U CANT MAKE THIS UP 😭

gojo x wife! y/n where megumi slips up and calls y/n mom since she helped raise him and gojo starts thinking about how they would be as parents?

Got ya! Love this request, hope you enjoy <3

Megumi accidentally calling Satoru's wife "mum"

Pairing: Gojo x wife!reader

Word Count: 1,4k

Synopsis: basically the request above lol

Warnings: this is pure fluff so enjoy, wrote this on my way to Disneyland so look over any spelling mistakes lol

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul

Megumi always admired your tenderness. Since the day he met you when he was just a kid, you have grown on him like no one else. It seemed like you genuinely cared about him and his sister throughout this entire time, standing up for him when needed while leaving him for rest when he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Despite being the longtime girlfriend and now wife of a chaotic person like Gojo Satoru, you never lost your spark, your cool temper, your striking beauty. You are simply always the (y/n) he knows and secretly admires from head to toe. He never truly admitted it, but to him, you are like a mother, one of the most important people in his life, the pivotal point of his decisions.

It shouldn’t have been such a big surprise then when he accidentally called you mom in front of basically everyone.

A brief moment of thoughtlessness in the middle of pure chaos. He didn’t put much thought into his words until they eventually slipped off his tongue with no turning back.

“Can we talk about this later mom?”

Gojo stand right by your side, hand casually placed around your hip like usual when his eyes dart towards Megumi immediately. Did he hear that correctly? Did Megumi-chan just call you “mom”?

“What did you just say, Megumi-chan?”

Fuck fuck fuck. A wave of embarrassment rolls over Megumi immediately, gaze fixed to the ground. He just called you mom. Fuck, he just called you mom! Not only in front of Gojo, but Yuji, Nanami and Nobara. This is bad. Very very bad.

“Megumi…”, you breathe out, tears stinging in your eyes immediately.

While you were always keen to give Megumi the best life possible in this cruel world, you never imagined that he’d see you as someone this important in his life. You it’s not always easy, living with Satoru and you. After all, he is the most chaotic person you know while you are the complete opposite of him. It never seemed as if Megumi enjoyed your company this much. While staying with you more than with Satoru, nothing like that ever slipped off his tongue.

But right now, he called you mom. He really called you mom.

“Sorry”, he mumbles, turning away from your widen eyes.

Fuck, how embarrassing. You must think he’s a total freak for saying something like that. Especially given the fact that you and Satoru don’t have any kids yet. Was has gotten into him?

Nanami’s eyes are darted towards him in silence, Nobara and Yuji giggling to themselves while all Megumi is able to do is hiding his blushing face in his uniform. He needs to get away from here. Fast.

Faster than any of you are able to react, he storms out of the room, leaving especially Satoru and you in pure shock.

“I think he really called you mom, darling”, Satoru breathes out.

You wipe your eyes, tears threatening to fall down your eyes.

“I never thought he’d see me like this. It might seem a little stupid, but…Megumi is like a son to me. To know that he feels the same about me is just…so overwhelming…”

Satoru can’t help but admire you. That little blush that creeps up your face, how you smile into yourself like a little child. All these nights you spent by Megumi’s side, caring for him and his sister when sick, having serious conversations with him when he caused trouble.

It dawns to him. You’d be such a good mom. In fact, this is what you already are to Megumi. All this time, Satoru never thought about having his own kids. Still being young, putting you and potential kids in the risk of this cruel world. But seeing you like this, all flustered by Megumi’s innocent words, totally amazed by the word “mum”. Maybe, just maybe…The thought of a baby in your arms crosses his mind, how you hold its tiny hands while humming it to sleep.

“I will look after him”, you announce, fumbling with your hands nervously while everyone around you just stands there bamboozled.

“Hey”, you greet him gently, sitting down beside him on the bench that overlooks the whole area.

His head rests in his hands, gaze fixed on the ground.

“I didn’t mean to say that”, he begins rapidly.

You bring your legs up, hugging them tightly while smiling down at him.

“I don’t have a problem with that at all. It’s just that…I never thought you’d see me as something other than Satoru Gojo’s wife. But I don’t want to interpret too much into it. After all, it was just a slip of your tongue, right? Just wanted to make sure you don’t feel bad or something. Don’t worry about it.”

With one gentle rub of his back you get back up, ready to leave when he suddenly grabs your hand.

“This wasn’t an accident. I never got to know my biological mum. And since the day I’ve met Satoru and you, you were always something like a mother to me. I really admire and appreciate you, (y/n).”

Oh. Your eyes begin to water all over again, you can’t help but swallow him with your arms.

“I feel the same, ‘Gumi”, you matter against the crook of his neck, careful not to touch his hair.

“Now now, what’s going on here? Are you stealing my girlfriend, Megumi-chan?” Satoru’s voice suddenly questions from behind, making Megumi jump out of your grasp in an instant.

“You know you have a real talent for ruining someone’s moment, right?”, you comment dryly.

“See you, Megumi.”

With Satoru’s hand holding onto yours tightly, you wander down the way to Jujutsu High. What a precious boy he is. You couldn’t be prouder of Megumi. And knowing that you had such an effect on him…You feel like crying all over again.

“I hope you told them not to make fun of Megumi for saying that”, you break the silence, earning a little chuckle from Satoru.

“Nanami did that for me, don’t worry. What did you talk about earlier?”

“Just wanted to make sure he isn’t embarrassed and that I know it was just a slip of the tongue. Nothing to put too much thought in. But it seems like he really sees me as something like a…mother figure, I guess.”

“Doesn’t surprise me the slightest.”

Huh? Your eyes dart towards him, feet stopping right in their tracks.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, when he had to draw something, it was always the dogs, you and him. You holding his hand, you cooking, you kicking someone’s ass. Don’t you remember how everyone always thought you are his mother? All those years he looked up to you. It doesn’t surprise me that he sees you as his mum. But I should have seen it sooner, what a great mother you’d be.”

His explanation makes your heart skip a beat. Over the last years, you never lost a word over something like kids or being parents. After all, your situation was clear: you live in a world full of danger and death. No child should have to deal with this right from the start. But the way he looks at you with a warm smile, hand holding onto yours tightly. Does he mean…?

“I don’t know, Megumi’s words made me think about having our own kids.”

“Our own kids?”

You can’t believe your ears. Even though you never admitted it towards Satoru, the thought of having children definitely fills your heart with nothing but joy. And especially his kids…

“You already have been and would be such a great mother. What do you say, (y/n)? Mind if we try it?”

You aren’t able to answer. Instead, you let yourself fall into his already opened arms, giggling like an idiot. A child with Satoru Gojo, the love of your life. Yeah, this doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, this sounds like heaven itself.

“I take this as a yes.”

“I’d love that”, you breathe out, pressing your lips against his longingly.

“You’d be such a great dad. I just know it”, you huff against his mouth, heart jumping up and down in joy.

“Even though I told Nobara and Yuji to make at least a little fun of Megumi-chan?”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Satoru "he's cute, but Idk him, where is MY baby" Gojo grandpas visiting a newborn itafushi baby

He's so beautiful it physically hurts

Geto Suguru with different hair styles

All Mine｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ

is it normal for a tinder hookup to invite you to his birthday party? only one way to find out.

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Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : happy birthday Katsuki!! you guys voted for this on the poll (Sorry if you were expecting smut... but I cringe at myself attempting to write it so suggestive is all you get), enjoy!

Warnings : VERY SUGGESTIVNESS so minors beware (nothing explict but still), Female!Reader, modernAU, aged-up, drinking, mention of drugs, classic Bakugou warnings

W/C : 3k

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[10:37 PM] B: you got plans tmrw

B is Bakugou Katsuki. The guy you've been enjoying lately. To say the least.

You met in the classic way—late-night Tinder, you feeling lonely and a little reckless. He had only one picture—a sharp jawline, messy blond hair, and not much else to go off. But he looked good. Really good. So, feeling lucky, you swiped right.

Match. Instantly.

He messaged first. You messaged back. Five minutes later, you were making plans to meet at a bar downtown. All you could hope for was that he wasn’t a catfish, and that getting dressed up wouldn’t be for nothing.

It definitely wasn’t.

You barely spent time at the bar. Most of the night was spent tangled up at your place. And that’s kind of how it went from there—he’d text, you’d text back. He’d come over, he’d leave. That was the thing. Sometimes you’d text first—on the nights you were feeling extra needy, craving hot hands and hungry lips.

You didn’t even know much about him. Just his name, his major, and the sounds he makes when he’s close. You didn’t think of him as much else. Didn’t let your mind drift into soft little daydreams about who he might be outside of your bedroom. What he was like with friends, what music he listened to, what kind of kid he was in high school.

Because Bakugou Katsuki didn’t seem like that kinda guy. There was nothing lovey-dovey about him. Just low curses and hard thrusts. 

So this message? Felt different.

For one—you never made plans. That wasn’t how this thing worked.Just heat-of-the-moment, spur-of-the-night kind of energy.

And two—it wasn’t even his usual type of text. He didn’t ask. He told. Normally, it was a blunt little “im comin over”—not a question, but something close to a courtesy. A way of saying: I’m giving you the out, if you want it.

You scroll back at your texts these past few months and see the same pattern over and over, this one sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest. 

[10:40 PM] You : idk. 

[10:40 PM] You : why

Does he notice the difference, too? The pause in your rhythm. The hesitation. Why does it matter if he does?

[10:42 PM] B : im having a party tmrw

[10:42 PM] B : or my flatmate is 

[10:42 PM] B : u should come

You stare at the screen for a second, not sure if you’re more confused or just… surprised. Not that it matters.

The read receipt doesn’t faze him. He doesn’t even wait for a response. Just sends the address, followed by a quick “starts at 7. let me know if ur coming and il order an uber.”

You don’t reply.

You don’t reply, because this isn’t part of the unspoken deal that you are familiar with. And maybe he just wants a pretty girl to stand near the drinks, someone to make the party pictures look good. Because Bakugou Katsuki is probably nothing more than an asshole. Probably. 

~~~

Maybe curiosity really does kill the cat. Because somehow, you decide to go.

You never reply to him, leave him to conclude that the silence means no, you idiot, I only want you for one thing. But against your better judgement, you pull something skimpy on and brace yourself for what's to come, because you are curious.

You want to see where he lives. Who he likes. What he looks like when he’s out of his element. You want to see if it all matches the version you've been playing in your head. The version you’ve carefully constructed while you’ve kept things simple, kept it just about the physical.

But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking you’re actually going to show up. So, you leave him hanging, go radio silent, and step out at 10 PM. Plus a glass of wine or two before you leave—just enough to make the shyness a little easier to ignore.

The alcohol burns nice in your veins… for a bit, until you’re standing outside the apartment door and the cold air cuts right through you, sobering you up fast.

At least you know it’s the right address, because you can hear the light thumping of bass and loud voices from out here (Not Bakugou’s though, but what would he even sound like loud, all you know is the low rough murmurs as he-). No turning back now. Not because you feel good about this decision, but because it’s freezing and your dress is doing absolutely nothing. So, you knock. Lightly.

And no one answers. Obviously. It’s a party, and half the people inside are probably too drunk or too distracted to notice. And none of them know who the hell you are anyway, so it’s not like anyone’s waiting at the door.

You check the handle. It turns. It’s open.

So, you step inside.

And it hits—hard. Like sensory overload dialed to ten. The place is decked out top to bottom, barely recognizable as a regular apartment. Streamers, lights, drinks in every corner. And before you can even take it all in, your eyes land on the handmade banner slapped across the wall: Happy Birthday Katsuki!

You don’t even need to ask. A quick glance around says it all—loud and clear.

There are old photos strung up along the walls, clipped to fairy lights that flicker unevenly. Most of the pictures are clearly from childhood—blond hair, scowling even as a toddler, surrounded by messy frosting and crooked party hats. One’s shows him mid-scream, cake all over his face. It’s kind of cute. Kind of surreal. Because this is his party.

It’s Bakugou’s birthday.

And he invited you to his birthday party?

You scan the room again, sharper this time. The place is crowded, but not enough to lose someone like him. And he’s not here. That heavy, sinking feeling creeps into your chest.

Maybe he invited someone else.

Maybe when you didn’t text back, he moved on, picked another warm body to fill the space. It wouldn’t be crazy. It wouldn’t be wrong. You don’t owe each other anything, and that’s the whole point of this thing—or at least it was. But still, the thought lands heavy, makes something sour churn low in your gut. Makes your throat go tight in that way you hate.

You swallow it down, hard.

You’re already halfway through turning around, ready to slip back out before you embarrass yourself any further, when a voice cuts through the noise. One you don’t recognize, but it says your name like it knows you.

It’s coming from a big, beefy redhead, cheeks flushed pink from alcohol, smile wide and boyish like he’s genuinely thrilled to see you. There’s this urgent sparkle in his eyes, and for a second you’re stuck wondering how the hell does he know your name.

“You’re here! Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he laughs, loud and booming and way too happy.

Before you can say anything, he’s placing a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder, “Hey, let me take your jacket. I’m Kirishima, by the way! Don’t think we’ve met yet.”

And you just… let him. Because honestly, you can’t think of anything else to do. You shrug your jacket off, hand it over, and he somehow manages to wedge it onto an already overflowing coat rack like it’s no big deal.

“Katsuki is…” he glances around, squinting into the crowd, “—well, I think he already snuck off somewhere. Classic. Gets sick of his own birthday halfway through every year.”

He laughs again, easy and fond, like that’s something everyone should know. Like you’re part of the group that gets Bakugou Katsuki.

And when it’s clear you’re not going to laugh with him—that you’re not in on the joke—he shifts, scratching the back of his neck, the flush on his cheeks deepening.

“Let’s get you a drink, yeah? Before Katsuki finds out you’re here and steals you away.”

Then he’s already turning, guiding you through the tangle of bodies toward the kitchen. You follow, trying not to overthink that last part. Steals you away. Like you’re some prize Bakugou might casually claim.

Does everyone think you’re just a body to him? And would that really be so bad… if it meant he’d picked you?

Fuck you need that drink. You toss the first one back the second it’s in your hand—barely tastes like anything, just cold and sharp. Kirishima lets out a loud laugh, already reaching to pour you another like it’s a challenge. As he talks, he’s all bright chatter—rambling about how annoying the setup was, how they almost didn’t get enough booze. He asks when your birthday is like it’s just part of the conversation, like none of this is weird.

He’s mid-sentence when someone interrupts—a blond, all pretty eyes and glazed-over smile, leaning in over Kirishima’s shoulder like he’s got zero sense of personal space. Drunk, maybe high. Definitely nosy, not that Kirishima seems to mind anyway. 

“Who’s the pretty girl, Ei?” he slurs, trying for a smirk that doesn’t quite land.

Kirishima just laughs, easily wrapping an arm around the guy to steady him. “This is Bakugou’s girl, bro. Back off.”

The blond seems as thrown by that as you are. Bakugou’s girl? Since when?

“Wait… I thought she wasn’t coming,” he frowns, looking a little too disappointed. “That’s why Bakubro was being extra mean to me today…”

You expect Kirishima to jump in with something. But instead, he just gives you this look—his brows raised slightly, an expectant glint in his eyes, like he's silently nudging you to explain yourself too. 

“Oh, um…” You twist uncomfortably under their gazes, feeling the weight of the attention. “I didn’t think I’d be able to, but… I am here now, so…” You shrug, the words feeling clumsy even to you.

Kirishima just watches you, his expression blank, and you get the sense that he’s not exactly thrilled with your answer—or with your whole last-minute appearance. Blondie, on the other hand, pouts deeper, his voice laced with a hint of teasing frustration. “Well, I would’ve preferred if you came before the beer pong… He was so aggressive with it…”. Kirishima gives the guy a playful pat on the head in response, a silent gesture that seems to acknowledge the comment without words.

This whole interaction has you itching to find Bakugou, to see why everyone’s been expecting you, why his flatmate seems annoyed by your absence. And, of course, to catch a glimpse of his handsome face too. “Where’s the birthday boy? I haven’t been here before, so…”

At the mention of Bakugou, Kirishima’s energy shifts, his enthusiasm returning like flipping a switch. “Let me show you,” he says, peeling Denki off his shoulder with a gentle but firm hand. “Denks, drink some water, okay?” Kirishima adds, his tone casual but with a hint of concern, before turning back to you to lead you back through the crowd. 

Eventually, Kirishima stops in front of a hallway door, turning back to give you a quick grin. “He’s probably hiding out in there,” he says, giving the door a casual knock. “Don’t be too shocked, though. He’s a little… cranky tonight.” He flashes you one last smile before turning and walking away, leaving you standing there at the door.

You push the door open, silently wishing you will either find him inside alone, or not at all. 

The room is dimly lit, the faint glow of string lights hanging lazily in the corners, old posters covering the walls. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the faint buzz of the party from down the hall. Your eyes scan the room, searching for him, and that's when you see him: Bakugou, slouched in a chair by the window, arms crossed over his chest.

He doesn’t seem to notice you at first, too caught up in his own world. You can’t help but watch him for a moment, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens slightly as he breathes in. You hesitate for a moment, but before you can second-guess yourself, his voice breaks the silence.

"Didn't think you'd actually show," he mutters, his gaze still locked on the window, his tone rougher than usual.

"You didn’t tell me it was your birthday," you say, unmoving from your place at the door.

He doesn’t respond right away, his silence thick in the air between you. The seconds stretch on, but then, slowly, he turns to face you. His brow furrows, lips curling into something between a frown and a smirk, but it’s his eyes that catch you off guard. They’re wide, not shy, but hungry, tracing your frame with an intensity that makes the space between you feel smaller than it is.

"Come closer," he demands, voice low, almost challenging. "I want a better look at you."

You hate how easily you obey, the words pulling you forward like a magnet. Until finally, you’re close enough that the air between you feels thick, charged. His legs caging your own as you stand between them. 

He doesn't move, not yet, but you feel the weight of his gaze, steady and intense. And when his hands finally find your waist, it’s almost a relief. Almost. They tug you forward, pulling you down onto his lap with a quiet but unmistakable force.

You try to steady yourself, to regain control, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you who’s in charge here. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening at the feel of his body so close to yours.

"Is this how you like it?" His voice is rougher now, darker, a question more than anything else.

“You know how I like it.” 

He lets out a dry chuckle, the sound rough. "Damn right," he mutters, his hands sliding through your hair, fingers pulling roughly at your scalp, forcing your eyes to meet his. You hold in the quiet noise already threatening to come out from the treatment. 

"I was pissed when you didn’t reply," he says, his gaze burning into yours. “Told everyone my girl was coming, even helped Shitty hair with putting the decks up, got the good drinks too. But you didn’t show.”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you in just a little closer, the light scent of alcohol on his breath. "Do you always keep people waiting?" he asks, his voice rougher now, low and almost a growl. "Or was this just for me?"

You hate how his words vibrate through you, how you have to resist the temptation to press your legs together while spread out on his lap, refusing to let him feel the impact of his own words. “But what is it you want from me, Katsuki?” You breathe out, close enough now to see his eyes flash at the name change. “I thought this was just sex, and now you’re inviting me to your birthday party and getting pissy when I don’t show... Is meeting your friends part of the deal now, too?”

“You think this is just sex?” he says, voice rougher now, like he’s testing the words himself. “You think I don’t hate walking away every time? That I haven’t thought about just… staying? Not leaving for once. Keeping you.” A beat. “Keeping you as mine?”

Your breath catches.

“Katsuki… then why didn’t you just ask?” you whisper. “Instead of always running off.”

“Never the right fuckin’ time,” he mutters, his fingers brushing the side of your face, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “You were always either sleeping or too fucked out to hold a conversation. And you... you sure know how to make a guy nervous Angel.”

You blink. “I make you nervous?”

His hand moves to the back of your neck, his grip tightening just enough to pull you closer, “You think I do this often?” His laugh is low, a little dry, but there’s a sincerity to it that catches you off guard. “I downloaded Tinder as a fuckin’ joke. But when I saw your face... couldn’t resist. And the second I had you? Casual was never gonna work for me.”

The weight of his words settles in your chest. You can’t look away, not when he’s watching you like that, like he’s been starving for this moment.

“But hey,” he says, voice dipping low, almost a murmur now. “If you don’t want more, that’s fine. I’ll still give you what you need.” His thumb traces your lower lip, a delicate contrast to everything else about him. “But I want all of it, Angel. I want everything you’ll give me.”

You stare at him, your voice steady despite the heat flooding your veins. “You think I’d be here if you hadn’t caught me too?” you say quietly. “I don’t get this pretty for just anyone.”

His expression shifts. The hunger softens into something warmer, heavier. Something like possession. “You better not,” he says, almost reverently. “You’re mine now.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

Your lips crash together, like they have a million times before, and then he’s picking you up and caging you on the bed underneath you. He dives into your neck, his lips trailing fire across your skin, a low, satisfied groan vibrating from his chest as he kisses you like a man starved. You gasp, trying to hold onto the moment, but you can barely keep your thoughts straight.

You laugh, a little tipsy on him more than the alcohol now. “Katsuki, wait—” You reach up to gently tug at his hair, trying to pull him back. “There’s like a million people in your apartment.”

He barely registers the comment, his hands already at your waist, pulling you closer. “Don’t care,” he mutters, ripping off his shirt with frustration, exposing his toned chest as he leans down to kiss you again.

“I care,” you protest weakly, though the excitement burning in you is undeniable. “I just met them… I want to leave a good impression.”

His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at his lips as he stares down at you. “Fuck that,” he growls, his hands tracing the curves of your body possessively. “The only person you need to be good for is me.”

You roll your eyes, trying to bite back a grin. “Yeah, sure, but I’d prefer not to be that girl at your party—”

“Angel,” he interrupts, voice full of mischief, “I’m the birthday boy.”

His breath ghosts over your ear, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“Now…” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin, “let me open my present.”

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general taglist 🏷️ : @cristy-101 @cielito--lindo @waterfal-ling

it's been two days, and nerd!gojo is nowhere to be found.

as his one and only bully, you can't help but be worried.

did he get hurt when you shoved him in the locker that one time? did he get sick when you made him eat out of the trash?

weak nerd with his weak ass immune system. you should've been feeding him more dirt.

more importantly, what if you get in trouble for his skinny, frail, weak ass?

not on your watch.

you tell the teacher that you'll deliver gojo's homework to him, which she completely believes for some reason ("oh, how sweet! you two are always together") and she gives you his home address, too, with a wink.

weird, but whatever.

when you get to his house you want to beat his worthless ass all over again. ugh. of course gojo lives in a beautiful, massive house in a super upscale neighborhood you're sort of embarrassed to be seen in.

you think about your clothes, second-hand, not quite fitted right. your worn but comfy shoes. just... ugh.

but there's an intercom, and after you say your name, school, and class that you're delivering gojo's schoolwork for, the door gate opens.

when you get in, it's immediately obvious which room is gojo's - he's got an asuka poster on his door. it's completely out of place in the modern, sleek decor. only gojo could be so tacky.

you don't waste any time striding up there, throwing open the door and glaring at the pitiful wet paper towel of a boy on the bed.

and, well... he is sick, of that you have no doubt.

laying back in bed, half-propped up on pillows. his pale skin looks even paler with the dark circles around his eyes, his red nose, a pile of crumbled up tissues on either side of him.

there's a dampness on his shirt, a graphic tee, and an empty water bottle at his bedside.

"you look like shit," you say, shutting the door behind you and setting his papers on the table.

gojo half-laughs, but mostly it just comes out as a cough.

"no, it's just the flu. been going around. i think i got it from the housekeeper, actually, she took some time off recently."

a housekeeper? fucking gross. you hope he dies. rich people. ugh.

but you can't help but notice. there's no more water, plus you can't see any food around here. and gojo looks absolutely miserable.

you've only been sick once when you were a kid, but it wasn't so bad. things were different back then, though.

"well, since i'm here." you plop the homework in front of him, generously allowing him your pen, "get to work."

he's staring, blankly, at the sheet. eyes scrunching as if in consternation.

before he can insist that you need to work on it together, you stride out of the room.

a faint "wait!" sounds behind you as you shut the door, but you don't mind it.

it's a quick trip to the kitchen. you spend a couple minutes searching through cabinets full of wine glasses (wine glasses? seriously, in his home kitchen?) until you find a cup.

you fill it with water, and then, in a fit of generosity, you fill up a second cup for gojo. let it never be said that you hit a man while he was down.

somehow, when you come back up, gojo is still contemplating the homework sheet as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"hello?" you say out loud. gojo blinks, looking over at you with that blank, dopey expression.

"did you get anything at all done?" there's nothing on the paper. "drama queen."

"ah," gojo says, sniffling, eyes wincing shut, "sorry, it's hard to concentrate... i have a raging headache."

absolutely useless. you set the water down beside him, but gojo slumps back against the pillows.

he looks up at you with big, blue, pleading eyes.

"can't reach... help me?" his voice is high, his expression utterly pitiful. like some kicked puppy.

maybe it's because his throat actually does sound pretty raw. his hair is even more unkempt than usual, in a greasy, scraggly way, his tired eyes and miserable expression squeezing a drop of undeserved sympathy out of your stony heart.

mostly it's because you want him to do your homework that you begrudgingly hold up the water to his mouth and tip it carefully for him to drink.

"what," you grouse, "mommy and daddy not here to coddle you?"

gojo takes a long gulp, swallowing heavily, and letting out an exaggerated ah~ afterwards.

"the housekeeper does that," he says, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable, "but she's not here. i really was dying before you arrived. you saved me," he crows, somehow proud of his utter display of weakness and ineptitude.

you stare at his legs pointedly. "do you have a cold and leprosy? at least go get yourself some medicine."

the puppy dog eyes, again, "i tried! but i got lightheaded and dizzy! it's in the bathroom cupboard, the one closest to my room, pleeeeease-"

"what, now i'm your errand girl?" you snap, already standing up.

something flashes in gojo's eyes, and he keels forward, lurching to grab you by the hand.

"wait, wait! i didn't mean it like that, please don't leave!"

the tone in his voice sends a pang through your chest.

"...i have to leave to get the medicine," your voice comes out awkward, like something's stuck in your throat. "idiot."

gojo's so easy to read, relief on his face clear as day. "oh! okay! we can - we can order delivery, too! my treat! you just have to pick it up for me!"

"i get to choose the restaurant," you grumble, and gojo's already on his phone.

it's a pretty good deal. even though you'll have to endure his presence for a while. and do your own homework without help.

but whatever. it's not like you couldn't do it yourself. you just didn't want to, and it was better having gojo check your answers.

there's just... something weird about this.

"gojo," you ask, hesitant. "i told the intercom i had your homework for you and it let me in. are your parents home?"

he shrugs, "oh yeah, probably."

then why aren't they helping, you want to say - for once in your life, you stop yourself.

why aren't they helping their precious perfect son? what, do they think he's a loser as much as you do?

the thought prickles inside you, uncomfortable, unwelcome. you try to brush it aside. it's none of your business.

maybe gojo's parents find him as unbearable as you do -

even that thought seems a bit too harsh. he's not actually that annoying.

your walk to the bathroom is uneventful. you don't run into anyone, but you do see it - a light under a door at the end of the hallway.

"...if he needs to go to the hospital... no, he won't, a classmate came by with his schoolwork."

the voice is distant, faint. unconcerned.

"...so they want to meet tomorrow night? i'll have to get the reports ready..."

what a drama queen. even his own parents aren't worried about him.

you ignore the bad taste in your mouth as you re-enter gojo's room, where he's looks far too chipper for a sick person.

satoru smiles at you, quickly maneuvering his phone underneath his blanket.

getowo: stop crying, you big baby, i'm on my way over. satoruwu: nvm!!! dont come satoruwu: youll never guess who came to nurse me back to health getowo: so you're hallucinating satoruwu: im not! my bully does house calls <3 we're gonna eat together hehe~ getowo: i'll be there in ten. satoruwu: I TOLD U DONT COME

"gojo?" he drops the phone in his lap, internally cursing.

"yeah?" satoru slumps back, sniffing again, giving you his best pathetic face.

you roll your eyes, "I got your stuff. what did you order?" actually, you don't care. "i want pizza."

"i know this place that makes the best soup," satoru pulls his phone right back out again, "i can get you pizza, too, what kind?"

when you tell him your favorite, he tells you his.

"why are you telling me this? i thought you wanted soup?"

"yeah, but now you know what my favorite is~ we should order some for one of our study dates. we can do halvsies! actually, your fave sounds good-"

you cut him off (so decisive! super hot of you) and tell him to just put in the order. he puts the pizza idea in his notes app, just in case.

"help me take the medicine?" satoru says, half-hopeful, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

"if you can order delivery, you can drink some water," you say, setting your homework on his desk on the other side of the room.

it's way too high, which makes sense, for his freakishly long limbs -

"oh, it's height adjustable! there's a button, you can lower it!"

you take in his words, leaning back, and you see it. there's an electric whirr as the table falls down. "huh." neat.

"nifty, right!" satoru coughs extra pitifully, "do you think you could help me out? just for a minute?"

you ignore him. it's so obvious he doesn't actually need your help. why is he even asking? it would be faster to do it himself.

whatever. he'll do it when he wants to.

you snatch one of his pens and start working.

it's silent for a bit, the sound of pen scratching against paper filling the air. a little sniffle from the far corner interrupting you.

"...please?" his voice sounds terribly small.

you take a deep, sharp breath. then you stand up and walk over to him.

just to shut him up, obviously. he's so whiney.

only, when you sit down next to him with the cup of water and the pills, his big blue eyes gazing up at you while he gives you a weak smile, that assessment feels a little... mean.

whatever. so you feel a little sorry for him. fine, he's sick. and he's playing it up, too, although his skin does feel a bit feverish when you touch it.

you press the back of your hand - chilled from holding the water glass for him - against his forehead, and gojo sighs in relief, slumping back into the pillow.

he really should be sleeping. he probably needs a shower and a change of clothes, but you're not sticking around for that, and if he needs your help taking meds, he'll need your help with the soup, too.

absently, you run your fingers through his hair. it's so white. and soft, but you can feel some dampness from the fever.

gojo's eyes flutter shut, and he gives out a gentle sigh.

he's quiet for a moment, and you almost think he's falling asleep.

"...can we watch neon genesis evangelion? i have the latest movie."

naturally, his room has a giant flatscreen in it. it's not that messy, either, but you attribute that to the housekeeper.

you roll your eyes, "god, you and your freaky anime. fine, whatever you want."

he's eager, then, lighting up at your words. it's such a weird look on him, all exhausted and sick but still happy.

"we can start from the first one, so you know what's going on!" gojo babbles, "i bet you'll love asuka. she's just like you - "

your cheeks flush, "it's fine! we can just watch your latest movie. i don't need a whole marathon."

you'd looked it up in your free time, just to see what gojo's rambling was about. and maybe you'd gone through some of it online. just to know how bad his taste was.

it's not a bad night, though.

maybe you don't get your homework done - you'll have to get to it tomorrow - but you sit there, next to gojo, on his super comfy (probably super expensive) bed.

the soup arrives before the pizza. you're hungry, and you take great pleasure in blowing on the spoon, pretending to guide it into gojo's mouth, then diverting it to yours at the last moment.

but you're generous enough to feed him, after. it's all with the movies playing in the background.

gojo started with the first evangelion movie, but you're not about to give away that you know.

he likes to narrate over it, and it's fun telling him all the reasons why his takes are wrong. but you have to tell him to shut up once his voice grows hoarse.

then the pizza comes. he looks at you so sadly whenever you head to the door. like a dog watching its owner go to work. ugh.

so maybe... you lose track of time it's a comfy bed, comfy pillows, nice soft blankets once you clean up all his used tissues and the takeaway boxes.

definitely no funny business or anything. you wouldn't be this close to him if he weren't deathly sick.

he says he's deathly sick. maybe this feels like dying for a crybaby like him, you don't know.

but you know, briefly, with your shoulder pressed into his; you're tired. you ate way too much pizza. it's warm in here, safe - gojo is a wet paper towel most days, and today, he's a used tissue, totally unthreatening.

so if you lose track of time and fall asleep... well. nobody will care anyways.

when satoru wakes up, he has to admit - he feels a lot better.

last night was pretty great, even if he'd been sick. it was like a dream! he got to spend all that time with you! just relaxing and watching shows and being hand-fed!

and you even got him water and medicine! and you helped him eat!

it was a while before suguru got out of school, and this night was worse than last night. with the housekeeper gone, he could barely get up for water or food.

even suguru wouldn't have been able to stick around. he hadn't been looking forward to spending the night sick and miserable and all alone in his bed, body full of aches and pains and hunger.

but you saved him! you even stayed the night - heheh. in a way, you basically slept with him, right?

suguru might not ever believe it, but satoru knows. you're really warming up to him. you actually like him, deep down -

when he looks around, though, you're already gone.

you gotta win if you wanna cum ྀི

“keep playing” gojo murmurs barely audible, almost embarrassed to say it—but his fingers are already slipping under your shorts like he's done this in his head a hundred time. “i-i wanna see if… my good girl can win…like this.” his fingers slid past the hem of your shorts. 

It was supposed to be just another quiet night. you, your switch, and your nerdy boyfriend with messy hair and a half-finished soda on the table. you were in his lap, like always, thighs straddling his left one, back against his chest. His glasses were crocked because of your head resting on the side of his face. his hands had been resting, harmlessly, mid-thigh.

but tonight it seems like they had a mind of their own. his palms slided up, awkward at first, like he was working up the nerve. and once he brushed your inner thigh and felt how warm you were—how you were already grinding a little without realizing, he sucked in a shaky breath.

“y-you’re, um…" he chuckled nervously, “you're kinda…really…wet already. that's-uh- that's cute.” you can feel how red his ears are. can hear the shaky exhale he lets out as he presses two fingers against the damp fabric of your panties.

you tried to focus on the screen, but his fingers pushed beneath your panties, hesitant but hungry, dragging along your slit with a low groan. his voice was uneven when he spoke again—like he was trying to sound teasing but couldn't hide how wrecked he was.

“wh-what kind of gamer gets this needy holding a controller?” he stammered.

you jolted, hips twitching into his touch, and he gasped softly against your neck—his cock straining against his sweats, and he bit down on a shaky moan.

“i—fuck, wait—don’t cum yet,” he breathed out quickly, as if panicked by how close you already felt. “you—you can’t. not unless you beat the level. that’s the rule.”

you whimpered, legs trembling, gripping the controller tighter as his fingers toyed with your clit in little circles. It was almost clumsy but somehow that made it worse. and the nerdy tone he used—the one when explaining game stats or why a manga panel made him cry—being used, now, to deny your orgasm was really hot.

“i just—it's stupid, but i get turned on seeing you so focused,” he admitted, voice breaking with a shy laugh. “you always look so serious when you play, and i just—kinda wanna mess that up…” when you buck forward, your hips grinding down onto the firm flex of his thigh, he gasps like he’s the one being touched.

“you’re—ngh—you’re seriously doing that on my leg?” His voice cracks in disbelief, cock twitching in his pants. “d-didn’t know you l-liked that…”

his hand creeps up under your shirt with all the subtlety of a boy who’s fantasized about this a thousand times. he palms your breast awkwardly at first, afraid he’ll mess it up, but once his fingers find your nipple—he’s not shy anymore.

he groans, deep and sharp, twisting the sensitive bud between two fingers. “f-fuck, that's so soft,” he breathes. “you're not allowed to b-be this soft when i'm trying…when i'm trying to be m-mean.”

your hands are trembling, buttons mashed half-heartedly as he toys with you like you're his favorite collectible. the pleasure clouds everything. your character on screen stumbles, gets hit, and before you can react—

game over. you freeze, the screen flashes in cruel pixelated defeat.

gojo blinks, “you lost?” his voice is unfortunately too high to be cocky, too breathless to be smug.."c-c'mon you're supposed to be my elite little gamer." you squirm in his lap, frustration boiling in your cheeks—not just from the lost, but also from the aching throb between your legs. “you k-kept distracting me!”

he hums, almost pathetic. then he presses two fingers against your clit, “close doesn't count,” he whispers as he pinches, a sharp flick to your swollen bud. the arm around your chest tightens, his thumb rolling your nipple like it's a fidget toy.

you whine, your head drop on his shoulder, “i w-will win.”

“that's ma girl,” he kisses your temple before licking a stripe behind your ear. “b-but until then…” he presses his thigh up, grinding it into your core while teasing your nipple between sharp tugs. “you're m-mine to play with.”

your fingers tighten around the controller, eyes locked on the screen. and every time you press a button, he mirrors it with a flick or a pinch or a firm grind of his thigh into your pulsing heat.

“shit—satoru,” you breathe, trying to keep your avatar alive.

“keep g-going, you're doing just r-right." he mutters, voice shaky. his glasses are fogged, his hands aren't steady, and his cock is rock-hard beneath you, straining uselessly against his sweats as your soaked core grinds down, again and again, onto his tense thigh.

“you wanna cum?” he asks as he licks the shell of your ear—shaky and wrecked. “t-then win… be my good gamer girl. beat the boss f'me, please...” he presses down harder, rubs the letters W-I-N in slow motion on your sensitive bundle. the pressure is maddening—never enough, always just shy of what you need—and it drags you into the haze of overstimulation.

the motion causes your character to stumble, again, and the screen flashes—again. 

gojo groans, high-pitched. “babyyy—c'mon, you can do better,” he pants, cock twitching. “th-that's a little pathetic, don't make me beg f'you to win…”

you try to grind against his hand, desperate and needy to soothe the ach between your legs. “p-please—satoruu, just let me,”

he chokes out a laugh—breathless and delirious—his grip on your nipple tightens, making you whimper. “s-sowwyyy,” he mumbles, but it sounds more like an apology from someone completely gone. “rules are—ah!—rules, i gotta stick to 'em, right?”

but you lose. again and again.

and by the fourth try, you're barely able to see straight. your legs are trembling, pussy drooling over his pants, leaving an enormous wet patch on his thigh.

he buries his face against your neck, glasses slipping sideways, voice a ragged mess of broken need. “we’ll keep playing,” he groans, like it physically pains him, “until my perfect gamer girl learns to beat the boss while g-getting ruined so bad she forgets her own name.” you moan uncontrollably at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

his nose nudges your temple, “you sound so pretty when you whine like that.” his voice is so soft. “you feel even better.” your grinding gets slower, deeper, and gojo's hands go from gripping your breasts to fumbling—desperately—with the waistband of your shorts. 

“he-he, wait—" his sentence breaks off in a cracked moan as his thumb drives back to your panties, finding your clit, drawing unfocused circles like he's forgotten what rhythm even is. his face is flushed, so desperate it's almost pitiful—fingers slipping and smearing your slick everywhere, breathing out broken pleas between every twitch. “y-you're so wet, i can't—fuck—i can't—t-this is so fucked up, i can't think—”

gojo groans through his teeth, his whole frame trembling. “fuuuuuck, y-you gotta stop, i'm-i’m…gonna…” he's desperately trying to keep it together but failing spectaculary. his cock jerking under you with every buck. “s-shouldn't feel this good—fucking h-hell, i'm gonna cum—gonna cum in m-my pants…OHSHITOHSHITFUCKSHITFUUUCK”

his whole body jerks, sudden and absolutely out of his control. an embarrassed moan bursts his lips as he ruts up against your ass—cumming hard, painting the inside of his sweats in sticky heat. his cock twitches helplessly, completely untouched. he whimpers your name into your shoulder like it's a confession. his glasses slip right off, forgotten, as his head lolls against you.

gojo still tries to move his fingers on your stimulated clit, as his mouth leaves open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder. he draggs his hand up back to your hardened tits—palming your breasts, rubbing, squeezing, thumbing your nipples with pure, overwhelmed need.

“we're not done,” he groans, like it's hurting him that you're not cumming. “you're dripping all o-over m'thigh, i c-came like a loser—please, win already, pretty.” he whines, “i-i'll help, i swear, just—fuck—win!”

his hand never stills. slippery fingers flick your clit in desperate, uneven motions, his other hand clutching your tits like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. you’re drooling against his neck now, wrecked and teetering on the edge, and gojo’s crying out every time you shift your weight.

“win,” he sobs, high and broken. “win, baby, please—i’ll cum again too, I will, I’m so close again, y-you feel sogood—“

And the boss’s health bar drops. One last combo. You slam the button.

Victory!!!!

you’re shaking, grinding down with abandon, the game forgotten for just one second—because it’s too much. he’s still whispering praise like he’s praying, hips jerking like he might cum in any second just from the way you clench around nothing. you scream, messy and guttural, because you need it—need him—and it’s all spilling over.

“'t-toru, i win—please, w-wanna cum—please ‘toru—pleaseee,” tears streak down your cheeks as you sob into his neck, twitching with every stroke, every messy rub of his soaked fingers. “c-can’t—’toru, i can’t—too much, ‘s too much—“

he’s not stopping. he whimpers your name, glassy eyes locked on your face memorizing every broken cry that falls from your lips. “you won, y-you get to cum now—I have to make you cum—” he sounds just as wrecked as you, maybe worse. his fingers finally slip inside—two of them, thick and long—he curls them immediately, searching that spongy spot, desperate to please you.

your walls clamp around him so tight he nearly cums again. bullet of sweats are dropping down his neck as he wines, “y-you're squeezing me reallyy good—shit” his breath stutters against your neck, sobbing out broken, pathetic moans as his fingers drag over that spot again and again.

“Let go for me,” he begs. “Please, please, I need you to—need to feel you cum, please, baby—" you're a mess in his lap, crying and convulsing, thighs slick and shaking—his fingers keep pistoning you as he babbles some uncoherent praise and filth against your hot skin.

“g-gonna make you cum so hard,” he pants, sounding half-feral. “gonna feel you soak m-my fingers, fuck—wan’ it messy, baby, wan’ it loud—”

and when you do, when your body snaps and you wail into his shoulder, soaking his hand in a gush of warmth—he lets out the filthiest, most broken moan you’ve ever heard as he cums a second time.

 Unprompted. Pathetically. Just from feeling your cunt pulse around his fingers.

NANAMI KENTO IS THE MAN AND STANDARD

i REALLY need to get this off my chest… but nanami is just not it….🫣🫣🫣🫣😬

ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THE SAME NANAMI KENTO NONNIE?

THIS NANAMI KENTO??

Can you do girl dad katsuki

Girl dad - w/katsuki

Girl dad katsuki who nearly pees his pants when he finds out you're having a girl. He's a loud, aggressive, short tempered man with little patience, how was he going to deal with a daughter??

When she's first born and friends and family come over to visit her he makes sure that everyone washes and sanitizes thoroughly. He lets everyone know not to kiss her, especially on her face, and if his daughter gets sick he'll "blow their asses up.” or something along those lines.

At night when she cries he tells you to stay In bed and he'll handle it. at first he hated changing diapers, but he's gotten used to it… kinda. “There’s no way you should smell like this.. the hell is yer mom feeding you..” if a diaper change and a bottle don’t calm her screams he’ll hold her and sway around the room while humming or singing a tune to her. If he has to he’ll hold her all night while sleeping in the rocking chair so she can get a good nights sleep, even if it means his back will be in pain all morning.

He’s a big softie when it comes to her milestones. Her first words, first steps, the first time she tries solid foods, when she learns to clap, high-five and crawl. it all makes him feel really proud but also sad in a way. Her milestones are signs that she’s growing up and that’s something he wants to hold off for as long as possible.

He carries her around when and wherever she wants. “Daddy up!” she says while the three of you are out for a walk. He’ll smile down at her then put her on his shoulders and make airplane sounds. She's a Velcro baby, when he's doing his push ups she'll be on his back giggling, when he's cooking she's on his shoulders moving his hair like Remi (ratatouille) When he’s eating dinner she’ll be sitting in his lap waiting for him to share another bite of his food with her.

He loves creating little fireworks in the palm of his hand with his quirk for her because it makes her laugh really hard, and it's one of his favorite sounds in the whole world. He loves it when you buy her little versions of his merch. His favorite being the one that says “My daddy and hero all in #1” (I canon katsuki being #1) and there's a picture of him on the little onesies back.

He thought it would be hard being a "girl dad" but it's actually one of his favorite things In the world. He wears his title like a crown and wouldn't change it for anything. (He still wants a son tho)

Hi friends! This was really hard for me to write for some reason.... But i hope you enjoyed!

Soo sorry to anon who requested for taking so long on this...

But i hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading!

Requests are night encouraged and appreciated!

xo-winter 🪼🤍

steal my girl — gojo satoru

synopsis. the time gojo and megumi decided to crash your date.

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo roping megumi into his loser activities, timeskips, tw sappy

notes. this drabble has been rotting in my brain for over a year. finally wrote it!

“I’m going on a date.”

It only took five simple words from you to make the world’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer drop to his knees. For the first time in his life, Gojo could swear he was experiencing shortness of breath. And was it just him, or were the walls closing in?

“What?” The word leaves his mouth like a demand rather than a question. He’s trying so hard not to overreact, but your overjoyed face makes it nearly impossible not to succumb to the ugly green monster clawing at his insides.

“Well,” you push his shoulder playfully. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re not the only one that pulls.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gojo mutters under his breath, eye twitching. Don’t you know how hard he works to deter any suitors vying for your attention when the two of you are out? He’s practically a rabid dog growling at anyone who so much as breathes in your direction.

Hell, even Shoko once mentioned to him something about being a “registered pervert” at most establishments you frequent together.

 Not his finest moments.

You eye Satoru suspiciously before continuing. That was your first mistake.

“Yeah, he’s taking me to that new Michelin Star restaurant downtown,” you sigh dreamily. “I mean, seriously. Isn’t that so cool?”

Gojo scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “If that’s what you wanted, you could’ve just said so. I know a place that has three Michelin Stars.”

You pout. “Well, it’s different with you.”

Gojo’s eyebrow quirks up. “How so?”

“You’re a friend. And with him…” You trail off, suddenly feeling shy under Gojo’s piercing gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks as you toy with the hem of your sleeve. “It’s a lot more romantic.”

Gojo thinks he could just die.

The word romantic rings in his ears, and it was deafening. It digs into his ribs and squeezes at something raw inside him. He’s the strongest sorcerer alive, yet right now, he feels utterly powerless against the way your voice softens when you talk about someone else. Against the way your lips curve at the thought of another man.

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Romantic, huh?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it.

You nod, eyes glimmering with something dreamy, something distant, and Gojo wants to reach out and wipe it away. He wants that look—wants to be the reason for it.

If you wanted romance, he could give you romance.

Better romance.

A grand plan manifests in his head, spinning to life at full speed. 

Oh, this poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.

The moment Megumi sees Gojo enter his and Tsumiki’s shared apartment, he knows something is wrong. There’s a certain energy in the air, a distinct lack of peace that Gojo drags with him that makes the eight year old’s stomach churn.

“Fushiguro!” Gojo’s voice rings out, far too enthusiastic for Megumi’s liking. “We have a problem.”

Megumi barely glances up from his book. “We?”

Gojo makes himself at home and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, we. Our dear [Name] here has a date.”

Megumi's grip on his book tightens, his interest sparking at the mention of you. Where Gojo lacked maturity, you balanced it effortlessly. He liked that about you. He liked you.

Megumi blinks once. “And?”

Gojo sighs dramatically. “And we can’t just let her go unprotected, can we?”

“Unprotected?” Megumi repeats, deadpan. “From what? Bad table manners?”

“From heartbreak, Megumi!” Gojo places a hand over his chest, looking scandalized. “What if this guy is a total loser? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he’s a handsy creep?”

Megumi’s expression darkens. He had been indifferent before, but now there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He doesn’t like the idea of you being stuck with some no-good scrub who isn’t worthy. In a series of twisted events, you and that white haired idiot had managed to become the only constants in his life. The last thing he wanted was for some random guy to come along and take you away.

“We need to intervene,” Gojo presses, watching the flicker of hesitation in Megumi’s expression. His usual deadpan exterior is cracking, just a little. Gojo knows he has him.

Megumi exhales sharply, gripping his book a little too tightly. “I am not going to ruin their date.” His voice is firm, but there’s a sliver of doubt wedged between the words. Gojo seizes it like a cat pouncing on its prey.

“Ruin?” Gojo gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Megumi, this is purely a background check.” His grin stretches.

Megumi glares at him. “It could be considered stalking.”

Gojo waves him off. “Pfft. Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘protective oversight’.”

“You don’t even know if he’s a bad person.”

Gojo tilts his head, feigning deep thought. “Oh, you’re right. Maybe he’s perfect. Maybe he’ll take such good care of her that we won’t be needed anymore.”

Megumi stiffens, and Gojo bites back a smirk.

“That’s not—” Megumi starts, but Gojo steamrolls over him.

“I mean, think about it. If this date goes well, they might actually start dating. And then what? She’ll start spending more time with him.” Gojo nudges him. “She’ll run off and start a new family.”

Megumi’s jaw tightens. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” Gojo corrects cheerfully. 

Megumi runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. He already knows Gojo won’t drop this, and, annoyingly, he’s already planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

Gojo leans in, voice lower, almost serious. “You care about her, don’t you?”

Megumi exhales sharply. “...Yeah.”

“And you’d rather make sure she’s safe than sit around wondering?”

Megumi stares at him for a long moment, then groans. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Gojo grins, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go before you start growing a conscience.”

The night was supposed to be perfect. A well earned break. It your first real date in a while. Probably your first since meeting Gojo. Though, strangely, you’d never stopped to question why that was.

The guy sitting across from you was a non-sorcerer, and while his looks had been enough to catch your attention when he first asked you out, the novelty was wearing off fast. His personality was as flat and each word he spoke draining more of your enthusiasm. You found yourself nodding along absently, barely listening, already regretting your decision.

Still, you just had to stick it out until the food arrived. Then you could eat, make an excuse, and be done with this painfully dull evening.

Though, just when you thought the night was starting to get interesting, a familiar voice cuts through the elegant ambiance of the restaurant.

“Mom, who is this strange man?”

Your choke on your wine at the familiar voice while your date stiffens.

You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach as you come face-to-face with Megumi, standing at your table with his arms crossed. His expression is perfectly deadpan, but you see the flicker of mischief in his eyes, a familiar gleam of mischief that could only be the work of a certain white-haired man lurking nearby.

“E-eh?!” You sputter, glancing between Megumi and your date.

Your date looks thoroughly confused. “Do you… know this child?”

“N-no—I mean, yes, but—”

Megumi doesn’t give you a chance to explain. Instead, he sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “And what will Gojo—Dad—say about this?”

The words slam into you like a truck.

Your date’s jaw drops. “You’re married?”

“N-no!”

“Then why is he calling you Mom?”

You glare at Megumi, but he just shrugs, completely unbothered.

“Come home,” Megumi continues with a sigh. “Tsumiki misses you too.”

“You have multiple children?!”

Your date looks absolutely horrified, like he’s just found himself in the middle of a scandalous affair. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, if you’re going through a divorce or something, we don’t have to do this—”

Before you can defend yourself, another, far-too-cheerful voice joins in.

“There you are, sweetheart!”

Gojo waltzes up to the table, dressed in his finest suit and those damn glasses he only wore on special occasions. He places a hand on your shoulder and turns to your date with an exaggeratedly apologetic expression. “Sorry, buddy, but this one’s a real work. You know it took me two kids to finally tie her down?”

Your date glances between you, Megumi, and Gojo, his eyes wide with pure panic, as if he’s just stumbled into something far beyond his comprehension. His grip tightens around his napkin, knuckles white. “I—I think I should go.”

You lurch forward, reaching out as if that might stop him. “No, wait—!”

But it’s already too late. He’s scrambling for his coat, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushes back from the table, nearly knocking over his drink in his rush. Without sparing you another glance, he spins on his heel and all but bolts toward the exit, shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

You sit frozen for a second, blinking at the now-empty seat across from you. Then, slowly, you turn toward the culprits, fists clenched at your sides.

“You two,” you hiss, voice low and simmering with fury, “are in serious trouble.”

Megumi has the decency to look guilty, staring down at his lap, shifting awkwardly in his seat as if he’s just now realizing the full extent of what they’ve done.

Gojo, on the other hand, is utterly shameless. He stands there in all his smug glory, adjusting his sunglasses with a satisfied smirk. 

You grab your purse and storm out of the restaurant, with the two trailing behind you like two guilty kids.

“You know,” Gojo muses, “I think that went pretty well.”

You round on him so fast that even he takes a step back. “Pretty well?! You humiliated me! That poor guy thinks I have an entire secret family!”

Gojo snickers. “Well, technically, you do.”

You jab a finger into his chest. “You are not my husband.”

“But wouldn’t it be great if I was?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Megumi lets out a long sigh. “Please don’t entertain him. I’m sorry, [Name].” His blue eyes are trained onto the floor, “I just didn’t think he was good enough for you.”

You exhale sharply, some of your anger ebbing as you glance between the two of them.

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you sigh, your frustration softening at the sight of his guilty expression. You could never stay mad at him, not with that face.

Gojo, however, was a different story.

Slowly, you turn to him, eyes narrowing. “You—”

He grins, entirely unrepentant. “Me?”

Oh, he was so in for it.

Although he had been shamelessly unapologetic at the time, Gojo still found ways to complain about that night, even years later, after you were finally married.

“It was an unusually cruel punishment,” your husband whines dramatically, draping his entire body weight onto you as if his sheer presence could sway your sympathy.

“You mean the silent treatment?” you deadpan, eyes still trained on Megumi practicing his cursed technique across the yard. “It was only a week. Could’ve been longer if you hadn’t harassed everyone around me until they practically begged me to forgive you.”

Gojo lifts his head just enough to shoot you an exaggerated pout. “I don’t harass people. I simply exist, and they just happen to find me irresistible.”

“You tend to have the exact opposite effect, actually.”

“Ten years later, and you’re still so cruel to me.” He sighs heavily, as if burdened by the weight of your terrible treatment, before shoving his face into the crook of your neck. “You wound me, wife.”

You laugh, warmth bubbling in your chest as his breath tickles your skin. “You’re impossible.”

A loud thud interrupts the moment, and you both glance over just in time to see Megumi scowling, his stance off from a misstep in his training.

“You are still disgusting after all of these years,” he grumbles, adjusting his form before going at it again.

Gojo beams. “Aww, he likes us.”

You shake your head, smiling. “He tolerates us.”

“Eh, same thing.” Gojo squeezes you tighter, pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss to your cheek just to be insufferable.

Megumi groans. “Seriously, get a room.”

Gojo smirks, wiggling his brows. “Don’t tempt me, kid.”