk teasing at his lips now. “That kid lights up at the dumbest stuff—like that ornament she found with the penguin in a Santa hat. You’d think she struck gold. She made me stare at that thing for ten minutes straight.”

You groan, pressing a gloved hand to your face, but there’s a small laugh behind it now.

“She did the same to me.”

Satoru chuckles, low and easy, though his expression softens as he looks at you.

“Because to her, it is magic. You made that happen. You gave her something real, something she’ll hold onto forever. The kind of magic you didn’t have.”

You open your mouth like you want to say something but can’t quite get there yet, and he leans in closer.

“And it’s not just her…” he murmurs hesitantly. “You’ve done that for me too.”

His blue eyes fix on yours with a quiet vulnerability, and your brows furrow faintly as you stare at him.

“What? Really?”

For a moment, Satoru freezes.

Vulnerability isn’t something he’s good at—it doesn’t come naturally to him; he’s always kept people at arm’s length. But somehow, around you, it slips out easier than he expects. Like you’ve managed to dismantle his walls one smile, one moment at a time.

Around you, he doesn’t have to try so hard. And it’s fucking terrifying.

His throat tightens, but he shrugs, playing it off like it’s nothing—even though he knows it’s everything.

“Look… I used to sit in these massive rooms my dad filled with people. All the decorations, all the noise—he made sure it looked perfect. Trees the size of small buildings, tables stacked with enough food to feed an army.”

Satoru pauses, his blue gaze flickering to the snow-dusted path ahead before settling back on you.

“But… none of it mattered. I’d sit there, surrounded by hundreds of people, and still felt so damn alone. Like I wasn’t really there, y’know?”

Your face softens, and he feels it again—that warmth that only seems to exist when you’re looking at him like this, like you can see straight through him. You always do.

“But now?” he exhales, breath curling into the cold air like smoke—his eyes meeting yours fully. “Christmas feels… different. Doesn’t feel so empty anymore.”

“…yeah?”

“Yup…” he shakes off the tension with a sigh, and smugly adds, “You’ve officially ruined Christmas for me, sweetheart. Thanks a lot. Can’t have it any other way now.”

Your laughter comes quietly, and God, there’s that sound that he loves again. Your gloved hand finds his underneath the blanket.

“Well…” your fingers curl around his. “Thanks to you, I finally don’t feel like a spectator anymore… ‘cause you’re in my life.”

Shit.

Satoru swears his heart trips over itself. For a guy who never feels the cold, he’s never felt this warm.

The sleigh jolts suddenly, rolling over a bump in the snow, and the movement sends you swaying against him with a soft gasp.

You’re so close—close enough that he can see the faint blush on your cheeks, the soft part of your lips as you glance up at him.

Your gaze flickers—just once—down to his mouth.

That’s it.

He leans in, his hand slipping out from under the blanket to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin as he kisses you.

The first press of his lips against yours is careful, tentative, but then you sigh softly, tilting your head slightly, and Satoru’s restraint snaps like a wire pulled too tight.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, as Satoru tilts your face up to meet him properly. His other hand finds your waist, the curve of it fitting perfectly under his palm as he pulls you closer—closer, because he needs you like he needs to breathe.

He swears he’s losing his mind.

You respond just as eagerly, your fingers curling into the front of his coat, and Satoru groans softly against your mouth—equal parts relief and desperation.

He’s screwed. Utterly, completely screwed.

Because now that he’s kissed you, he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to stop. All he can think about—all he wants—is to pull you into his lap right here on this stupid sleigh and kiss you until the world stops spinning.

His mind betrays him, flooding with images he has no business thinking about right now. Your legs straddling his hips, your coat slipping off one shoulder, coaxing sounds from you that he’s dying to hear—fuck he’s losing himself completely.

He wants to take you—away from the prying world, away from everyone—somewhere that’s just the two of you—home.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only because even Satoru Gojo can’t survive without air forever. But he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests gently against yours and his thumb brushes softly along your jaw.

The corner of your mouth curves faintly and your eyes linger on him—just enough to make his heart skip like it’s forgotten how to work.

It’s torture. Absolute, pure, devastating torture.

His thumb drifts lower along your jaw, reverently tracing the soft line of it. He could stay here forever, just like this—your breath mixing with his in the cold air, your lips pink and kiss-bruised from him.

God, you’ve never looked more beautiful. He wants more.

Shifting slightly, his breath fans across your lips as he murmurs, “You’re so perfect… you’re making this really hard for me, y’know that?”

Blinking up at him, your lips tug into a soft, teasing smile. “Oh?” you murmur, breathlessly. “And what exactly am I making hard, Satoru?”

His breath hitches. Shit. You’re going to be the death of him. He chuckles softly—strained and fraying like his self-control.

“Careful, sweetheart. Keep asking questions like that, and I might just take you home right now.”

Tilting your head, your voice lowers—a quiet challenge.

“…why don’t you, then?”

God, what the fuck are you doing to him?

For a moment, he wants to say screw it. Forget the stupid sleigh, the town, his plans. Forget the world and take you straight to bed where he doesn’t have to hold back anymore.

Take her. Have her all to yourself.

But then your wide, daring eyes lock onto his, and it hits him—you’re playing him—you’re winning. And Satoru Gojo does not lose.

With a slow, shaky breath, he pulls back just slightly. The smirk curling at his lips is lazy, practiced—masking the fact that he’s literally about five seconds from falling apart.

“Mmm… tempting,” he drawls, brushing the pad of his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. “But I’m not that easy to break, sweetheart. Besides, we’ve got more to explore.”

Your eyes narrow faintly, suspicion flickering beneath the teasing curve of your lips.

“You’re unbelievable…”

“Mm, you say that now,” he sighs, “But you’ll thank me later.”

You scoff quietly, rolling your eyes as you lean back just an inch.

“More to explore, huh?”

“Yeah.” His grin widens, lazy and lopsided. “And if you’re good, I might even let you hold my hand the whole time.”

ꨄ

“You’re going to rot your teeth, you know,” you say, watching as Satoru unwraps yet another snickerdoodle cookie—his fifth, by your count.

“Excuse you.” He pauses dramatically, holding the cookie up like it’s a priceless artifact. “I’m single-handedly funding this poor vendor’s retirement. Call me generous.”

You snort into your hot chocolate.

“More like you’re single-handedly making sure they run out of stock before dinner.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He takes a slow, deliberate, obnoxiously loud bite, eyes locked on you the whole time. “I’m boosting the economy, sweetheart.”

“You’re boosting your dentist’s next paycheck, honey.”

Satoru groans, tossing his head back like you’ve just deeply insulted his honor.

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t appreciate the artistry of sweets like I do.”

“Oh, I appreciate them,” you retort smugly, tugging him away by his coat sleeve before he can eye the next vendor’s table. “I just don’t inhale sugar like I’m storing it for winter.”

“Amateur,” Satoru quips, biting into the cookie with dramatic flair. “You’ll learn.”

“Yeah yeah… I’m cutting you off before you go into a sugar coma.”

“Cutting me off?” He presses a hand to his chest like you’ve insulted his entire existence. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” You grin victoriously, striding ahead of him through the snow-dappled streets.

“Cold. Heartless. A tyrant, really.” Satoru’s voice follows dramatically as he trudges after you, shoving the final bite into his mouth with zero shame. “This is abuse, I tell you.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

The two of you wander together through the town, your shoulders brushing every so often as you pass small stalls and shops.

The shop windows glow faintly, wreaths and garlands framing every corner, and the air smells of roasted chestnuts and warm cinnamon.

You stop suddenly ahead of him, your steps faltering as your gaze locks onto the massive Christmas tree at the center of the square.

Satoru follows your gaze, and the thing is ridiculous—exactly the kind of over-the-top nonsense Satoru’s father would brag about back in the day. Towering, glittering, competing with the stars like it thinks it has a chance.

But for once, Satoru doesn’t care about the ridiculousness. He only cares about you.

You stand perfectly still, staring up at the tree with something quiet and awed in your expression, like you’ve forgotten the rest of the world exists.

The golden lights catch in your eyes, snowflakes drifting lazily into your hair, and the faintest pink lingers across your cheeks from the cold. You’re glowing—and maybe it’s the lights, or maybe it’s just you.

You look perfect. You look his.

There’s that urge again—capturing this moment, bottling in up, keeping it for himself.

The feeling is so sudden, and before he can second-guess it, his hand slips into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.

The shutter clicks.

Your head whips around instantly, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

Satoru freezes, phone still half-raised, trying to look as nonchalant as a man caught red-handed can. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrow further, shifting on your feet. “Satoru.”

“I was… texting someone,” he says weakly, his grin betraying him.

“Texting who?” you press, eyebrow arching.

“Santa,” he deadpans. “Telling him you’re being mean to me. Again.”

The flat look you give him is priceless. “Good lord. You’re impossible.”

Satoru grins triumphantly, twirling the phone between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. “Fine, fine. You caught me. I couldn’t help it. You looked cute.”

The faint flush of your cheeks deepens slightly—probably the cold, he tells himself, but he’ll take it anyway.

“Let me see it.”

“Not a chance.”

Your glare sharpens, and Satoru swears you’re plotting his demise. “Satoru. Hand it over.”

He snorts, immediately shoving the phone into his coat pocket. “You’re cute when you’re bossy, you know that?”

You step closer, determination lighting your expression. “I will fight you.”

“You wanna wrestle me in the middle of town?” Satoru raises a smug brow, delighting in the way you’re glaring up at him. “With kids around? Heartless, sweetheart. Absolutely heartless.”

Before you try to snatch his phone from his coat pocket, he moves faster—his arm looping lazily around your waist, tugging you into his side with practiced ease.

The suddenness knocks you off balance for a moment, and you let out a soft, startled laugh. Satoru can’t help but grin, using the moment to pull you even closer.

“Alright, alright…” he murmurs, pulling out his phone. “Here. Let’s take one together. Our first real photo together—no work, no press. Just you and me.”

You blink, your eyes flickering up to meet his, the faintest surprise crossing your face. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, though the warmth in his voice gives him away. “Gotta document the occasion. Might be the only proof I have that you tolerate me. C’mon, lean in.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s no hiding your smile as you let him pull you closer. He adjusts the camera, keeping his arm secure around you.

“Alright,” he says, angling the phone just right. “Say ‘Gojo Satoru’s the love of my life.’”

You snort, laughing as you nudge him. “I’m not saying that.”

“Mmm… I’ll wait.”

Your laughter bursts through the square, bright and unrestrained, just as the shutter clicks. Before you can recover, Satoru leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as he steals another shot—your laughter caught mid-breath.

“Hey!” you yelp, pulling back to glare at him, but you’re still smiling.

Satoru grins down at the photo as he flips the screen to show you. “Look at that. Photographic evidence that you adore me.”

You gape at him, incredulous. “Adore you?”

“Yep.” He winks, tucking his phone back into his pocket before you can swipe it, catching your hand instead. “Captured for infinity. You’re welcome.”

Your grip tightens on instinct, and you open your mouth to argue, but Satoru beats you to it.

“C’mon,” he swings your hand lightly as he starts pulling you forward again. “The candy stall up ahead has fudge.”

ꨄ

The two of you wander back through the streets, hand in hand as the shops blur by in warm, golden streaks of light.

Satoru doesn’t mind wandering—especially when it means you tugging him along by the hand, pausing every so often to peer into window displays. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you light up at the smallest things.

But then you stop abruptly in front of one shop in particular.

It’s so sudden that Satoru nearly keeps walking, your hand tugging him gently to a halt. When he glances over, he follows your gaze straight to the window of an antique shop tucked snug between two cafes.

And there it is. The locket.

It rests beneath a glass dome, perched on velvet as though it’s worth more than the shop itself. The silver surface gleams faintly under the soft, golden light, delicate and timeless, and engraved across the front is an infinity symbol—curved and flowing endlessly into itself.

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his brows lifting in quiet curiosity as he watches you stare at it—as if that locket holds the entire universe within it.

“See something you like?” he murmurs, looping his arms around your waist and pulling you gently into his chest.

He feels the way you relax into him almost immediately, your hands curling lightly around his forearms.

“Infinity…” you whisper.

He hums, burying his face into the curve of your neck, nuzzling there like he’s trying to steal the warmth of you.

“Hmm?”

You don’t answer right away, your gaze still locked on the locket. Satoru takes the opportunity to press a lazy kiss against the soft skin of your neck, his lips curving into a grin when he feels you shiver slightly beneath him.

“What’s got you so lost in there, huh?” he teases.

“Hmm? Oh…” You blink, your cheeks tinged faintly pink as you glance back at him. “I was just thinking about what you said. About infinity.”

He raises a brow now, a slow grin spreading across his face as he straightens just enough to nudge his chin toward the locket.

“Yeah? You been pondering the mysteries of the universe without me?”

You turn slightly in his arms, your gaze lifting to meet his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

“Well,” you begin, smiling faintly, “I’ve been thinking… you’re… well, you’re kind of like infinity, aren’t you?”

Satoru blinks, his grin faltering for a split second.

“Me?”

“Yeah… you’re always moving, always bigger than life, like there’s no end to who you are. You don’t stop—don’t ever really slow down. You’re... limitless.”

For once, Satoru’s brain stalls. Completely. He’s torn between a smug She thinks about me like that? and the sudden ache in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with.

He sees the way you’re looking at him—soft, honest, like you’re laying something fragile and important at his feet—and it hits him harder than anything he’s prepared for.

Satoru tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer as though that’ll somehow ground him.

“You really think that?” A softness creeps into his voice. “That I remind you of infinity?”

You nod slowly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. Your gaze drops for a moment before lifting again, steady this time.

“Yeah… because no matter what... you’ll always protect me. You’ll always be here, won’t you? Like infinity. Always.”

Satoru’s breath catches. For once, he doesn’t have a clever comeback. He doesn’t have anything except this overwhelming, all-consuming feeling swelling in his chest.

He dips his head, brushing his lips softly against your forehead. It’s the only answer he has.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs quietly. “Always.”

For a moment, he lingers there, his forehead pressed to yours, your breath mingling in the cold. Then, with a small grin tugging at his lips, he pulls back slightly, arms still secure around you.

“C’mon,” he sighs affectionately. “There’s still fudge with my name on it.”

You let out a soft laugh, your hand slipping back into his as he tugs you gently forward. But as you fall into step beside him, Satoru’s gaze drifts back to the shop window, to the locket resting beneath the glass.

Infinity, huh?

The faintest smile plays on his lips as he squeezes your hand lightly. He finally knows what he’s getting you for Christmas.

ꨄ

For Satoru, Christmas morning felt… surreal.

The Gojo estate, usually silent and polished like a showroom, had transformed into something far more, filled with a warmth—Haru’s delighted squeals echoing down the halls, filling the empty spaces with pure, unfiltered joy.

“Mama! ‘Toru! Wake up! Hurry, hurry!”

Her voice carries like a one-person parade, punctuated by the rapid thump of her tiny feet sprinting towards the tree, and Satoru groans into his pillow—dragging a hand over his face as if that would erase the early hour.

The sun wasn’t even properly up yet, and here he was, reluctantly dragged from the cocoon of his bed by the infectious energy of a two-year-old.

He shuffled down the hall in his pajama pants and hoodie, stifling a yawn as he dragged a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

Rounding the corner, he caught sight of Haru—a blur of bedhead and reindeer pajamas, arms flailing as she skidded to a halt in front of the Christmas tree. Her tiny hands clapped together as her wide eyes took in the mountain of carefully wrapped presents beneath it, glittering under the soft glow of twinkling lights.

“Mama! ‘Toru! Look! Presents!!” she squeals, bouncing on her toes, so full of excitement that Satoru half-expects her to rocket straight into the air.

He leans lazily against the doorframe, watching her with an amused grin. This kid… she was like a wound-up toy, running purely on joy and Christmas spirit. It tugged at something in him—a place he didn’t even realize had been empty until now.

“How does she have this much energy so early in the morning?” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder just as you appeared behind him.

You looked impossibly cozy—wrapped in your pajamas, your hair tousled from sleep. In your hands were two steaming mugs of coffee, one of which you handed to him without a word.

“She’s almost three,” you say simply, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “And it’s Christmas. Welcome to parenthood. This is her prime time.”

“Prime time for chaos,” he quips, taking a careful sip of his coffee.

He shoots Haru a mock-suspicious glance as she darts around the tree—tiny hands hovering over the presents like she’s trying to decide where to start.

“You sure Santa didn’t slip her a double espresso in her stocking?”

Your laugh is quiet and warm, the kind that made the corners of his mouth tug upward instinctively, and he couldn’t help but think how ridiculously domestic this all felt—Haru bouncing by the tree, you standing beside him with that soft, sleepy glow.

It was almost unsettling how much he liked it… how much he cherished it.

His gaze shifts back to Haru, who was now crouched in front of the tree, examining the tags on the presents like a tiny detective—a kind of joy so radiant it made something tighten in Satoru’s chest.

It hit him then—here he was, watching Haru’s eyes light up with the same wonder he never got to feel growing up. His Christmases had always been all flash and no magic. Gilded parties, perfectly wrapped gifts that lacked thought, and a cold sort of extravagance that filled rooms but never hearts.

But this?

This was different. Seeing Haru’s excitement now felt like reclaiming something he didn’t even know he’d lost.

“Mama! ‘Toru!” Haru’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts as she holds up a box triumphantly. “Look! Look! For me!”

“Man, Santa really outdid himself this year,” Satoru drawls, stretching an arms over his head as he plops onto the couch beside you.

He made a show of sipping his coffee like he hadn’t been the one painstakingly arranging the presents under the tree just hours earlier.

You’d handed him ribbons to tie, smirking as he fumbled with the tape, and rolled your eyes as he huffed about how ‘unnecessarily complicated’ wrapping paper was.

And then there’d been the cookies and hot chocolate Haru had left out for Santa, which he devoured with exaggerated flair. You’d caught him red-handed, crumbs still on his face, and he grinned sheepishly, muttering something about how Santa worked hard and deserved a snack.

It had been... nice. Warm. Like stepping into a life he always thought was meant for other people, not him.

But Haru?

She didn’t care about Satoru’s epiphanies. She was too busy shredding wrapping paper like her life depended on it.

The morning quickly descended into a delightful chaos—a whirlwind of torn ribbons, squeals of delight, and an ever-growing pile of toys. Haru didn’t just open her gifts; she paraded each one around the room like a prized trophy.

A dollhouse, a pink fluffy stuffed bear (that was for you, right?), and a set of art supplies. Every present came with an enthusiastic ‘Mama, look!’, making you laugh while Satoru grinned like an idiot.

And his attention… well, it kept drifting back to you.

The way you tucked your legs beneath yourself on the couch, leaning slightly into his shoulder as you sipped your coffee. The way your eyes softened whenever Haru ran to you, clutching another gift—her excitement bubbling over.

The way the light from the tree caught in your hair, making you look like you belonged in this moment… more than anything else ever had.

“Mama, look!” Haru gasps yet again, holding up a small box wrapped in gold paper. “Santa didn’t forget you!”

You blink, momentarily startled, as she thrusts the box into your hands before darting back to the tree—already rummaging for her next gift with boundless energy. Your gaze, however, shifts toward Satoru, narrowing with playful suspicion.

“Oh really?” you arch an eyebrow, grinning.

Satoru scratches the back of his head, feigning nonchalance even as a smug grin begins to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “That’s between you and Santa. Guy’s always been a softie for you.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the package, peeling back the carefully wrapped paper to reveal a small rosewood box.

The craftsmanship immediately catches your eye—with rich, dark wood, smooth to the touch. Two turtle doves are etched with breathtaking detail across the lid—wings entwined in a delicate dance of devotion. As you trace the design with your fingertips, the doves seem to almost flutter underneath—a stunning work of art.

And as you lift the lid, your breath hitches.

Nestled inside is the platinum heart-shaped locket, glinting under the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Encircling the heart is a delicate band of diamonds, each stone catching light like tiny frozen stars. And there, at the center of the locket’s face, is that infinity emblem you know so well—etched with graceful precision.

Your breath catches—your chest tightening as you carefully lift the locket from its velvet cradle. The weight of it is delicate yet grounding in your palm.

“Satoru…” you murmur in awe.

Beside you, he nudges your shoulder gently—his grin softening into something quieter, something more vulnerable.

“Open it.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp, and the locket falls open, revealing the secret it holds.

On one side was the photo he’d snapped of the two of you in the town square—you laughing, your cheeks pink from the cold, while he pressed a kiss to your cheek with that obnoxiously smug grin.

On the other side was another photo—one you hadn’t even known he’d taken—a candid shot of you and Haru in the kitchen, flour dusting your nose as you helped her decorate cookies.

Your smiles were radiant, unguarded, and completely at ease.

For a moment, you just stare, your lips parting slightly as you tried to form words. Satoru leans closer, his hand brushing lightly over your shoulder.

“You said… infinity reminded you of me,” he says quietly. “So… I thought maybe this could remind you of us.”

Your eyes lift to meet his, shimmering with an emotion so raw and overwhelming it makes him hold his breath. Then, without a word, you reach up, cup his face with both hands, and kiss him.

It’s soft, deliberate, and unhurried—the kind of kiss that makes him feel like maybe the universe doesn’t have to be so vast and infinite. Not when it can be filled with moments like this.

Before he can fully bask in the moment, Haru’s delighted squeal cuts through the air like a firework.

“Mama! Look! A big one!”

Satoru turns to see her tiny hands tugging at a large, carefully wrapped box partially hidden behind the tree. She tries to drag it forward, but honestly the box is way bigger than her.

You laugh softly, already stepping up from your seat to guide her hands away.

“Oh… that one’s not for you, sweetheart. It’s for Satoru.”

Satoru blinks, caught off guard. For him?

He doesn’t even have time to process it before Haru’s face twists into the most dramatic pout he’s ever seen—complete with trembling lips and misty eyes. She crosses her arms like she’s about to stage a sit-in protest right then and there.

“What? No fair!”

Satoru chuckles, setting his coffee mug aside as he pushes himself up from the couch with an exaggerated groan.

“Alright, alright,” he ruffles Haru’s hair as he crouches beside her. “How about this? You help me open it, and I’ll share whatever’s inside. Deal?”

Haru’s pout vanishes like snow in the sun, replaced by a radiant grin as she nods enthusiastically.

“Okay!”

With Haru leading the charge, they attack the wrapping paper like a two-person wrecking crew. Satoru makes a big show of struggling with the ribbon, grunting and pretending to pull with all his strength. Haru giggles at his theatrics, and finally, the last shred of paper falls away.

As the box opens, Satoru stills.

Inside is a telescope—sleek and polished to perfection. His hand trails over the smooth surface, and suddenly he was eight years old again, lying on his back in the garden with a telescope propped on the grass, mapping constellations under a vast, endless sky.

But then, his eyes widen as his fingers brush across something etched on its side. Engraved with precision, is the constellation Lyra—the harp.

Satoru knows enough about stars to understand its meaning. Lyra represents love, devotion, and music. It’s the constellation of Orpheus and Eurydice—a love story as infinite as the stars themselves.

For a long moment, all he can do is stare, his thumb brushing lightly over the engraving as if to ground himself. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until your voice pulls him back.

“You recognize it?” you ask softly.

He glances up at you, the grin on his face softening into something quieter, something real.

“Mhmm... It’s Lyra.”

You step closer, the faintest hint of nerves in the way you tug at the hem of your pajama sleeve.

“I thought… I thought you’d like an upgrade…” you say shyly, “You love the stars, and I thought you deserved something that made you feel… closer to them.”

Satoru’s throat tightens, and he can’t speak right away, but before he even has the chance to, Haru tugs at his sleeve impatiently, breaking the moment.

“What is it? What is it?” she demands, eyes wide with curiosity.

Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, pulling her onto his lap as he turns the telescope slightly so she can see.

“This, my little star, is how we can see the sky up close. The stars, the moon, even planets if we’re lucky.”

Her eyes widen. “The stars? I wanna see the stars ‘toru!”

“Okay, princess. Tonight, I’ll show you the whole sky.”

“Yay!!” Haru gleams, bouncing on his lap.

Satoru chuckles, steadying her with one arm, but as Haru chatters away, his gaze drifts back to you.

You’re standing quietly a few steps away, watching the scene unfold with that soft, knowing smile that always makes his heart trip over itself. The glow of the Christmas tree casts a faint halo around you, and for a moment, Satoru wonders how he ever existed without this—without you.

Wordlessly, he tilts his head, beckoning you closer. When you step forward, his free arm slips around your waist, pulling you gently down to sit next to him.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your lips—slow, unhurried, and laced with everything he can’t quite put into words.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s not just for the telescope. It’s for this moment, for this morning, for you. Your fingers trail softly over his cheek, and he swears you’re glowing.

“Merry Christmas, Satoru…” you murmur quietly.

“Merry Christmas… sweetheart.”

There’s a warmth in your eyes that feels like home, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to be content.

This—this moment, this family, this love—it’s everything. It’s infinite.

And as the three of you sit there, bathed in the glow of the Christmas tree, Satoru realizes something he’s never dared to believe.

He finally belongs.

a/n. i got in my feels writing this. as someone who struggles around the holidays, this was real cathartic to write. hope you guys have an incredible holiday season with the ones you love—thanks for reading, sending hugs! ♡

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@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @illianasa @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail